I'm fixing myself a cup of coffee—definitely not trying to decipher any murmurings I might be able to hear through the walls—when a door slams so loudly, I swear it makes my teeth rattle.

I am minding my business.

And as far as I'm concerned, the aggressive racket outside my door that starts up seconds later is one hundred percent my business.

When I open it, Tommaso leans lazily against my doorframe with a cigarette drooping from his lips. The differences between him and Massimo are striking. The younger brother is half controlled chaos with his strange tattoos, messy hair, and that cutting, devilish grin.

He drops the cigarette on my hardwood floors, grinding it down with the heel of his boot before brushing past me without an invitation.

Okay, asshole.

I make sure my irritation is hidden behind a mask of calm before turning around and sitting at my counter to finish doctoring up my coffee. If he wants to be a man-child, I'm not his mother—I won't try to stop him. I will, however, sit here and judge him.

It doesn't take long for my nonchalance to set him off, as I thought it would.

"You know, you can play pretend all you want, but you're the last thing he needs. Enjoy the ride while it lasts, sweetheart, because it's about to get real ugly real soon." Tommaso's grin gleams at me from underneath dark features as he lounges on my couch like he owns it. "That's how things typically go in this family."

I'm about to lash out in response, but the daggers of pain behind his easy smile draw me up short. Massimo must've just told them about their father and while the man certainly didn't sound like someone to be missed, it must still be a lot to process.

"What exactly do you think I'm pretending about?"

He cocks a brow, eyes dancing like he knows something I don't. "This life isn't for you. You've had your fun though, haven't you? But you'd never be accepted into his world. It's time to give it up."

I have to stop myself from laughing into my coffee mug, setting it down carefully. Tommaso doesn't like that, if the tightening of his fists is anything to go by.

"Sorry," I chuckle, "it's just you're literally sitting in my home acting like you fucking know me. I promise, I'm being so genuine when I say I think you have more important things to focus on."

"Oh, I know you," he leans forward, that grin ever-present. "You're the kind of girl I'd fuck because she's fun for a night and she's bored of the guys she usually lets have their way with her. You're definitely not Simo's type—but then again you're not anyone's type, and that's the whole point. When I say this life isn't for you, I'm not talking about our world. I'm talking about relationships. You're not that fucking hard to read." At my silence, he sighs. You really gonna make me spell it out?" He begins counting off on his fingers. "You're broke, aimless in life, an addict for a little excitement, and hot enough to get what you want. I know because I'm the same. Well," he tilts his head in mock reconsideration, "I'm not broke and aimless. I'm just hot."

I decide I'm no longer going to be taking the high road with this fucking loser.

"Okay, my turn. Tell me how I do," I snap, making sure my smile is wider than his. "You don't like that I can get through to your brother and you can't. You don't like that I'm the reason Massimo is even talking to you right now and you sure as fuck don't like that your brother hardly speaks to you, but months after knowing me, he has no issue speaking to me."

Raw pain slashes across his features and he doesn't try to hide it. I don't think Tommaso could hide anything; he wears every emotion so acutely. I know this because he was right about one thing. Him and I? We're not so different after all. His humor, defensiveness, extreme offensiveness—it's like looking in a mirror.

"You and I are similar. I mean look at us now," I laugh humorlessly, gesturing between us. "But that makes it so much worse, doesn't it? You hate that he shuts down around you and not me. It feels unfair. I'd venture to say it hurts you a whole fucking lot. I can't begin to imagine how that feels, or everything you three have been through together. I was never trying to get in between your bond. I was only trying to help. But just because you've decided to be a fucking baby, doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and let you shit all over me."

The fire in Tommaso's eyes burns bright as he rises slowly, stalking towards me. I straighten, refusing to back down, noticing how he's masked the hurt again behind obstinate humor. It's saddening to witness, but this man needs to be taken down several thousand pegs before I start feeling bad for him.

