Raw Bloody Power
Chapter 19
35%
19
GOOD DICK SOLVES LOTS OF PROBLEMS
Ivory
Benedikt Koshka
I’ve got your dough, gorgeous.
Me
Already?
Told you I don’t waste time. My guy was on it the second I mentioned it.
How’s a girl ever to repay you?
Let me see you again, that’s how.
When?
This weekend work for you?
I think I can squeeze you into my busy schedule .
“Sooo are you gonna tell me who’s got you cheesing like that over there or what?”
Lucia’s question snaps my head up so quickly, I nearly give myself whiplash. Heat fills my cheeks as I shove my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and bite my tongue, mulling over what I can possibly say that will make a lick of sense. Grabbing another onesie—this one says ‘If you think I’m cute, you should see my aunt.’—I fold it per my sister-in-law’s preferences and stick it into the nude wicker baskets with all the others. Maybe I can use Dascha as an?—
“Nuh-uh, none of that,” she chides, reading me like a book. “Don’t give me some fabricated bullshit. Spill the tea, sis.”
I eye her warily for a moment, unsure of how to follow that up. I’m still feeling Benedikt out and don’t really know what to make of him. It’s like there’s the tiniest flame that could grow if I allow it, right? But then a part of me continues snuffing it out every time it reignites, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m used to all the games that come with the territory of dating these days, or all the failed attempts at starting a relationship. Benedikt’s the closest thing I’ve had to “steady dating” in a long time, though, and I’m afraid I’ll screw up whatever chance I have if I don’t figure it out soon.
“All right, fine.” Leaving the spread of opened baby shower gifts I was helping her organize, I climb onto her mountain of a bed and criss-cross my legs. “So I’ve been talking to this guy?— ”
Lucia squeals before I can finish, clapping her hands excitedly. Her carob-colored messy bun flops around, brown eyes alight with mirth. I swear there’s little hearts in them and everything. “Fucking finally, dude! Who is he? Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? Have you guys?—”
“Lucia!” I laugh, stopping her dead in her tracks.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I got excited. Go, tell me all the things.” Her beaming smile is infectious.
“You’re sworn to secrecy, do you understand me? This stays between us.”
She nods and kisses two fingers. “Scout’s honor. My lips are sealed.”
I go for it before I can convince myself otherwise and tell her all about him, lying only about how we first met. I give her the same spiel I gave my mom: groomsman, cake, chatting, number exchange, etc. She buys it, of course, and melts into her pillow, the hopeless romantic.
Not that I can blame her when she and my brother had probably the cutest meet-cute ever. Picture it: grocery store, produce section. She was grabbing cilantro off the top shelf when the sprayers turned on. Mid-shriek as she was getting rained on, she flung the wet bundle of herbs, which then landed on my brother’s face as he was out grabbing a few last minute family dinner items for my mom.
Boom—meet-cute. The rest is history.
“I don’t understand the problem,” she says, dark brow perked as she reaches for the rose gold Stanley on her nightstand and takes a long sip. “Why are you unsure about him? ”
I shrug because fuck if I know. “That’s the thing; I don’t have a clue. It’s like half of me wants to let myself give in and see where this will go, and the other half keeps pumping the brakes before I can even get down the street.”
“Do you think maybe you’re half checked out because you’re expecting the other shoe to drop?”
“Probably. I mean, he just seems too good to be true, ya know?”
“Playing devil’s advocate here for a second, but that’s exactly how I felt about your brother. I remember telling my best friend the same thing. He was too beautiful, too perfect, too well-mannered and gentlemanly—everything. And look how that turned out for me.”
“He’s well-mannered ‘cause my mom would beat his ass if he wasn’t,” I chuckle, vividly remembering both her and grandma chasing him with a broom when we were kids. Never doubted him ‘cause I’ve seen him with Lucia over the years—he adores her—yet hearing first-hand he’s a good man fills me with pride.
“Maybe Benedikt’s mom is the same, you never know.” Lucia takes another sip of her water and winks. “Or you can just fuck him already. I’m sure that’ll change your mind.”
My jaw almost unhinges. “Lucia Belucci!” I’m scandalized by her out-of-character suggestion, shoving her arm and all as we burst into a fit of laughter. Lucia’s no prude, but she’s not one to casually traipse into spicy conversations.
“What?” She’s playing the innocent card, smirking around her straw. “Good dick solves lots of problems, and judging by what you’ve told me about him, I’m betting he not only has the equipment, but knows how to use it, too.”
Oh, he does , is two seconds away from slipping off my lips when my brother’s thunderous baritone roars down the hallway. “Ivory!”
Lucia and I glance at one another curiously as his hulking footsteps approach, and the door flies open, nearly knocking into the wall. Pale and winded, Santo stands there, his chest heaving as if he just ran five miles. My spine stiffens at the look swimming in his brown eyes, ice-cold panic instantly dripping through my veins.
Something’s wrong, that much is clear.
“Santo… what happened? Are you okay?” I puff out, scooting to the edge of the bed.
Lucia sits upright then, too, a hand splayed over her belly.
