Vivienne

The arrival of morning—and the grand occasion of the wedding—doesn't grant me miraculous respite from my problems.

Everything is worse, actually. I'm pretty sure I managed to sleep a grand total of seventeen minutes, and my heart feels like it's being actively passed through a wood chipper.

Because somewhere, at some cursed point in the middle of this big fucking mess of a weekend, I realized I'm in love with Massimo Romano.

And it really couldn't be more of a mess. Crime bosses practically everywhere I turn, mentally deteriorating Capos who sneak off for shady reasons (while everyone pretends not to notice said deterioration), dead brothers... I'm reeling, quite honestly. The family drama runs deep, to say the least. Someone needs to lock these men into a padded room for a week so everything can be aired—or punched—out.

It doesn't help that Leah's words are on a constant loop in my head. Her warning gripped me by the throat and I haven't been able to catch a full breath since. But if I'm honest with myself, what she said about him wasn't any kind of grand reveal. Massimo himself may as well have said it first when he made it clear to me and Santo that he was going to be just like his father.

That he would just spiral one day and never come back.

It's not hurt I'm feeling. Not anger or disappointment or heartbreak that Massimo doesn't seem to have space within him to love me. Fuck that, honestly.

It's panic. Because I still love the man!

Despite it all. Even because of it.

I'm fucked. I'm so fucked.

A hundred things should have deterred me by now. Leah's revelation about Nico, for one. The death of Massimo's little brother is so fresh. Or should be. But his lack of care towards the situation goes so deep that he clearly didn't mind me finding out the way I did. Surely he knew someone would bring up Nico eventually.

My heart aches, but I'm not sure what to do with it. If I should do anything. He wasn't my brother; I never knew him. But not even knowing about Nico's existence feels wrong somehow. There's been this big disturbance in the life of Massimo and his family... but it's been erased.

Then there's this weekend's festivities.

After word got around about Massimo defending me so publicly against Bianco, people have been so eager to catch a glimpse of the first woman Massimo has publicly associated with that I almost feel bad for Nina. But apparently, the Capo expressing even slight interest in someone else is just as much cause for fanfare as his brother's marriage. And the issue is, as much as this weekend has been Massimo publicly reclaiming his position as head of the family... this is my entry into his world. My decision—my dedication, in a way—to stick by his side.

But... as what? Not his wife, that's for damn sure. So as his mistress, who will never wear his ring but keeps his family crest around her neck like a noose?

The wonderful thing about it all is that I don't even need to spiral by myself. I have help, in the form of a team of women called in for hair and makeup before we head over to the venue. They get busy making me pretty for the wedding, and have no problem gossiping. It's all quite informative.

Massimo, apparently, is a hot commodity. As a powerful member of the family, he's an attractive prospect to fathers with young daughters who need marrying off. Massimo has, of course, rejected each and every proposal, and it's not hard to imagine why. But his refusal to ever marry, to carry on the family name, is a problem. It's a weakness—or at least perceived as one, among fellow Italians who uphold the value of family and rival mafias alike.

Seeing as mafia marriages are primarily business deals, not love unions, it's more detrimental than some realize that Massimo has closed himself off from that. 

Marriages create new alliances between families—or mend broken ones. Contracts are written, heirs are demanded, deadlines agreed upon, dotted lines are signed... it's all business.

And in case I was under any impression that there was a chance of romance in these unions... the gossip team makes sure to cover that too.

It's quite common for husbands to have mistresses. While the wives are contained mostly to the home, the husband's job takes him everywhere, to new places with new people. New women to fuck. It's generally accepted that the men won't remain faithful, while the women are expected to be. And as for the mistresses... well, they try and keep it quiet but everyone knows who she is. They just don't talk about it. Because it doesn't matter what goes on behind closed doors no matter how fucked up it is; there are always other sins these men are juggling that are far worse than infidelity.

The women even casually accept the likelihood that Santo, for all his dedication to Nina—which he apparently makes very public—will still be enjoying women outside his marriage.

"At least he doesn't hit her," the one curling my hair says, smacking her gum, "as far as I know, anyway. And he's not at all bad on the eyes, is he?" A chorus of laughs. "That girl will be set for life, if she knows how to be a good wife."

