Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Then things, yeah, they got out of hand.
I should have controlled myself. She'd been gunned down, put through surgery, endured questioning from the Family as well as the cops. She needed rest and comfort. She didn't need me putting my hands on her and confusing shit.
But she'd made those noises.
And it had been so fucking long since I'd heard that, since I'd had a woman's pleasure in my hands.
I lost anything resembling control at that moment.
Which was why I spent the next few days after avoiding temptation. Meaning any time alone with Alessa. Which wasn't easy since she moved out of her bedroom in the morning, and planted herself on the couch.
Luckily, Salvatore and Brio took turns coming in and out to talk to her. Her brothers showed up. My mom. Her step-mom and old man. Then, of course, there was Avi and his single-minded determination to take care of Alessa.
It had been easier, yet harder, than I thought to stay away from her.
But even if I stayed at arm's length from her physically, my mind wandered to her constantly.
It was so bad that I was jealous of fucking Salvatore being able to treat her wounds. And Brio for hanging out with her on the couch, watching movies.
I was envious of my child for playing video games with her.
It was for the best. That was the only thing that kept me going. Because if we got close again, things would get physical. And that was when it would get messy. Because she worked for me. Because, eventually, the job would be done. Because I didn't want Avi to get confused or upset about seeing me with another woman.
It was too complicated.
But there was no stopping my mind from wandering.
As I hung out with my family, I found myself wondering what she might be up to, if she was taking it easy, or trying to do too much to prove to her family—especially her brothers—that she was okay, that it was no big deal that she'd gotten shot twice.
Sure, she was over the worst of it, but she clearly still struggled with certain movements. I didn't want her having long-term issues because she so desperately wanted to show her father and brothers that she was one of them, that she deserved their respect.
Someday, I wanted to pull her aside and tell her that, from what I could see, her brothers very much considered her a part of their family, that they thought she was smart and capable, that they cared a lot about her.
"What's on your mind, sweetie?" my mom asked, waving her neon green knife at me.
"How do you tell a woman that her family does love and respect her, and that it is her own insecurities from her childhood that makes her feel that they don't?" I asked.
"You know what I think?" my mom asked, giving me a keen glance. "I think perhaps that isn't the kind of thing you tell a woman. It's something you have to show her."
"How would you show someone that?" I asked, shaking my head.
"By showing her how much you respect and lo... care for her."
"I never said—"
"Santiago Michael Costa," my mother said, her brow quirking up. "Your mother might have been locked away for a nice chunk of her life, but she damn sure wasn't born yesterday. You think I didn't see those longing looks you kept giving that woman? The way you visibly jerked when she tried to move, and hissed in pain? The way you constantly gave Avi instructions on how to help take care of her?"
"Ma..."
"Don't even try to deny it. I know that look, Santi. What I don't know is why you are giving your son instructions on how to take care of her, when you clearly want to do it yourself."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because this isn't just about me, Mom."
"Avi? Avi is infatuated with that woman."
"As a friend."
"Friend, hm?" she asked. "Wasn't Alessa the first one he rushed over to after school to show off that test he'd aced? Wasn't it Alessa he called out to when he'd had a nightmare the other night? I'm pretty sure little boys don't do that with their friends."
"A caretaker, then."
"Look, I get it," my mom said, pouring diced onions, carrots, and celery into a greased pan. "You're worried about Ottavio thinking you're trying to replace his mom. And that is a valid concern. Especially because you never told him that you and Brit were separated and divorcing." There was a hint of censure in her voice, and with some distance from the situation, I did see her point. "But no one is saying you need to get on one knee and propose to the woman. Or even to show signs of physical affection in front of him for a while. You can still get to know each other around him, then have adult time when he goes to bed."