"You've been playing house with him for a few months and you think that makes you someone special. When this all blows up—because it will—and you're left in the fucking dirt, don't be surprised when nobody helps you up." His words end in a snarl, and on his way out he steps on the cigarette again for good measure.

Once he's gone, I have to laugh. So much for good first impressions. Between him and Santo, I don't think things could've gone any worse.

But they'll have to do a whole lot more to scare me off.

♛

After that first day, Massimo's relief that I don't let his brothers' behavior drive me out of his life forever is palpable. I would have good reason to, more than he knows. I don't tell him about Tommaso confronting me, something I know confuses the hell out of his younger brother. I'm sure he thought I'd rat him out first chance I got, just so I could have Massimo take care of it for me. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

Whatever's between Tommaso and me is just that. There's no way I'd make Massimo parent the way his brothers interact with me.

Even so, Santo does apologize for assuming I was an escort. However, he does so like he has a gun to his head, which tells me enough about whose idea it really was. And that's fine with me. He has no reason for the apology to be genuine—he doesn't know me. And he doesn't pretend to, which is why my issues don't lie with him. Even though he's still a big, grumpy asshole.

In the next week, as Massimo's brothers take over his home, a few things become clear. Tommaso is dedicated to getting on my every last nerve, as if he thinks that will somehow drive me away. All it really does is solidify my resolve to not give an inch. Santo has settled on mostly ignoring me. And there is something dark, heavy, and sad looming between the brothers that I'm completely unaware of.

Their conversation seems stilted, like they're skirting around an issue none of them want to be the one to bring up. At seemingly random moments, Santo or Tommaso will get a deeply sad look in their eyes and everybody will shut down. What comes next is either a full-blown, aggressive argument (often in Italian), or one of them (usually Tommaso) forcibly removing themself from the vicinity.

Then there are countless times I'm convinced they're about to come to blows, and the next second everything is miraculously fine. Eventually I realize that's just the way they do communication. Nearly every matter is a 'sit-down' and necessitates raised voices, constant interrupting, and food.

I do my best to give them their own space, but to still make it clear I have no plans on going anywhere in the long term. I have enough sense not to insert myself into every area of their world. There's a lot in the manner of business—like, mafia business—that I'm really not trying to act like I have any right or need to be around for. It's clear a lot has happened while Massimo's been gone, and they've been needing to discuss these things for a while. And the same goes with their father and his death. They need to process it with each other, not me.

This means I'm taking on extra shifts at Pulse which, honestly, I needed to do anyway. I can tell Jason is at the end of his rope with me and if it had been any longer of me shirking work responsibilities, he would've fired me.

Massimo is waiting outside Pulse every night to walk me home, visibly exhausted in new ways. I'm always waiting for it to become clear that I messed up gravely by sending that text, but despite the chaos and mess his brothers bring with them, Massimo never once makes me feel bad for what I did.

And honestly, I'd get it if he did. I took a gamble, one that I'm still not sure is paying off. All three of the brothers are clearly being stupid. Some more than others, sure, but I don't need to understand their complicated dynamic to see that they love each other.

One afternoon, I wake from a nap after a long shift and slip into Massimo's apartment to grab Nik. He's taken it upon himself to be Massimo's pet lately. Ever since his brothers have been in town, Nik has insisted on staying over there. Even though constant loud noise absolutely wrecks his digestive system.

Nobody spares me a look as I enter, and I quickly realize why. Massimo is backed up against the wall with his head in his hands. He looks strangely fragile, and the sudden fear I feel is bone deep. I don't know what led to this moment. What I do know is Tommaso's barbed tongue and dark humor are nowhere to be seen, and what exists in its place is a boy who is terrified for his older brother. While he freezes up, Santo is the one who jumps into action, albeit slowly and calmly, which I can tell are methods he's adopted solely for Massimo.

