Page 45 of I Would Beg For You
All eyes turn to me. My stomach is roiling as I take a deep breath.
“Got a call about what’s happening in DC. Governor O’Donnell is stepping down after just a year in the seat,” I start.
“And?” Luciano asks, frowning even more now.
“His party has a replacement all lined up. Guess who?”
Franco swears. “Not that figlio di puttana Joel Smith.”
“Of course it’s him,” Victor confers quietly. “Look at Val’s face.”
“Merda!” Franco exclaims. “It’s Governor, then Senator, then…”
Antonio nods. “RICO all over again.”
The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, RICO for short, passed in 1970 and changed the face of organized crime in the US and especially the East Coast forever. A little birdie told us Joel Smith planned to push a new law that extended the ten-year-period to corner someone for at least two acts of racketeering or other relevant crimes to twenty or more.
He’d be able to do this as a senator, which seemed years away yesterday. Now, it looks like this is right around the corner.
“What do we do?” Franco asks.
I hiss in a deep breath. “We take him down before he can take us first.”
Chapter 16 Naomi
I’m still reeling likea spinning top when I plop into my bedroom and stare at the one across the yard, whose bed I left just this morning. I’m bundled in a coat, and it’s not Valentino’s. I don’t even know whose it is, but I don’t really care about this right now.
What did he mean by, “Your father’s going to be there soon,” when he rushed me out of his study after watching me down a minuscule cup of espresso, wrapped me in this coat at the door, then tumbled me into his arms to carry me over to my side of the yard and dropping me on the threshold of my kitchen door?
My fathers in DC; he’s not supposed to be home before sometime Monday. After the gala last night, he’s to meet with party people in the capital during brunch today, then there’s dinner with a big donor tonight. The flights are booked for Monday morning.
The house feels strange. Empty. Void of life. I shiver even in the warm coat. This has always been home. I’ve never felt out of place here, so why this sudden unease now?
Words Valentino spoke drift back to me. I’d been doing my best to forget them all of yesterday. Indulging in our mutual desire kept them at bay, kept everything far away as we lived for just each other’s bodies and pleasure.
But here, now, I don’t have this diversion, and the hard truth hits me like a slap.
What did my father do to my mother? Valentino implied… No. I can’t even think of this.
She was fifteen, though. I remember being that age, staring at Val next door. If he’d wanted me, I would’ve gladly given myself to him. It had made sense at that age. Heck, even at eighteen, I was still pursuing him.
Except with hindsight comes distance and perspective. Val was a grown man all along, who knew right from wrong. Two silly teens in the same year having sex, while not exactly great as fifteen is still so young and green, is not the same as an adult having his way with an underage minor. The law prosecutes this, and there’s a reason why. Even the age of consent is never lower than sixteen in the whole country.
My mother was fifteen. My father was twenty-seven.
Bile roils up in my throat, and I dash into the bathroom to empty my guts out. When I think of how Val implied it wasn’t love—I can’t even think of what that actually means; the word is too heinous, let alone the crime—I dry-retch over the bowl for a long time as tears burst from my eyes and sobs start wracking my body.
When I gain some semblance of control over myself, I get up, wash my mouth and face, then go back to the bedroom, ditching the coat which feels like a heavy vise around me. I yearn to be in my own clothes, and I raid the closet for the softest, oldest T-shirt and pajama bottoms I own then put them on. The clothes feel like a semblance of comfort, though it’s not enough. I’m all alone in this big house which now feels alien to me, tainted.
A glance across the yard shows the curtains are drawn in Valentino’s bedroom. When I press my nose to the glass, I can see a soft light in the kitchen. It’s early morning and still grey outside, cold and damp. I shiver again. What I wouldn’t give to be in Valentino’s study which is warmed by a hearty wood fire. Or his bed, where his big body warms me…
I gulp down a rush of emotion and grab my phone on the desk where I left it. From memory, I input Val’s number, which he gave me sometime this weekend, in my contacts then pull up the text app.
Me:I miss you.
The message goes, two grey ticks coming up. I wait, but they don’t turn blue.
He’s not checking his phone.
