Farewell, My Loves Page 12

  As I storm toward the exit, I hear Domenico taunt loud enough to piss me off.

  “Giorgio, you’ve got a little Hellcat for a wife there. Don’t worry, they all mellow out when age starts to steal their beauty,” he begins laughing.

  So I knock down a few stools at the empty bar too, for good measure, because fuck him.

  They can all go to fucking hell.

  I ignored Pasquale at the car when I stepped out and grabbed a taxi that was idling by.

  Not knowing where to go, because shopping was so goddamn annoying, I had no friends, and the last thing I wanted to do was go home and dwell on all this shit, I decided to go to Central Park.

  I could walk home once I cooled off. Maybe the cold weather could help facilitate that.

  I walked for a while until my feet hurt in these stupid stiletto, knee-high boots I was wearing and parked my ass on a bench.

  Not being able to run away from my own mind, I started thinking back to our lunch.

  My God, I was so mean to Gio, when I’d been so happy to have lunch with him.

  Again I projected my insecurities on him, and he answered with comfort.

  I don’t deserve him being so good to me sometimes.

  I don’t want to end up being one of those nagging wives. The ones we used to see back home with a rolling pin in their hands and curlers in their hair, berating their drunk husbands.

  I just miss him.

  I miss him being my friend, too.

  I miss especially our days back in Italy.

  I had spoken to my brother, Alessandro, just yesterday, hoping he could give me advice. I couldn’t talk to Mama because she was set in her old ways of ‘servitude to the husband!’ And it’s not that I didn’t agree, because all I wanted to do, was do for my husband, even though I never got to, but she was always saying that marriage is a privilege, even if it was a shitty one.

  She would tell me that waiting around for my husband is the way it’s supposed to be. She frustrated me sometimes.

  Though, Sandro, didn’t make me feel any better, either.

  I asked him what I could say to my husband about not feeling like a priority in our relationship anymore, and his response was, “Every marriage has problems, sorella. Just be glad yours are of the rich kind.”

  Sniffing from both the cold and my melancholy, I stand and make my way home.

  The doorman, Charlie, always has a smile for me. But this time he’s got excitement on his face.

  “Mrs. Moretti, your husband was looking for you earlier. You hadn’t left me any messages to relay to him. He was worried. Please, make sure to do so next time, you know how he gets. But when you get upstairs, you’ll see that it’s good you let ‘absence make the heart grow fonder,’” he says with a wink.

  The irony of that statement.

  My heart is fond enough.

  “Sorry, Charlie. I just went for a stroll in the park. You have a good night.”

  “Oh, you too, Mrs. Moretti. And you’ll be in that park much more frequently, dear. I can’t wait. Go on, head up.”

  I think sweet ol’ Charlie’s going senile now, or he’s a mind reader. Either way he’s not far off the mark.

  I get into the elevator and dreaded the thought that maybe Gio’s angry with me.

  I stormed off and was disrespectful to his father; I made a mess of the club with my little tantrum on my way out.

  I certainly deserve his words.

  But when I get inside, I hear a little yelp and immediately I’m on alert, dropping my coat to the floor.

  Worried about what I may have walked into, I don’t step any farther inside just yet.

  What accosts me is the cutest, skinniest little thing I’ve ever seen.

  A white greyhound puppy with a black spot on his left eye charges toward me and crashes right into my boots, rolls over until he rights himself and then jumps up and down on my legs.

  I immediately kneel so I can pick up that sweet little thing and he starts licking all over my face, both grossing me out and bringing me joy.

  He’s so cute and wiggly, I can barely keep him from falling out of my hands.

  I let him go a moment and he runs to my coat, gnaws at a button, tugs a strap, and then lifts a leg and pees right on it.

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry, bella. I haven’t been able to get this little mutt to stop marking all over the penthouse” Gio says, straightening up from where he was leaning against the wall at the end of the foyer, and makes his way toward us at the door.

  “That’s okay, but whose is it? What’s he doing here?” I ask.

  “Well, if he would’ve stayed in the goddamn box I had wrapped in a big bow, he would’ve been your present. But since he wouldn’t stop yapping, I let him out and have been chasing him around since. Your closet, bella, I’m warning you now—needs a door installed to keep him away from your shoes,” he tells me with a hopeful smile.

  “He’s ours? You got me a puppy?”

  “Yeah, I thought maybe this little guy could cheer you up,” he says, cupping my cheek.

  “Gio...,” I whisper, on the verge of happy tears.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, baby. I really am. Things just don’t always work out the way I want them to... and you have to know, Gianna—I’ve never listened to my mother. Never,” he emphasizes.

  I believed him, I did.

  I just got out of hand earlier.

  My heart was bursting at the seams, I couldn’t speak anything coherently, so I leaned forward with the puppy still squirming in my arms and kissed my husband, hoping to convey I was grateful for him loving me the way he does.

  “What is he? A greyhound?” I asked to be sure.

  “Italian greyhound. He’ll be a small lap dog, twelve or thirteen pounds. Champion bloodline, too. I got him from a breeder who shows their dogs in those pedigree competitions. Only the best for my wife,” he winks.

  “Let’s call him Enzo Ferrari!” I tell him excitedly.

  He laughs, enjoying my happiness.

  “Anything you want, tesorina.”

  But the dog had another purpose other than to cheer me up.

  Enzo was purchased so he could keep me company because as much as Gio wanted to be home with me, his father and their businesses—both legal and illegal—continued to require too much of Giorgio’s attention.

