An Aria in Venice: A Musical Interlude Novel (28 page)

~Luca~

I think the sex between us gets better
each time we tear at each other. Either that, or I might want to consider I’ve
fallen in love with the girl who walked into my life like a dream, but
conquered my heart like a hurricane.

Sometime after the lovemaking is done,
she asks me about the tattoo again.
Remember you were the one who wanted
there to be no secrets.

“I love this tattoo. It’s so freaking
hot,” she says, running her fingers along my abdomen, giving me chills even
with that tiny gesture. “La Dolce Vita. I think you picked the perfect words.”

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and
enjoy the feel of her hands exploring the ink on my torso—a Celtic design that
means warrior of carnal pleasures when translated. She has gotten more
comfortable with our nudity. At first, I thought she might pass out when I
suggested having sex with the lights on. But as I said before … epic things
come to those with patience, and Adriana Dostovsky is about as earth shattering
as they come.

The time to tell her about what happened
between the girl who originally inspired this tattoo, Giovanni, and me has
come. Little Maia deserves to know everything about my family troubles,
especially since I know there’s no way in hell I’ll be letting her go anytime
soon.

“How long have you had this?” she asks.

“About five years.” I wait for her to
make the connection between the tattoo and what I told her back when we were in
Venice, a time that already seems like a lifetime ago.

“Oh, I see.” She doesn’t look at me when
she asks, “And I guess that was Marcello’s sister’s name you had tattooed across
your back?” Damn, she’s more observant than I thought.

“Si. Leona’s name used to be there.”

“She must’ve loved you very much.”

“Lust and love are worlds apart.
Sometimes people will take one and make an excuse for a lack of the other,
switching them around when it’s convenient,” I answer, watching the way Adriana
traces her fingers along the words
La Dolce Vita
; which, to this day, I
still can’t believe I let someone talk me into making a permanent part of my
body.

“Where is she now?” A strange mood shifts
over my body and I find myself moving to cover my tattoo with the sheets.
“Don’t hide it. Please. I really like your ink.” She hits me with that look, an
innocent type of desire in those big, blue eyes that’ll make me do anything she
asks me to do.

Sighing, I cover my eyes with my forearm,
avoiding her question. “Do we have to talk about the past when we’re doing a
most excellent job of focusing on the future?”

“We don’t have to talk at all. Talk can
wait for a bit. I mean, there are so many more things we could concentrate on,”
she suggests. I move my arm away because there’s something inside Adriana’s
voice that’s seductively dark right now. She positions her little body over
mine, her legs straddling my thighs so I’m pinned between hers.

“What are you doing?” I think I know what
she’s planning, but I can’t believe it at the same time. My ballerina with the
ocean in her eyes has come such a long way. She bends her head down to my
abdomen and begins trailing a path of kisses from my navel down to my swollen
cock. A groan escapes my lips. The thought of her sweet mouth on me makes my
whole body tighten in anticipation.

“I think you’ve been an exceptionally
good boy,” she says, shifting her hips back and forth over my legs, straddling
them. I can feel the warmth from her sex and the wetness.
Mi Dio.
“My
turn to make you feel good.” My abdomen once again receives more kisses and
nibbles. Her touch sets my body on fire, and a surge of pressure in my cock
makes me so hard it’s almost painful. Just knowing she has never done this for
anyone else before rocks both my mind and my body. “First, you must to tell me
what you want.” I get a dark, mischievous smile.

“Is that right, my little eager to please
student?” I ask, loving the way she has turned my own game around on me. She
amazes me with these little surprises of hers.

“I’m waiting,” she says, looking at me
with those big blue eyes that make me want to forget all about what she’s
planning and fuck her senseless.

“I want you to suck my cock. Make me
come, if you dare.”

“A challenge,” she murmurs as she kisses
around my balls. I grab hold of a handful of sheets. She’s a natural at this thing,
and I couldn’t have asked for a better version of Heaven on Earth if I had
begged the gods themselves.

“Say it again, Luciano Martuccio,” she
orders, her hand sliding up and down my now lubricated shaft.

“Either you fuck me with that gorgeous
mouth or you get on your back and let me relieve myself,” I gasp out. “Either
way, you’ve been warned.”

I get one last wicked smile before her
pink lips close over my tip, the heat from her mouth snatching my breath away.
I stroke her hair as she takes more and more of me into her mouth each time she
bobs her head up and down, gagging a couple of times.

“Easy, baby. Back up and take your time.”
She stops racing a marathon and instead begins concentrating on solid, steady
strokes. I can feel the orgasm building up inside me, my entire abdomen
pulsating with pleasure. “That’s it, baby. I’m coming for you. All for you.”

I throw my head back on the pillow,
glancing up at the mirror beside the mural I painted on my ceiling and
wondering if Puccini ever had the chance to experience anything this divine.
The orgasm explodes inside my cock, the pulsating waves causing my hips to buck
through the spasms.

