Bellissimo Fortuna (Beautiful Fortune) (16 page)

The sounds of “Amazing Grace” filters through the church mixed with sobs surrounding me. As I hold Callie’s hand on one side and Bianca’s on the other, I listen to the words of the priest. He speaks of eternal places, grace of God, and a lot of other things I tune out. I’m pulled out of the moment by the cries from my sister and my heart, my life. They resonate against the walls, seeping into my skin, taunting me to crash under the weight of sorrow. My mom is a rock; she isn’t new to despair and knew the risks when she married my father. They loved each other and held onto that until the day he was murdered. Callie and Bianca will never know that fear; they won’t be living this life anymore.

Vengeance can be ugly. Piece by piece, I vow to tear Frank Locati apart, watch him bleed, and see him scramble like the coward he is. I won’t do it with crime. This morning I called the recruitment office and am now Special Agent Bronson Agosto, working on bringing down the family formerly known as the Agosto Family of Indian Shores. It’s in the control of Frank Locati, but dismantling the house he built on greed and lies is now my retribution.

Chapter 17

Callie

Watching him struggle is the hardest part of all this. Knowing my own flesh and blood is causing the pain is a nightmare. A never-ending loop plays of the man who created my life destroying the man who is my life. Bronson is working around the clock building a case against my father. In the six months since he made the call to pursue his dream and deliver justice to his father, it seems we are farther apart than ever. Does he look at me and see my father?

Laundry is the bane of my existence. He is so lost to me lately I find myself doing more chores around the house. I am over compensating and trying to be all he needs me to be and more. I want to be his rock. For so long he has been my foundation, holding me together and now I find us crumbling and I have no way to stop the wreckage we are becoming. I notice his reading glasses on top of the dresser and I know he will search for hours if they aren’t put up. I open his nightstand drawer to place them in there and see it. Nestled in its black velvet box, mocking me from afar. It’s twinkling from the light catching it and when I see the receipt and the date . . . it was purchased before his father was killed. At the hands of my own. Yet my hand still remains unadorned by that bauble.

I found the ring three months ago, but he still hasn’t done anything with it. I don’t know how to reach him but I won’t give up trying. He tells me everything is okay; he just needs to do this. It’s his way of honoring his father. I get it, but I just feel lost.

Our days are the same, I go to school, and he goes to work. I come home; he is still at work. I go to bed, he climbs in hours later. We still connect physically, and sometimes that’s the only way we do. I catch him every occasionally looking at me the same way he used to, then the shutters come down and his emotions cut off. Grief is a process, one that each person goes through differently. I just want to help him.

“Babe, you’re home early.” I’m caught off guard when he comes through the door a few minutes after I do.

“We need to talk.” Oh God. Words you never want to hear.

“Let’s sit.” I try to be brave, but I’m a quivering mess.

Instead of sitting across from me like he usually does, he sits right next to me, taking my hand in his. “Don’t look so surprised.” He winks at me. These are the glimpses of my old Bronson.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say that word to me again.
I’m
sorry. I’ve let this case, this need to be the one to bring your dad down, consume me. It’s owned me, when it should be you and your love that owns me. It does, please don’t doubt that.”

“What brought this on? I’ve been so scared I was going to lose you, not sure how to broach the subject.”

“I miss you. I miss you every fucking day, and you’re right here. I don’t blame you, you aren’t losing me, but I lost myself for a while. Today, I went to open my calendar and somehow a picture of you came up. Your beautiful smile, the love in your eyes, the way you see me; all reflected back at me. That picture was taken right after we made love the first time. I was so scared I’d lost that, lost you by not giving you all of me. I had to come home. I had to see you, make sure you know I’m still here, I’m just wavering a bit.”

“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been just as lost. You’re my anchor, and I can’t navigate this life without you.”

“Never, bellisimmo, never.” He drops to his knee and presents the ring I’ve looked at every day for months. It used to stare up at me, almost mocking me. Now he is sliding it on my finger, “Please, marry me. Today, tomorrow, and forever, be mine.”

“I’m already yours. For infinity.”

“I like the sound of that.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he kisses me. This kiss is different. It’s just as powerful and makes my heart beat faster, but this kiss is promising. He isn’t thinking of anything else but me. He makes me feel like I’m his entire existence. It goes on forever, almost feels like it’s never ending, and he is just as lost in me as I am in him. Just kissing me like we are breathing life into one another and we have nowhere else to go in this world. Eventually, he leans me back on the couch, removing both of our clothes as we go. “I need you.” His words are like a plea, as if I would ever deny him.

“Then take me.” His mouth gets firmer, more dominant, as he moves down between my legs. Sucking my clit in his mouth, he is relentless. I feel myself pulse in time to his heartbeat, and he never lets up. He moves his fingers up to spread my pussy, spearing his tongue inside me. I have no shame and begin to ride his face, spurring him on. Going back to my clit, his fingers replace his tongue as he shoves them in me with no mercy, but I wouldn’t ask for any at this moment. I’m riding a euphoric high . . . and once I come, he doesn’t slow down, lapping up everything he can, continuing his ministrations with his mouth.