Santo's inked body contrasts his older brother's as he speaks to him in low, steady tones. All of us are absolutely frozen, as if breathing too loudly will set Massimo off further. I only catch the tail end of what Santo says, which is surprisingly tender for a man who looks so aggressive.

"Told you, didn't I? Whenever you don't know what's happening or who you are, I'll remind you."

Every inch of me aches to go to him and make him okay, but what I'm witnessing feels wrong to interrupt.

Massimo's shoulders loosen slowly, and with it so does his brothers' stress. His eyes are still shut in pain, like he has an awful migraine. Forgoing Nik, I silently remove myself from their private moment, but Santo catches my eye on the way out. His usual scowl is now a stricken look full of fear, so intense that he forgets to hide the emotion from me.

Why is Massimo getting worse? What the hell are we supposed to do about it?

I thought the brothers would know exactly what was going on, but it's clear they don't. Their fear and care for Massimo is so potent that sometimes it overrides everything else in the room. All they want is to help him. It's actually heart wrenching to watch them realize they can't.

But it has to be most terrifying for Massimo, even though he never admits it. Some people suffer loudly; bleeding their pain is an act of passion. But Massimo is silent about his. His bleeding is internal. He doesn't let anyone help; he just slowly absorbs it back into himself whenever it starts seeping through the cracks. While we run circles around him trying to fix something we can't see.

I would fucking give anything to make it better.

Those nights he walks me back from Pulse and we pass the time in silence, I can feel the tension building. He looms next to me like a hollow skeleton, but still steals small touches in the brush of our shoulders or the caress of hands. The second we get through my front door, he lets me see the hunger in his eyes before kissing me so soundly and thoroughly I'm still breathless even hours after he leaves.

But tonight, there's something more desperate to him. Like all the tension of the last week has finally coiled up to a breaking point inside him. When I move to take off my shoes, he shakes his head.

"Leave those. Take off everything else."

I do as he says, my dress sliding easily over my shoulders and pooling on the floor. I'm only wearing a simple thong underneath, and my blood runs thick and hot. In seconds, I'm standing before him in nothing but that and my matching heels. The column of his throat bobs and he swipes a hand over his mouth as his eyes roam everywhere but my face.

"I like to match," I grin, the click of my heels sharp as I approach him. Loving the way he drinks in the sight of my legs, abdomen, and chest, bare for him. "I think white complements my skin nicely. Don't you agree?" His breath catches as I grab his hand and bring it to my chest, gasping as he pinches my nipple between his fingers.

"I do," he says like silk, jaw hardening. "Have you found anyone else who agrees?"

I smile as he slides his other hand behind my neck, loving the way he looks down his nose at me. Even in heels. I can't remember ever feeling as desired as Massimo makes me feel.

"Mm, not y-yet." My words end in a surprised gasp, trailing off on a moan as he yanks me towards him by the neck and deftly moves his other hand to shove past the thin material of my thong. Everything inside me trembles at the feel of him, lazy but intentional, exploring my sensitivity and spreading my arousal.

"You still test me," he breathes out, low and disbelieving. "Play with me. Even now." His fingers arch inside me, and I gasp at the flurry of sensation.

He's right. I don't walk on eggshells around him. I don't think I ever will.

It doesn't feel wrong, wanting him like this. Wanting him when he's eclipsed by darkness and shadows, because it's just another version of the same strong man I've come to care for. And all versions of him—every last one—want me.

I take a risk and start unbuttoning his shirt. I want to see him, run my fingers over that unblemished expanse of skin. Trickling my touch down the ridges of his stomach, I relish in the way the muscles tighten. I stop at his hip, then move up again, teasing him before meandering down, down, down once more. When I finally brush over the hardness there too, his breath stops.

"You are my favorite person to play with," I murmur, scratching my nails over his lower abdomen. He shudders, grabbing my hands, and the way his mouth comes down over mine is like a rush of flame, a blend of teeth and tongue. So fucking hot that it takes me a while to realize he's letting me touch him. Pushing into it, in fact.