“Damn, baby,” I gasp out, amazed by the
woman sharing my bed. Adriana lifts up, her beautiful eyes gleaming as she watches
my orgasm, and returns to kissing and licking me. What she’s doing turns me on
so much I have to feel myself inside her.

Sitting up, I pull her body down on the
mattress, move on top of her, and push myself inside; her wetness and warmth
welcoming me as always. A whimper escapes her lips as I ease the full length of
my cock all the way up to her womb, going deep as she requested, but still
taking into consideration that she’s very tender. She grabs my ass, holding me
in place so I can’t move. Damn, I love it when she handles me this way. Makes
me want to stay inside of her forever.

“Oh, Luca. You feel so good inside me
this way.”

“Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?” I ask, sliding my cock all
the way up to her womb and holding it there.

“Yes, I want you to make me come. Please,
make me come, Luca!” I ease myself out and push back inside her a little more
firmly than I did before.

I do this several more times, enjoying
the little noises of pleasure she makes with each stroke, every push. And when
I feel her body trembling from the orgasm she’s having, I release my own pent
up passion and fall under the spell of lust combined with something I haven’t
allowed myself to feel for any woman in over five years, an emotion I’ve always
thought was lost to me. Our bodies shudder and tremble together, and finally we
hold onto each other until our breathing evens out.

 I can’t lose her. I won’t. Especially
now that I’ve promised to protect her with my life. I’d go anywhere she wants,
do anything she asks.

I have fallen for her.

Adriana

Closing
my eyes while dancing onstage, my mind gets transported back to Venice, to a
day of beautiful song paired with the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen ...
Simona Martuccio. If it wasn’t for her encouragement, her belief in the things
she could see in me that I couldn’t see inside myself, then this first
performance night would never have been possible. I dance for her, for Luca,
Nikolai, Alek, and yes ... even Mother.

The
ballerinas of Aterballetto perform before a sold out crowd tonight. The pressure
of doing so almost brought out the hives earlier, but Luca was there for me, or
maybe I should say his mother sent a reminder of what helped to make all this
possible. With Lis’s help, he managed to sneak into my room and set a vase
filled with purple flowers down on my table. I knew who sent them before I read
the card written by Simona that said:
Always remember who you are. Let your
inner light shine. It brightens this dreary mess of a world.

At
the end, I prepare for my showoff moment, the move Simona has taught me how to
do. I pull my legs into the pointe and spin she so effortlessly managed to do
that day underneath the watchful eyes of the hidden purple flower maidens.
Tears flow down my cheeks. I now understand that the promise I’ve made to live my
best life no matter what the world throws my way, belongs to the heartbroken
widow of a man who taught her how to hope, dream, and believe in the
impossible, but mostly he showed her love.

The
decision I make as I dance the role of Seraphine, to be with the man who has
found a way to tap something inside my heart, even though neither of us will
admit to feeling the same way, could heal many things for both of us. I don’t
even realize I’ve pulled off Simona’s move until I hear the applause thundering
through the auditorium. I can also hear Luca’s voice shouting over the others
as well.

Lowering
my eyes, I ground the storm inside my chest. Luca’s face drifts into my memory,
but an image of Nikolai’s pained gray-blue eyes floats inside the darkness,
too. He didn’t show up tonight. I’m not surprised, but it still hurts. Bowing
one last time, I turn and walk backstage where everyone’s running about and
congratulating one another.

“That
was outstanding,” Ines says, her eyes misted with pride and something else
that’s hard to describe as she walks up to me.

I
nod and manage to croak out, “Thank you.” I turn and head toward my room,
ignoring Lis calling out to me. I need to be alone, to wallow in thoughts of
what I’ve done. How can I choose one man over the other? Luca, my bright eyed,
romantic king has shown me the world in such a short amount of time, and in
return, I found a part of me I didn’t know existed. While Nikolai has protected
and watched over me, a savior making well on his promise to never let anyone
hurt me ever again. I plop down on the chair and stare at my reflection in the
mirror, criticizing.

“You’re
no different from Katerina Dostovsky,” I scold. And it’s true. I’ve somehow
manipulated two people who have come to mean the world to me.

“Well
it is the little tramp, isn’t it?” Mother scolds, her southern accent coloring
her words. She always works so hard to hide it. “You embarrass me. Trudging
around Italy with that designer, doing unmentionable things in public places.
Leading Nikolai on. I ...” We’re sitting outside on the balcony of the
Clandestino, a restaurant that serves a dish called
Flower Child Sushi
.
Very appropriate given my recent change in sexual status.

I’m
wearing my black, strapless mini dress as we sit under the Milan sun and she’s
wearing her red one. I prefer the classic lines of Gucci, and she swears by
Chanel’s ability to put any of these new “wannabe” designers to shame. No
mother and daughter could ever be so different. She even scoffed when I chose
this restaurant, a gorgeous building made of black marble with a balcony out
back overlooking the Po River. Mother claims the fumes from the industrial
plants in the distance aggravate her sinuses. I think she hates it because I
love it so much.