The one painting my toes scoffs, not meanly. "Nina Genovese was raised by her pervert uncle and an aunt who turned the other way. Father killed her mother. Brother killed himself. Girls like her, from families like that? They don't get to come back from it. She's lucky to be marrying a Romano... no matter how suicidal their Capo is."

The others titter in agreement, and I'm astonished that there's not one thread of meanness behind their words. Just a blasé acceptance. 

But I'm focused on something else.

"Suicidal?"

The women give me affronted looks, as if they've forgotten I'm here. I raise a brow, not backing down. They know who I am, that I'm with Massimo.

The one at my feet eventually clears her throat. "The Capo has a blatant aversion to family. To his own and to building another one. It's obvious, although he never states it. Rumor has it he even sterilizes the escorts he keeps in his home so there aren't any mistakes. But... I don't know," she puts her head down, trying to act coy. "They're just rumors. Lots of people thought the Capo was just planning on letting his family die out... until this wedding, of course. We're surprised he even allowed it."

"Why would he need to allow his brother to fall in love and get married?" I just can't quite accept the fact that there's no love between Santo and Nina. 

"He doesn't get that kind of emotion," one of the other women pipes up. "Like, it just doesn't compute. I heard he kept trying to get rid of Nina when Santo became interested in her."

The one working on my makeup notices my frown. "Honey, you're fucking a sociopath. Don't ask questions and enjoy the ride. What else is a man like that for?"

I stand suddenly, brushing their hands off me. "I think we're done here. Thanks for all your help." Halfway out the door, I glance back at their surprised faces. "You'd look real ugly too if I reduced you to your worst qualities."

I take deep breaths as I hurry down the hallway, trying to quell my anger.

What kind of world am I getting myself into?

And why do I still want it, even knowing how bleak it will be?

At least, you know, I'm staying true to myself. Because when my heart wants something, nobody can stop me from having it. And what it wants is the man who has convinced everyone he lacks one.

♛

The Romano mansion is so magnificent that my mental shitstorm is put on pause. Because damn, what luxury a life of crime can get you.

My jaw is on the floor the second we pass through the heavily guarded gates, and I don't think I'll be picking it up anytime soon.

The house is massive. White stone, distinctly European, nestled in the center of a sprawling property with mazes of gardens and lush fields behind it. There's immaculate hedging all around it that sections off the property from prying eyes. They like their privacy, clearly. In front of the house, there's a cobblestone courtyard and an intricately carved fountain spewing plumes of water. Looming against a gray sky, the house is the lone epicenter of this grand display of wealth. It looks both threatening and beautiful. Ghostly and ethereal.

Most of the house is sectioned off, off limits to guests. But the main corridor is open and bustling with people making a clear path to a back patio that opens to a beautiful garden. Jasmine, pink roses, a string quartet playing lilting background music.

It's all so lovely. Although I know it's a place Massimo desperately needed to escape, seeing his home feels wrong when he's not here.

Leah—who I came with—needs to rush off to help with last minute preparations, so I busy myself with finding a drink. Everyone else left the villa early this morning to prepare for the day, seeing as they're part of the ceremony. Leah is too, but she was kind enough to leave later with me.

I occupy myself by making sure I don't accidentally get drunk, or be too obvious about ogling this fucking house, as I fall into conversation with guests. Everyone is eager to ply me with questions about Massimo. 

Massimo... who still isn't here.

Eventually, we're all ushered through the garden and led through a winding maze of hedges threaded with more pink roses. The ceremony is going to be held in a hidden courtyard in the back of the property. The sweet sound of the music follows us, a light wind making the leaves whisper.

We take our seats, and before I know it the ceremony is starting, and Massimo still isn't here.

But... neither is Tommaso. Santo stands alone at the altar, save for Samuel and a few other men I don't know.

I'm so lost in my confusion that I don't realize Nina is even walking down the aisle until the music swells and I see Santo's face kind of just... crumble. And then it all makes sense, because she's walking towards him with one of his brothers on each arm.

