Chapter 2: Zefiro

Their sex tonight time is different. Rougher. They are in her bedroom and she is bent over the arm of a green, plush couch, her hair pulled back by his fist as he rams his dick into her, punishing her, hitting her. Her eyes aren’t closed. No, she’s gazing out the window and my blood heats when she narrows her eyes at me, standing by my window. Surprise shines in her eyes, and I expect her to scream.

Instead, her lips part, and her eyelashes flutter, a lustful haze darkening her eyes. And she smirks at me, biting her bottom lip as she comes.

“Fuck,” I breathe, stepping away from the window, hands instinctively hiding my erection. There’s no way she sees me. My windows are one way through. There is no fucking way she saw me.

Heart seconds away from exploding, I flee into the bathtub, stepping into the shower without taking off my clothes. I’m unsure how long I let the downpour drench me. I don’t get out until my teeth is clattering and my lips are blue. I’m still rock hard. For the first time, the water does nothing. So, I turn to the alcohol in my cellar for help.

It’s been way too long since I’ve been with a woman. Not since Priya died three years ago. My dealings got her killed and I have punished myself every day for just as long. It is, after all, the biggest reason I left Milan and abandoned the family business for my younger brother, Enzo. He’s always wanted everything I own anyway.

Releasing a ragged sigh, I rub a palm over my face and roughen my damp hair. I can’t live like this. Like a fucking creep, lusting after a woman I barely even know. It makes me want to sit in the front pews at the nearest church and beg Dio for damned forgiveness. It makes me want to bleach out my eyes, my mind, forget everything I’ve seen and come to learn. This isn’t me. Nonna didn’t raise me this way.

Reaching for my cellphone, I dial one of the five contacts I have stored on it. I usually don’t bother saving digits. I have a photographic memory. That made it much more impossible to forget what her folds looked like when she parted her legs and pushed in that damned vibrator. I’m a man tormented. And I’ve had enough.

The man picks on the first ring. “Mr. Della Rocca.”

“Jonathan Blake.” I tip my wine glass back and suppress a groan at the burn in my throat. “Do we have a buyer yet?”

Papers flip in the background. “Two offers actually. Seventy million and—”

“Take it off the market, Jon. I no longer wish to sell.”

My agent goes awfully quiet on the other end of the line and seconds beat awfully slow before his low response. “You have yet to hear the other offer for your Aquila. It’s being valued to more than a hundred million dollars!”

My nostrils crinkle at the disrespect of putting a price tag to a building that’s centuries old. It’s the only thing I didn’t relinquish to Enzo when I let him take my father’s seat as heir. I loved it there. Priya loved it there. I intended to sell it when the memories, grief and guilt threatened to steal whatever was left of my sanity. I saw Priya in every damned corner of that house. Clear as day. It fucked with me.

Perhaps, I need to return there. Better Priya’s fucking ghost than the filthy thoughts living rent free in my head at the sight of that woman. “I don’t care, Jon. Take the covers off my damned furniture or I’ll strangle you with each one and wear a hole into the ‘For Sale’ sign with your head.”

I’m joking. This is how I joke. With threats. Priya often said I was a big softie trying to hide behind brutal threats I couldn’t see through. I had laughed at the comment. How untrue it was.

“S-sir,” Jonathan stutters, his voice catching. “The house will be ready upon your arrival.”

I nod, pleased. “Very good.”

However, the next day, after work, as I shove a few of my bags into my car and drive down the street, the entire course of my life shifts as a woman jumps right in front of my car and I run her over.