I try to shove his face away, too sensitive and I want him inside me. “No, baby. This is mine and until I get enough of it I’m not done.” His words caress me where his hands aren’t, my nipples beading and standing on point, as I feel the tingling work through my body. His face leaves my core and moves up to take one peak in his mouth while his fingers enter me again, curling up and hitting the right spot. He alternates between both nipples as he bites down and pinches my clit between his fingers. I spasm around him; totally drained and satisfied. He isn’t done though.

Sitting up, he pulls me over him, “Ride me, Callie. Own me.” I grab his dick in my hand stroking up and down as I line him up. Pushing myself down, I take him all the way in with one push, and his moan vibrates through my body. He grabs my hips trying to control the pace, but I swat them away. He reaches behind me grabbing my ass, “One day that will be mine.” I give him all I have; raising up and lowering down over him, over and over, squeezing my muscles on my downward strokes, and when he’s had enough he takes back the control I never really had. Holding my hips in place he pistons up, each thrust more powerful than the last. He must feel my orgasm rushing towards the finish line, because he goes harder and faster and that’s all it takes before I fall over. I watch his face as he releases inside me; his expression filled with ecstasy and peace. We’ll be fine; this is what we both needed. Now that I know how much he needs me, I will never let him falter again. Besides . . . he put a ring on it.

The case was moving at warp speed. Things between us were better than ever, and I was so proud of him. Nine months he worked his ass off, worried about the downfall of the men he had been raised around, and doubted that this is what his father would want, but it didn’t matter, this is what Bronson needed and that trumped all.

“I hate going back there,” he sulks.

“I know, but it’s your mom’s birthday, and we haven’t been back in almost a year. It’s a quick visit. We aren’t even spending the night.” We have avoided home as long as we can. We owe it to his mom and Bianca to be there today.

“Fine, but you aren’t leaving my side.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The house all looks the same, yet everything is different. “I’m going to talk to my mom about selling the house, relocating to Miami with us. Bianca is still away at school, so there is nothing keeping her here now.”

“Except the memories. Hold off on asking her. Give her some time, and she may do it on her own. Don’t railroad her.”

“I don’t railroad anyone.” I laugh so hard at that statement. He is the fucking conductor of the train. “I don’t.” He is adamant.

“Okay,” I tell him. He knows that’s my proverbial word to agree but not really. It’s easier, and it works for us.

He walks behind me, “Hey, you’ve lost weight. You feeling okay?”

“Yes, I ran out of medicine and my ulcer may have flared up a few times. I called a doctor and have an appointment next week.”

“Callie,” he says my name like it’s a warning.

“Things haven’t exactly been easy lately. I’m handling it.”

“Okay,” he throws back at me. I just smile, feeling light hearted, and shake my head at him.

We are greeted with hugs and laughter. This is the first time Bianca has seen my ring in person, and she’s giddy. “It’s official, we’re sisters.”

“Weren’t we always?”

“Yes, but now we’ll have the same last name.”

“Until you get married.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree with that nonsense.”

“Have you talked to Dakota?” I whisper.

She shakes her head no, closed subject. “Oh, you got an envelope from FSU. I put it in Bronson’s room. It’s probably your transcripts, although it’s a little late.” I sat in that administrator’s office for hours until we got my transfer straightened out.

Preoccupied by his mom I sneak away and head to his room to find my transcripts. I tear open the thick envelope only to immediately drop the contents. My breath catches, and I pick it all up again. My muscles tense as I flip through picture after picture, my stomach revolting and wanting to empty itself. I want to throw it away, burn it, but I don’t. I open the letter with my name scrawled across it already knowing whom it’s from.

“Don’t make the mistake of ignoring this. Come to the house, alone, or he’s dead. You know I can do it.”

And I do know that. Each picture included is Bronson. In his office, walking outside, jogging the trail he does daily . . . and in each shot there is a red mark on his head, showing me how easily he can carry out his threat. I check the hallway, hear them all in the kitchen, and head the opposite direction towards the front door. One man stationed there tries to stop me. “I left my purse in the car and it has Mrs. Agosto’s birthday card. I’ll be a quick second.” He allows me to pass and as soon as the door shuts, I waste no time clearing the grounds. I left my phone on his bed, so I rush the few blocks to my personal hell to confront the man who is determined to make my life miserable.

I furiously slam the door to find my father’s dead eyes staring at me. “Ah, the prodigal daughter returns.”

“What do you want?” I’m angry; shaking, and my hands are itching to slap the shit out of him.

“Your boyfriend to back off my organization.”

I hold up my left hand. “My fiancé. And you mean the same organization you killed his father to take over? The same man who was your best friend? Your greed and hunger for power unrelenting. You’ve taken far too much from me and I won’t let you take anymore. I don’t control him, and I won’t tell him to back off.” I’ve said my peace, listened to his garbage, and I refuse to feed into his bullying tactics anymore. I spin on my heel and head back where I came from.