Massimo's letting me feel how much he wants me, and he's not pulling away.

"Only person," he corrects. "Let's see how you do, dolcezza."

That's how we find ourselves in the loveseat right beneath my living room window, because once he shrugs off his shirt I don't let us get any further. Not with those smooth, rolling muscles glowing pale beneath the light of the moon casting him in its cold light. He looks carved from the most exquisite stone. We haven't even done a thing yet, but his eyes are feverish, hair falling over his forehead from my clawing hands, mouth swollen.

He sits back on the cushions, slacks unbuttoned and hanging off cut hips, gazing at me unhurriedly. It might be a trick of the darkness, but I swear there's a smirk on his lips as I step between his legs.

He trails a hand up the side of my hip, jaw tightening as he cups it in that possessive way I adore and pulls me on top of him. I can't breathe, and it fills me with a heady rush as I lower my hips so all my weight rests on him. Right where he needs it. The hard ridge of his cock pushing up against my core makes my belly dip and swirl.

I straddle him and give one slow drag of my hips just to feel him get harder between my legs, to see his eyes go almost black and revel in the quick rise and fall of his chest. I can't help doing it again, and his head tilts against the back of the seat as he watches me. Once more and he stops me with both hands on my hips, fingers splayed possessively over my ass.

"You want to do this, Vivienne?"

I nod, and he tightens his fingers enough to make me gasp. "Words."

"Yes. I want to do this. Tell me what you want, Massimo."

He regards me stonily for a second, as if making sure I mean it. Then he jerks his chin in a gesture to the floor. "Kneel and suck."

Heat curls and grows beneath my skin until I worry I'll make a mess of his pants with how fucking turned on I am. The second my knees hit the carpet, I almost moan. I've never been so... eager to give head before, never enjoyed the way a man looks from this angle, but Massimo looks like a fucking god. 

My hands make quick work getting rid of the fabric between us and it isn't lost on me that this is a big deal for him. He jerks a little as my lips wrap around the hardness of his cock, the display of muscles above me tensing. A sound tears from his throat as I don't waste a second and slowly work him deeper, sliding him over my tongue and hollowing my cheeks. I don't move until my eyes start watering and my throat contracts, desperate for air, pulling off with a pop.

Massimo looks about ready to either end my life, or devote his life to me.

In the mood to see how much he lets me tease him, I tilt my head and lick him slowly. Movement catches my eye and I realize that to my left is a mirror. The sight of us is sinful; me, naked except for my heels and thong, my long hair wrenched into a crude ponytail by Massimo's hand. And him, sprawled out before me like a fallen angel, his chest glistening in a thin layer of sweat.

I slide my tongue over his head, sucking for a moment to collect the bead of liquid there and see the way it makes his breathing pick up. My voice sounds husky when I speak.

"You pretend like you're so controlling but really, you just let me do anything, don't you? What would make you mad at me? Hm?"

His eyes sharpen as I release him and stand, making a show of wiping my lips before turning to walk away. "I think I'm hungry. I'm gonna go—"

A force suddenly bowls me to the right, and it genuinely takes me a few seconds to realize what's happened. But when I do, I'm staring at myself and my hair is wrapped around Massimo's fist. He looms over my shoulders, forcing me to look at us in the mirror. 

"Saw you looking in the mirror before. Do you like admiring yourself?" He presses to me from behind, and I feel his breath trembling as I push my ass into his cock. "Would that satisfy the brat? Does this turn you on more, Vivienne?"

My abdomen flutters as he drags a heavy hand across my stomach, and too late I notice something glinting in his hands. A pocket knife.

I freeze, staring at the blade, at the empty hollow of his eyes... but they're not empty. They're warm and trusting. I relax back into his hold.