The guests give a collective sigh, some of the women start fanning at their faces, and it's like a scene from a movie. Nina looks perfect, classy and angelic, but it's the joy emanating from her that really makes her shine. Tommaso's got the widest grin on his face, as if everyone's there for him, but love shines from him so brilliantly as he glances back and forth between Nina and his brother... who has a finger conspicuously wiping at the corner of one of his eyes.

And Massimo... I'm so fucking relieved he's here that I don't notice how off he is until the ceremony is almost over.

And by that point, Santo is pulling Nina into a deep kiss to the cheers of the guests, and he refuses to let her pull away, whispering something with a crooked grin that makes her laugh and clutch onto him. Then they're both walking down the aisle with glistening eyes and flushed faces, fluttering rose petals filling the air. Nina waves at the guests while Santo only has eyes for his bride.

And I believe that those women were wrong about what their marriage will look like. In a world characterized by such violence and darkness, it takes quite a bit of effort to believe in something beautiful and innocent. Something delicate and soft, like the kind of love that makes you blush and smile so wide you can't even speak. The kind of love where a hardened man allows himself to soften in all the right places.

And I never thought a mafia wedding would be the place I realize it, but fuck. I want something like that. I want it so badly, but I can't have it.

Afterwards, as everyone congregates to the gardens again for the reception, Massimo finds me.

"Who was that?"

He's focused icily on something behind me, but I don't see anybody that looks suspicious when I turn around. Just happy, smiling guests.

"... Who?" I frown at how tightly wound he seems. There's sweat on his brow, deep circles beneath his eyes. He was fidgeting all through the ceremony, visibly restless, and it's even more unsettling to see up close. "How did last night go? Are you okay?"

Massimo's eyes zip to mine, and for some reason my breath is stolen.

"What did he say to you."

I look around us before stepping closer and lowering my voice. "I don't know who or what you're talking about. Let's go somewhere priv—"

"I know he said something to you," he hisses, grabbing both of my wrists and drawing me right up against him. "Because he's trying to ruin me. There was nothing left of me to ruin—until you. He knows that. Don't play stupid with me, Vivienne. You're just going to leave the second I turn around."

"I haven't talked to anyone," I say calmly, although my heart is hammering so violently it's making me nauseous. "Let's go inside. People are looking."

"You can't leave. You can't," he chants, eyes feverish. "You have to let me explain. Give me—give me a chance." His chest is trembling with the force of his breaths, fingers tightening around my wrists. "Nobody ever does that. I don't have the words you need to hear. I never do. Give me a second. Don't leave. Do—"

"Okay," I change tactics. "Okay, Massimo. You can explain. I won't leave. Come on." I tangle our hands and pull out of his grip, making sure he can see I want him to come with me. "I want to go inside. Let's go. I'm not leaving without you."

I release a breath once I pull us through a random door—some sort of conference room for large meetings, it seems—and shut us off from prying eyes.

Massimo begins pacing, like a lion released from a cage, that restless energy bouncing off him. I'm frantic but trying not to show it—as I do my best to ascertain whether he's currently in a blackout. 

"First, tell me exactly what he told you," he says, passing a pale hand through his styled hair.

This again. "Massimo, I don't know who you—"

He swipes the contents of the table to the floor. Glass shatters. "Stop lying to me!"

Fuck. Why did I say that? He must be having delusions, and it doesn't do me any favors to try and deny them.

"You're right. I'm sorry. He told me..." my mind races, palms sweating, and I send up a desperate prayer that what I'm about to say won't make this worse, "he told me that I should leave you, but I told him I wouldn't. I won't, Massimo, I—"

He stalks across the broken glass, crunching it beneath his shoes. I cross my arms against a sudden chill as he gets closer.

He's not going to hurt me.

"The problem, Vivienne, is that people lie. I see the way you're looking at me, like you're scared. The way you're shaking..." teasingly, he drags a feathery touch down my arm, raising goosebumps, "probably from disgust too, because you don't want me to touch you anymore. Think what you will of me. The things I did. Hate me," he snarls, suddenly backing us up into the wall, forcing me to scramble back or let my feet be crushed by his, "pass some holy judgment on me, Vivienne, because now you know my secret, and it disgusts you, doesn't it?"