“I’m fine. But he…he’s been in an accident.”
A dozen scenarios flitter through my mind at who he could possibly be talking about and what could’ve happened. My stomach threatens to shoot the remnants of both breakfast and lunch up my throat, my pulse now in a full-on gallop, but I breathe through it and force myself to keep it together. Tentatively, I rise onto my feet and step toward him. “Who?”
“Sandro,” he murmurs quietly. “He’s at NewYork-Presbyterian. Mom said he’s getting a head CT right now, and then they’re taking him for an MRI.”
The world around me screeches to a halt. I can faintly make out Lucia asking a bunch of questions and Santo’s answers following, but it’s all a blur, the words a lagged, slow motion mess.
Alessandro…was hurt?
Strong hands seal around my biceps, sucking me out of the vortex. Dragging my gaze up to Santo’s awaiting stare, he points his chin toward the door. “Go. I’ll stay here. Keep me updated.”
Later that evening, I’m curled in the corner of Alessandro’s hospital room, waiting for him to wake up. Santo’s with Lucia, my mom went to go find coffee, and my dad’s raking the streets for the little asshole who did this to him during football practice.
This, as in a concussion, a black eye, sprained neck, broken arm, and a torn ACL. The school’s trying to write it off as a simple lineback, but this is so far beyond a normal tackle. Sandro’s best friend, Gabe, attested to that. He told my mom—and the cops—the kid would just not get off him despite the coach trying his best to separate them, and once they were able to finally peel him away, the kid booked it. No one could find him. Gabe thinks he doesn’t even go to the school and snuck into the locker rooms for a uniform while they were already on field.
“Anything?” My mom clears the threshold with two small cups of coffee in her hands. She offers one my way as I shake my head .
“Still out.”
“It’s the morphine. They said it could take a while,” she says softly, a despondent hum resounding from her throat as she takes a trembling sip.
I’ve never seen her so rattled. Devastated when Nonna passed, of course, but worn down and splintered, on the verge of completely breaking into tiny, little pieces? Never. I observe her in her simple t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied back in a modest ponytail. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, red-rimmed from crying an ocean of tears in the span of a few short hours. Regardless of the fact my brother will recover, the fear engendered with that initial phone call and the absolute horror of knowing your child was viciously assaulted will stay with her forever.
How could it not?
How could one not allow their mind to wander and think about the possibility it could have been so much worse, that he could’ve been killed? A good, innocent child with his whole life ahead of him…
The sound of my father’s Oxfords tapping against the hospital floors pulls my attention away from my mom. He leans up against the door jam, regarding the love of his life with a keen eye. Exhaustion tears away at his usual poker face, the crinkles of wisdom at the corners of his eyes suddenly deeper. Even the sparse silver in his hair seems brighter and more prominent.
This right here, the sight of him so rundown from the mountain of responsibility he tends to on a daily basis, is the exact reason I didn’t add to that by mentioning the menace that is my ex being at-fault for all that’s happened over the last several weeks. He doesn’t need more stress. I’ll sacrifice my sanity to ensure it if necessary.
“Vittoria,” he calls to my mom, cranking her head in his direction.
She doesn’t say a word, only holds a hand out for him, summoning him to her side. He’s there in an instant, pulling her onto her feet and into the warmth of his embrace. They stand like that for several moments until she starts trembling in his grasp, the softest of whimpers breaking through the silence.
“Starà bene.” He tightens his hold on her frame. “You’ll see.” He’s going to be fine.
Ma nods into his chest, fisting the back of his jacket for dear life.
I steal another glance at my brother then. Neck brace, casts on his arm and his leg, the steady beep of the heart monitor reminding us that he’s alive and well. His dream of playing professionally, however?
Gone.
That’s going to be a rough conversation when the time comes.
Reaching into my purse, I feel around for my phone to check in with Santo. He made me promise I’d keep him up to date as the night went on and I’ve done a shit job at it thus far, texting him only when I first made it to the hospital. The notification sitting on my lock screen, though, assures he’ll be waiting at least another five minutes…
To: Ivory Belluci
From: Rio Guerra
Subject: (no subject)
So… how’s your brother?
No. There’s no way. I read and re-read those three little words a good five times. There’s. No. Fucking. Way. My temper threatens to best me, but I know even the slightest hint of anger emanating from my vicinity is going to draw my father’s attention. Fingers furiously tapping against the screen, I send off my reply.
To: Rio Guerra
From: Ivory Belluci
Re: (no subject)
Be so fucking for real right now.
I note the time of his email: 7:02pm. It’s almost a quarter past now. I wonder if he’ll?—
Ping!
To: Ivory Belluc i
From: Rio Guerra
Re: Re: (no subject)
I am. How’s he doing?
I’m fuming, out of my seat before I can think through the consequences of my actions and dash toward the elevators. He can’t be this stupid! The fire? Vengeful. The tampered shipment? Spiteful. But this, bending the cardinal rule? He knows better!