"I believe I told you to take these off earlier." He hooks the blade beneath the thin fabric, snapping it with hardly any movement. I hardly register the knife clattering to the floor because then he's working me, and pathetic whines are leaking from my lips because he's so fucking good with his fingers and the way he's wrapped around me makes it even hotter.

"Look at you," he murmurs, looking down at me, "so pretty when you're mine like this. Too pretty for me to even punish for the dramatics you just pulled. What do you want, Vivienne?"

I lean my head back on his shoulder, at a complete loss for words. My brain is one big puddle, my hips working to keep pace against his fingers, until... until he stops.

"Always running your mouth and right now is when you decide to shut up?" He shoves his index finger between my lips, making me taste myself. "You're so good at using this when I don't want you to, baby. Don't hold back on me now."

Regaining a bit of my fucking sanity, I glare up at him and manage to bite down in protest, hard enough to almost draw blood. Something in his eyes flares and a sound rumbles in his chest as he presses me harder to him, so I can feel his cock jump.

"Brat. Look at yourself." He pulls my jaw to the side with derision in his tone. "You don't even look mad. Just drunk and desperate."

Nuzzling his head into my neck, Massimo suck at the skin beneath my jaw. When he pulls away, I can't help the moan that escapes from somewhere deep inside of me. Because that perfect, hollow face is transformed by the soft upturning of his lips, eyes that look more alive than I've ever seen as he gazes at me in the mirror.

"Massimo. Please. Please just touch me already. I'll do anything."

He doesn't make me wait once he's made me beg. All the air is sucked from the room at his touch but still, it doesn't stop me from noticing the way his eyelashes flutter at the feel of me. Clenching around his fingers, my back arches away from him as that feeling I've only felt from his fingers and tongue sweeps through me. Every last nerve ending feels like it's been exposed to a lit match. My legs, all my limbs, are shaking. It's first a slowly spreading and burning warmth; then it's so intense I can hardly stand it, bringing tears to my eyes and jerking his name from my mouth.

My skin still tingling, I try and get on my knees, wanting to finish sucking him off, but he pulls me back up. "No, not like that. Want to see your face."

I nod, remembering him telling me that before, but I'm suddenly so fucking desperate to make him feel good I can't think straight. As desperately as I needed to come, I need to feel him finally lose control.

The tip of his tongue darts out, sliding across his bottom lip, and his eyes are warm. "So desperate and needy. Never thought I'd see you like this, sweet girl. Dying to touch me?"

I nod, anchoring myself with my hands on his hips, and a mere second later I can't stop them from drifting down...

"Words, Vivienne."

I look up at the hardness of his tone.

"Yes, Massimo, I'm dying to touch you," I only remember what he's even asked because it's running on endless loop in my head. "Please, I've wanted to make you feel good for so long."

He threads his fingers in my hair, and I notice the trace of vulnerability lingering on his features before he attaches his mouth to mine and bites on my lower lip with a low groan.

He kisses me as I grip him and shudder at his fullness, how thick and warm he feels. He's harder than I thought he'd be; it seems him getting me off affected him strongly. That is far hotter than I was expecting, and I pump the length of him until I feel his chest shudder.

Eventually he breaks from the kiss as he can't focus on it any longer, his lips brushing my cheek and his eyelashes tickling my forehead as his breaths become mine. I remember once wanting to break him, to see that composure crumble, but I clearly had no fucking idea what I was wishing for.

"Vivienne, Vivienne, Viv—" my name gets caught in his throat, mixed with a jumble of pleas and praises, all narrowing down to, "so good, you're so good, so precious" as he finishes with a jerk of his hips and one last shudder that seems to last a very long time. 

And... fuck. After that, I'm turned on all over again.

♛

Okay but you know it's slow burn when he has his first nut in chapter 35, goodness everyone! So sorry! Hope y'all enjoyed, literally half of this is smut and the other half is Tommaso being a fucking dickhead. 

Hmm... I do wonder what Vivienne could do to make Massimo mad at her...

- G