Page 2 of Descent into Madness
Before Lydia, my mom had my clothes made for me by a sweet tailor. When the tailor retired and my mom couldn’t find anyone new, she was referred to Lydia. I’ve been going to her ever since. She’s like the best big sister in the world. Or what I imagine one would be like since I don’t have any brothers or sisters—well, I did have a brother, but… I shut down the thought of Richie Junior.
I’m pacing my room almost twenty minutes later. I catch movement on our small back deck. Huh, my father is rarely outside. It wasn’t like he went outside to avoid wire taps or anything. Our home has multiple devices to prevent observation by Feds. A few had to be manually turned on, but there are two constantly on, emitting a frequency to prevent capture of visual or audio recording.
I watch my father prowling around and gesturing wildly as he spoke. Our home is a three-story with one of those a basement. I’m on the second floor, and I can’t hear what he’s saying. My eyes are drawn to the tall man all in black.
Holy shit, he’s gorgeous. The sun caresses his olive skin, giving him a glow women spend hundreds for. A face full of hard lines and angles has no right to be appealing. His nose is another straight line, blunt and big yet fits perfectly above a wide, perfectly molded mouth—the only soft thing to him. A thought flickers of wanting to touch him to find out if he’s real. But I have a feeling I would cut my hand on his sharp cheekbones—or at the very least over the thick stubble on his block chin.
I’m surprised at how he’s dressed. The all black isn’t surprising. Neither is the fine silk button-down dress shirt I’m pretty sure is tailor made for him because he’s so freaking wide-shouldered but lean in his hips, it would bunch oddly when tucked into his jeans if it weren’t. It’s the jeans that are jarring. Tight black jeans I wouldn’t be shocked to find out were cut to fit him too, mold to powerful thighs. I’ve never seen a man in the Outfit in jeans before.
He raises eerie, clear blue eyes up at me. The color of blue is so light I get lost, searching for color. An odd tingling flashes at the back of my neck. His eyes flick away as if I were no more important than a fly to him.
I have no idea why his dismissal stings, pushing me away from the window. Shaking my head as I close my eyes, I tell myself it’s fine. I finally see what the fuss is about. Now, I understand. Even with several feet and the closed window between us, there is no missing the air of lethal threat around him. And it has nothing to do with the massive gun on his hip.
The next time he comes to the house, I’ll make sure to be very far away.
I’m still running the brief interaction in a loop through my mind when Harriet texts me ten minutes later my father is gone.
Relieved, I do my best to bury the weird moment. Lydia is waiting. The uncomplicated, awesome Lydia. Forget Manuel Rodriguez. I have no doubt he’s forgotten me.
* * *
Manuel
I watch as Nicolette Angelo gets into the back of a car driven by one of her father’s men. I’m in my own car across the street and maybe a hundred feet away. I don’t miss the way she scans the street as though she’s looking for me. The confirmation Nicolette felt my eyes on her the way I had felt hers on me, sends a jolt of unease through me.
For the last year, I’ve been to Richie Angelo’s home a half dozen times. I’m aware Nicolette was never home when I met with him. Did he catch me looking at her pictures? I thought she was pretty in the pictures I’ve seen. They didn’t compare to her in the flesh.
I see her mother in her oval face and long thin nose. Yet there is no confusing those pouty, lush lips with her mother’s injected mouth. Or the kind of curves that are dangerous to a man’s concentration. Her mother is a beautiful woman, but Nicolette is stunning.
I hadn’t dared let her father catch me looking up at her. Richie is always on the lookout for a hint of something he can use against you—friend or foe. I should be driving away from her, not following her.
Except curiosity demands I find out more about this odd response to her. I’ve lived thirty-seven years without my body responding to a woman the way it did to her. No woman has made me hard just looking at her. My cock got hard, then I went looking for relief. If I have this kind of response to her eyes on me, what would touching her be like?
* * *
Nicolette
Lydia greets me with a hug and a selection of dresses. “Oh my god, Lydia, you’re going to have this baby any day.”
She shakes her head. “I wish. I’m not due for another month. This time, I mean it. This is the last one, four kids is the magic number. Enough about me. Let’s get you into these dresses. You said it was a big night, but you didn’t give details. So, I got a few different styles and lengths. What’s happening?”
“I’m finally going to… you know. I want it to be perfect.” I blush.
“Oh sweetie, good for you. I remember you talking about the cutie in IT.” She gives me another hug. But when she pulls away, her face is serious. “You get it’s not always going to be perfect the first time though, right? Like it can hurt, men don’t always, well, they aren’t always great. I’m worried it won’t be perfect, and you’ll blame yourself.”
I nod. “I know. I do. Maybe it’s a part of the reason I never, you know.” Good lord, I am an adult. If I could stop talking like a thirteen-year-old girl, that would be great.
“Sex.” See, not a bad word. “It’s always seemed so scary. With the weird way a virgin is seen as some prize in the mafia world, it never even seemed like an option. But I’m so over it. The only thing is…”
Her eyes are soft. “What sweetie?”
“I’ve wanted to. But every time we try, I get freaked out and can’t do it,” I admit.
“Are you sure he’s the one you want to be with for the first time? Maybe it’s an inner knowledge he isn’t the right one for you. While I’m not one of those people who believes sex is reserved for love and needs to be some sacred thing or whatever people say to keep women from owning their own bodies and sexuality... I don’t know. Maybe I read too many romance novels, but I can’t imagine being freaked with someone I love.”
I shrug. “It’s all me. My nonna was determined to ensure I stayed the good girl virgin before I married. She said the most awful things about how sex was dirty and only sluts wanted sex. Between her and the nuns, I didn’t even dare do more than touch my own body to wash because she told me it was a sin that would send me straight to hell.”
Lydia shakes her head. “You get that’s bullshit?”