"Massimo, no," I truly am trembling, pressed up against his chest now. I bring my hands to his face, trying to figure out what the hell he's talking about. "I—I said I'd give you time. I'll give you as much time as you need. Just talk to me. I'm listening."

"I don't feel like talking anymore," he murmurs, head tilting. Staring, abysmal and dark. A chunk of hair falls over his eye, disrupted from how erratic he's being. My trembling increases.

You don't want to talk as in... you want to kill me? Because I can't tell.

"Then don't talk," I lift my chin, confident despite my breathlessness. "You say I don't want you to touch me? That I'm disgusted by you?" I carefully grab his hand, guiding it to the slit in my dress that comes up to mid-thigh. He's still as I bring his hand beneath the fabric, letting him touch the smooth skin. "Go on. Does that feel like I'm disgusted, Massimo?" I release him, letting him take control, and his jaw clenches as reaches the apex of my thighs and feels how turned on I am. How wet I've been for him since the second I saw him in the garden. "Does that feel like I want to leave, like I'll listen to whatever some dumb fuck has to say about you? Hm?" Leaning forward, I position my lips at the corner of his mouth, smirking as he pants. "Don't let him come between us. If you really think I'm scared, baby, you don't know me. I want you to make me come."

The lilting danger in his body tells me I could be making a grave mistake.

But it's his move now. The more the vacancy in his gaze shifts to violence, the wetter I get around his fingers, and I know he feels it.

Quick as a whip, Massimo surges forward.

♛

Massimo

Shock weighs me down for a brief, heavy moment.

She still wants me.

The thought has barely passed through my head before I'm kissing her hard enough to swallow every single noise she makes. And I promise myself that I won't hurt her this time.

Even though I know she's lying—because I saw him talking to her. I saw it with my own eyes. That client of mine somehow followed me from Cora's house. Sidled up to Vivienne the second the ceremony ended. Those broad shoulders, tilted and disheveled, like he's always too tired to even stand straight, bent as he leaned down to tell her my secret. Touching the fold of her ear, the way he always did when he wanted to try and make you feel special.

"Let me tell you all about Massimo Romano," I could practically hear him saying, "how he would do whatever I told him to do," other hand on her waist, digging deep enough to make you banish any ideas of running away, "and how he fucking liked it."

Before the ceremony, I had promised myself I wouldn't touch Vivienne, wouldn't talk to her until I could get Cora to help me. Because the thing is, Cora's the only one who could ever do it. Whenever a client would say or do something that led to a blackout—or maybe for no reason at all, my head would just go sideways—Cora would give me something else to focus on.

Physical pain kills the mind. For me, it would help return me to myself. Cora only ever needed to hit me several times before it worked. Sometimes she used other things to cut or burn me. That would work faster.

I know that's what she thought I was asking of her yesterday, when I showed up seeking her help.

She never thought I'd ask to be tortured again.

But I just didn't think some minor bruises or scratches would help me this time. I needed something worse. Even though I'm too old to be an object of desire in the Paradise Room anymore—I was desperate for the normality that would follow the pain.

The beauty of unapologetic apathy. That blessed, grotesque static.

But one taste of Vivienne's lips has me making an entirely different promise to myself. I'll keep ahold of my head—I won't lose it. I can do that. I've been getting confused, haven't I, thinking I want to hurt her. But I don't. I don't.

I don't need Cora, not when I have Vivienne.

And I don't want Vivienne to hurt me. I don't need the pain from her. I just need her touch, her mouth, her breathy gasps by my ear as I bend and hike her legs around my waist, walking us to the table so I can set her there and feast on her.

There's feeling rocketing through me. Or something akin to it.

I don't know how I'll breathe until I possess her, all of her, forever. And if she ceases to be mine, so will the breath from my lungs.

It's the closest someone like me can get to love.