“Wow.
Thanks for boosting my confidence, Mother,” I say. My lips begin to tremble.
Fighting anger and rage, I keep silent and wait for the moment that’s been
steadily brewing between us over the past eight years.

Taking
a bite of her
bruschetta
, a dish made of grilled bread covered in olive
oil and tomatoes, she gives me a nonchalant look as though she didn’t just call
her daughter a tramp. After she’s done chewing, she says, “If you ruin things
for your brother with this scandalous behavior, then I’ll … things won’t turn
out so well for either of you.”

“Great.
You’ve been spying on me. I can’t get you to come to an audition and support
me, but you can send your lifeless spies my way.”

“Good
thing I did, obviously.”

“How
can you sit there and threaten me?” I ask, feeling incredulous, but unsurprised
at the same time. “You know what I think, Mother? It was you. You’re the reason
Father got all screwed up in the head. You made him cheat and have that affair
and do mean things to people. You hate that he showered more attention on me
than he did you.”

Her
face goes motionless as empty gray eyes look on me, making me feel small and
helpless. “All you’ll ever be, all that playboy can make out of you, will be a
well-fed washerwoman. The same way his father ruined his wife’s career.”

I’m
not surprised she knows about Simona and Giuseppe’s life. However, the way she
degrades them with her words angers me. “If you think he’s so awful then why
did you hire him?”

“He’s
a good looking fella. Perhaps I thought I’d have a chance to explore more than
his designs. Yet it seems my daughter has beaten me to it.” She smiles and sips
her wine.

“I
really can’t be around you right now.” I slide my chair back, gather my purse,
and stand.

“What’s
wrong? It’s common knowledge that Luciano Martuccio sleeps with any and
everything that can walk in a skirt. At least he’s all male, unlike that
brother of his. What do they call him?” She’s acting as though she doesn’t
really know.

“You
know his name. You know everything,” I hiss.

“That
I do. Giovanni, the Cruiser. Ridiculous,” she scoffs.

I
sit back down and face her, my chest heaving. “You are way out of line.”

“Everything
I do for you, my child, is done to protect you. And this Martuccio brother ...”
She sighs before she continues nailing her giant wooden stake into my heart,
crushing my dreams almost as soon as I’ve realized them. “He’s the worst of all
three. I heard rumors that he even had a child out of wedlock with his
brother’s fiancée.”

Gasping,
I cover my mouth. Why does she have to hit me so hard? Especially during the
one moment when I’ve been so sure of myself, the one final chance I had to
catch hold of the part of me blowing in the wind, a girl lost inside a
nightmare of scandal and dysfunctional families, a group that puts every other
one to shame. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why
not? He is a man whore, Adriana.”

“Why
do you hate me so much, Mother?”

“I’m
trying to help you.”

“No,
you aren’t!” I stand and gather my things, not wanting to be in the same space
with this woman, unable to recall the feelings I experienced during the
audition. She makes a viper seem like a garden snake, this mother of mine.

“Nikolai
loves you. He would die for you. Kill for you, Adriana,” she says.
He already
has
. I don’t want her to see just how much that statement has affected me.

“I
know what happened in that alley,” she announces as though she just ripped the
thoughts right out of my head. “The man who attacked you was his older cousin,
Yuri. That’s why his family has forbidden him to return to Russia.”

It’s
like an invisible fist just punched the crap out of me. I shake my head, trying
to focus on the image of a wiry teenage Nikolai and the way his body trembled,
the look of horror on his face after he shoved my attacker’s body away from
him. Many things suddenly become clear to me now. The way he kept saying he’d
destroy me in the end, that he doesn’t deserve me, the longing that storms
inside his eyes when anyone mentions the Belikovs, the same pain and sadness
that made me fall so hard for him in the beginning. Of course he’d feel those
things because he didn’t just kill some random thug for me ... he murdered his
own flesh and blood. “No. No, not again. When will it ever end, Mother? These
little manipulations of yours?”

“Is
that what you think I’m doing? How do you think I learned how to be this way?
Who taught me? Two guesses.” She keeps on eating as though plotting someone’s
demise by revealing the dirtiest secrets she can dig up on them is a ritual of
everyday life for her. “I’ll give you a hint, since you’re struggling with an
answer. He gave me you and Alek, a good bank account, and a lifetime of
heartache.”

While
what she said about Nikolai is probably true, I don’t believe for one second
that Luca has a child tucked away and hidden somewhere. He would’ve told me.
I’m sure of it.

“I
don’t need to try and guess who made me. I’m fully aware of my heritage. Trust
me,” I say, thinking of the way I’ve been using Luca to get back at Nikolai,
and in return, I’ve now managed to hurt both of them. Yes, I am definitely the
daughter of Sergey Dostovsky. “I almost became you.” I say this more to myself
than I do to her, but Mother’s supersonic hearing doesn’t miss a thing.

“If
that’s true, then at least I’ve done something right. You’ll thank me some
day,” she states, holding my gaze. Scoffing, I turn around and walk out the
door.