Within seconds of smashing my thumb into the down arrow, I’m tapping into my recently deleted texts, clicking on Rio’s unsaved contact, and unblocking his number. I almost call him, needing real time answers versus waiting for a message to come in, but when the elevator chimes and the silver doors slide open, a full cart stares back at me.
Of course it’s packed.
Temper diffused for a breath, I step into the only spot available—right at the very front. No, literally, front and center, all of us smushed together like sardines in a can. I’m sure someone behind me has a prime view of my screen but I don’t give a damn, reverting the deleted thread back to my inbox.
Me
You can’t be this stupid.
I know I’ve said it like a million times already, but seriously? Clearly, he has functioning brain cells if he can run successful businesses. Why isn’t he using them? In what universe did he think this would be a?—
Unknown
Well, hello to you, too.
Smoke must billow from my ears as I suppress the growl that wants to break free.
Don’t fuck with me right now, Rio. This was you?
Not me, per se. I didn’t touch him. Heard he got pretty banged up tho.
Two words for you: CARDINAL RULE.
The elevator chimes, but when I lift my gaze to the number panel, I’m still two floors away from the lobby. Several bodies push past me and squeeze out of the cart, forcing me into the personal space of those around me. I smile weakly in apology, and as the doors close behind the last person to disembark, allowing us to rearrange ourselves now that we’re not as tightly packed, my phone buzzes with his reply.
He’s not dead, right?
Why? Why my little brother? He’s a fucking KID! Had a whole future ahead of him, was a shoe-in for the NFL and now that’s GONE.
You went after mine.
I what? I must look like a crazy person, tucked in the corner of this steel box, grunting and growling as I assault my phone.
Are you high? I would NEVER do that.
Well then your precious Russian did after you ratted me out. Not surprised, really. Betrayal has always been your specialty.
Ding!
I’m rushing out of there like a fucking track star, uncaring of those I push past waiting to board. The entire lobby blurs in my peripherals, the sounds irrelevant, my stare trained firmly on the front doors and the dark of night just beyond them. The very second I clear the first sliding door, I make the call. It rings only twice before we’re connected and I jump down his throat.
“I believe the term you’re looking for is karma. You started this, Rio. You burned down my fucking bakery, stole my dad’s shipment, then roped me into helping you when Benedikt gave you a taste of your own medicine, only to play me for a fool by returning half!”
He scoffs, actually fucking scoffs, throwing in a little chuckle while he’s at it. “So your little brother is off the table, but mine isn’t?”
“Way to side-skirt everything I just said,” I hiss, moving away from the doors to a more secluded spot in the shadows. “For the record, I didn’t rat your ass out. He already knew because hello, logic . And two, I had no knowledge of what his plan would be. We didn’t discuss it. I’m not his fucking keeper. ”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re just his little fuck toy now.”
If he were standing in front of me, I’d take another swing at him—even with slightly bruised knuckles. “Grow up, will you? I’m not fucking him. We went out on one date, not that it’s any of your business.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to share that with him.
It really is none of his concern.
“Cool story, bro. Want a cookie?” he jeers. His tone is anything but amused, though.
It’s deep, flat, and unforgiving.
“No, what I want is for you to leave me and my family the fuck alone. Stay on your side of the proverbial line, and I’ll stay on mine.”
Rio laughs, the sound rich yet almost indistinguishable in my ear, driving the blinding rage coursing through me up another notch. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is, actually,” I seethe. “Unless you want both my father and Benedikt coming for your ass since you violated the cardinal rule. Stay the fuck away from me!”
“Aw, how sweet. Finally got your knight in shining armor, huh? Guess you me to thank for that.”
“Ugh!” The singular frustrated word, or sound, whatever you wanna call it blasts into the cool autumn air. I can’t help it. He’s pushed every single button like a little kid messing with the elevator panel. I feel…crazy, on the verge of ripping my hair out. “You’re never gonna stop, are you? It doesn’t matter what I say, what I do…”
“No rest for the wicked,” he croons. “There is honor in vengeance, Petal—especially when it’s so well deserved.”
“The only one who deserves it is you.,” I grit, watching a small group of people enter the hospital. “You’re gonna regret the moment you decided to go after Sandro.”
A squeak resounds through the line as if he just sat upright in his seat, followed by a moment of stale air and background noise. “Is that a threat?” He growls it and I can all but see the way his dark stare narrows, shifting into deadly, soulless slits.
Mine do the same. “It’s a promise.”
“Bet. Watch your back, Princess. I don’t bow to a Belucci, and I sure as hell don’t do well with threats. I’ll be seeing you.”
The call disconnects.
In another time and place, I would’ve been worried. I just waged a full-on war rather than diffusing it. But I’m not, heading back into the hospital with a renewed sense of purpose as I tap into my texts.
Did you have anything specific planned for this weekend?
Benedikt’s reply comes through before I even step onto the elevator.
Not yet. Why? You got something in mind?
How would you feel about drinks and some dancing?
Like a club?
Yes, sir.
As long as I’ve got you on arm, I don’t care where we go.
Cardinal rule says I can’t make a move…
But Benedikt can.