"You like to be scared, Vivienne?" Her dress rips, widening the slit over her thigh, as I force it up so I can have full access to all that smooth bronze skin. She's not wearing any underwear, the filthy thing. She gasps as my fingers fill her again, sinking easily into her slick heat. "Would you still like it if it was real? Genuine terror? By then it'll be too late, but you like that." The line between sex and murder... pleasure and pain. "The thrill of putting your life in the hands of a monster, right?" Some of them got off on how they never knew what they'd get from me. An orgasm or a slit throat. 

"What? N-no, stop," she breathes, her arms draped loosely around my neck. I remove my touch but she doesn't let me pull all the way back, frowning up at me. "That's what you think it's like, doing this with you?"

I don't say anything, unsure if she wants me to leave now. But she's still holding onto me, looking like a siren. That silken hair tumbles like water down her shoulders. 

"I like it, Massimo, because I know I can trust you," she says softly, "because there's no part of you I don't want. No part of you that I would turn away, or be disgusted by, or grow tired of waiting for." She drags her nails over my scalp, winding her hands into my hair, grinning up at me like I'm normal. "You know it, too. You can feel how much I want you. That doesn't come from fear. It comes from—" she breaks off, something flashing in her eyes, then her smile is back.

My chest seizes. "That means nothing."

She's hurt. But I back out of her grip, not wanting her to touch me. Not when she's unsure. 

"Of course it means some—"

"Just because I can feel how much you want me, doesn't mean you do."

"Massimo, I don't get it." Her brows pull together, and she crosses her legs self-consciously. "We've done this before, and you were fine. I thought—"

"Then we shouldn't have ever done this," I snap. "Feelings lie, Vivienne."

I sound a little frantic, although I am not sure why. 

"You're right," she says calmly. "Feelings do lie. We don't need to talk about them anymore. Me wanting you has nothing to do with feelings, Massimo. It's more like..." she pauses, something mysterious passing over her expression, clearly struggling with what to say. "I just know."

I drift towards her again, and she tentatively touches my cheek. My lungs feel like one big knot. "But how do you... know?"

"Because I—fuck," she mutters, laughing and shaking her head. "Okay, you know that shit you do with the markets? Or whatever."

"Trading?"

"Yes," she snaps her fingers. "That. You know what time markets all over the world open. What time they close. You know how to analyze opportunities, when to buy or sell. And even though it's a game of risk and reward... you always win. You always get your reward. You never once wonder if you'll lose, because you're too fucking good to lose."

"... You're likening your orgasms to the stock market." 

She doesn't lose an ounce of her conviction, bringing our faces closer. Wraps her legs around me again, bringing us together again. "Yes, I certainly am. Because I know I'm winning."

I let her words sink in. And suddenly my chest is... warm. Thick. I blink down at it, confused. She used words and images I understand.

She brought me to her level. It must be the first time in my life I feel I can understand, without mind games or manipulation.

Slowly, I drag my hands up her thighs, touching her again, loving how she pushes her hips into my hand immediately, a small gasp escaping her perfect lips. There's an answering throb below my belt, and after everything she's just told me, it feels a lot more intense. It almost brings me to my knees.

I want her to touch me, but I want to taste her more. I lower to my knees. She's the only person I'll kneel for, the only one where it means something. Letting her smooth legs dangle over the tabletop, I tug her forward so she's perched right on the edge.

At the first stroke of my tongue, we both make a sound, and she's immediately lost to the rhythm of my mouth. For me, the world has narrowed down to this moment and this place where I know I can make Vivienne feel good. Licking, sucking, biting; and she's trembling, writhing, crying. She comes in what feels like seconds but I know it's been longer; I can lose track of time between her thighs; lose hours or days, probably. My fingers splay across her ass, pressing her into me so I can taste every last drop of her, pressing her so closely that I can't breathe, that my face hurts, but I want to feel every tremor, every little shake and pleasured breath.

She fists my hair to keep herself steady through it, and I love the sting. Not too much pain. Enough to send tremors down my spine that travel straight to my groin, bringing me even closer to an embarrassing end. A frustrated noise escapes my throat; there's nothing but air in front of me. I need her to touch me before I completely humiliate myself here.

"This is mine. You are mine. Everything you have to offer, Vivienne. And everything I have is yours." Even this twisted, broken head and the useless body attached to it. I don't realize the words are mine until I feel the scratch of my throat. Feel how much I mean them.

Then I'm standing, shaky from my need for her, and she's flushed and smiling as she pulls me to her, pulls me so I'm practically on top of her. Her hands shake as she unzips my slacks, I shake as she presses her palm into me in one rolling motion. 

That alone has my fists straining against the table, my face in her hair, practically every inch of us touching. I grit my teeth, so many things swirling through my chest. The next second I shoot my hand down to catch hers before she can touch me again.

I don't know what's possessing me right now, but I'll come if she doesn't stop.

She leans back as I nudge our hips together, and I cup one hand behind her head so she doesn't need to hold herself up. "Thank you for trusting me with this," she breathes, eyes big and warm and sad. "With this part of you. I—fuck," she breaks off as I roll my hips, both of us gasping, and how does it feel like this? Feel like... coming together instead of breaking apart?

I keep my pace slow and fluid, torturing us both. With each agonizing drag and roll where we come together, I feel like my eyes are wanting to roll back in my head, sweat dampening my skin. There's only one layer of fabric separating me from her unclothed center, and that knowledge alone makes me tremble with the effort it takes to stave off my own end.

"What you do to me, sweet girl," I breathe, lost for words. 

Whenever we've done this in the past, I have liked for Vivienne to hold onto me. As a reminder, a tether. So that I know it's her I'm with, and not any of them. But I don't need that now, don't need anything to keep me from floating away, because I know where I am.

Every time I feel the tension threatening to uncoil, I pull back with a frustrated groan and replace my hips with my fingers, working her until I've gathered myself. But she'll chase my lips, moaning into a kiss that quickly brings my orgasm thundering back, so I'm shaking and gripping onto her and not wanting this to end.

"Massimo, fuck," she whines, trembling beneath me, all warm and pliable. "Please, I need to—"

I'm desperate to get rid of the last barrier between us, to sink in and fill her up all the way. But I can't pull away long enough to even do that. Her feet hook together behind my waist, hips rise to meet mine, and her fingers give a sharp tug on my scalp. 

That's what does it, and I'm spilling my release seconds before she loses it, shattering into me and crying out my name in the depths of her own orgasm. For a long time, everything is splintered and static and sensitive. I've never had an orgasm go on this long, make me feel like the world is ending, send trails of fire rippling through me until I'm praying for it to end.

It takes a while, but neither of us move until our breaths even out. We're a mess. I need to change my slacks and Vivienne's dress is torn almost all the way up. It's the kind of scene I would have always been disgusted by, but there's no place for my old deficiencies here.

I feel... right. Back to myself.

My head is clear. I'm seeing straight for the first time in days. I stifle a shaky exhale into her hair, relief making me wilt.

"... Simo?"

Every muscle stiffens, but I don't pull away from her.

"Simo, please." The voice is thick with tears. "Why won't you help me?"

"No. No, please," I mutter. "Nobody is there."

"Massimo?" Vivienne trails careful hands across my shoulders, trying to pull back to see my face. I don't let her. 

"You keep ignoring me," the voice sniffles, breaking. "Why? What did I do?"

I force deep breaths, hating the stupid trembles rocketing through me. Because I know it's not real. I'd stake Vivienne's life on it. 

He's. Not. Real.

But I look up, unable to ignore him any longer, and Vivienne cries out as I tear myself away from her. She's begging me to tell her what's wrong, but both my hands are rooted in my hair because Nico's standing in the corner, his eyes wide and imploring, jaw wobbling as he looks down at his torso. A knife protrudes from his skin, blood staining his shirt black. 

"Please," he whimpers, tears staining his cheeks, "it hurts." 

I spend an indeterminate amount of time trying to rip the false reality of him out of my skin, Vivienne crying somewhere in the back of my head, before multiple sets of hands grab me all over, and I wish they would just give up on me already.

♛ 

Oop! 

Okay, so we're nearing the climax of this story and from there... the resolution. *SOBS* But there's still a good bit of chapters left because a lot more needs to happen! I know I've been putting y'all through the ringer with these updates recently. Trust me? (;

- G