  Initially I didn’t notice it being excited over a new puppy.

  But when a few weeks passed by where Gio had to work later and later all over again, I caught on to the real reason he got me the pup.

  And it pissed me off being tricked liked that.

  I didn’t think wanting to be with him was too much to ask for.

  So I wanted his attention and I was willing to put up the fight.

  I wanted a scene.

  I spent my evening at ZZ’s Lounge, having cocktails with men hitting on me all night until they recognized, or were warned about whom I was.

  I was wearing a skin tight, black romper, with a cut so low in the front I had to tape my breasts to the material so they wouldn’t pop out.

  The piece formed to my body like it was a second skin, it looked like a cat suit.

  I couldn’t even begin to give a damn that I looked very close to a high-class hooker.

  I made sure my hair was coiffed ridiculously high and my red fuck-me lips matched the red peep-toe, fuck-me heels.

  I waited all night, drowning my loneliness in alcohol with the hopes that Gio would get home and find the note I left him telling him where I was.

  I imagined he would storm in like a jealous husband to collect his rebellious wife, and drag me home, but it never happened.

  At about 1:40 am, the bartender took pity on me and offered to call me a cab. I took his advice at that point even though I had a driver following me around.

  I got home feeling more pathetic with every tear that fell.

  I stood at the railing of our balcony overlooking Manhattan, seeing that we had everything, yet nothin
g at all.

  All I wanted right now was to hold Gio’s hands.

  To touch his face, and his body.

  I wanted back the days we caressed and the nights we worshipped one another so frequently, we wondered if one could die from so much love.

  I stubbed out my cigarette and flicked it over the railing.

  Tightening the sash on my robe, I headed back inside and sit on the couch staring at the foyer.

  I wait it out some more before sleep commands me to give in.

  It felt like I had just drifted off when I realize I’m tucked in bed. Gio must’ve brought me in when he got home.

  He’s asleep and the sun hasn’t come up yet, but I don’t have it in me to fight with him right now.

  He looks so peaceful in his sleep, I can’t help but smile sadly, remembering all the times we dozed off together by our tree, so many late afternoons back in Salerno.

  My heart weighs heavily with all the broken pieces of my dreams and a nostalgia that just won’t let the past go.

  When I woke up later that morning, Giorgio had already left.

  A note was taped to my vanity telling me he would be home for dinner that night, only it didn’t happen either.

  By the third night, I stayed awake all night to confront him, but he didn’t even come home at all.

  I was sick to my stomach in worry that something might’ve happened to him.

  Was he hurt?

  My God, what if someone shot him?

  My legs were sore from the non-stop circles I paced all night.

  I was tempted to call the police for help.

  Anything.

  Something.

  When I heard the door unlock, and he staggered in.

  At ten in the goddamn morning.

  I was going to fucking kill him myself.

  “Oh my God, Giorgio! Where the fuck have you been?” I screeched.

  The adrenaline that had me going for the last few hours was at its peak now and he was about to receive the full brunt of it.

  “Shhh, bella, not so loud,” he waved me off.

  “Don’t fucking shush me! Where the hell have you been?” I yelled still. I couldn’t calm myself if I tried.

  He pushed off his Ferragamos and began to unbutton his shirt with his eyes closed. He started to sway a little when I charged right up to him and got in his face to berate him.

  That’s when I saw the smeared pink lipstick on his jaw and smelled the cheap perfume.

  I lost it.

  I couldn’t think past anything other than the need to fucking hit him.

  Right. In. His. Face.

  So I slapped him with everything I had in me.

  He had no idea what was coming because it knocked all six-foot-four of him right over.

  But I couldn’t stop at just that.

  He made me fucking lose it.

  I straddled him and kept hitting him.

  I made two petite fists and made purchase on him wherever I could and I don’t remember even feeling any of the hits I think I did, because all I was consumed with was the betrayal.

  I had been terrified out of my mind all night and he was doing God knows what and fucking God knows who, after swearing to me he never would.

  The audacity.

  How could he do this to me?

  I was captive to this … this … state of blood thirst; I had completely lost my mind.

  I felt possessed.

  I don’t even know where I went in my head because when I finally came to, he was on top of me, with both my wrists pinned to the floor above my head, and we were panting, trying to catch our breaths.

  I don’t remember him stopping me.

  I can’t remember anything after slapping and straddling him.

  He was looking at me like I was crazed.

  I was.

  I needed him to hurt the way I was hurting.

  “Gianna, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks and I see that his lip was split.

  My gut twisted a little with conflicting feelings, instinctively, wanting to tend to him.

  But I also relished the result of my attack on him, even though it couldn’t match the emotional pain I was experiencing.

  I spat at him and tried to buck him off of me with no result.

  “I hate you, you son of a bitch! How fucking could you? You’re scum. You lie right to my face and then come home smelling like the trash that you are! Get off me!” I buck again wildly.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Lied to you about what? You’re out of your goddamn mind!” He yelled, squeezing my wrists tighter, hurting me.

  “Go ahead, break them! You’re already breaking everything else in me!” I screamed.

  I couldn’t breathe with the rage simmering through my veins, the hurt choking my heart and the physical exhaustion taking over the surge of adrenaline I had.

  My robe had completely opened during our scuffle and I was underneath him, entirely bare to him, exposing not just my body, but all of my vulnerability, too.

  I hated that he had all of me but I never have all of him.

  “What’s going on? Where did this come from, Gianna?” he asked me a little calmer, but still angry.

  “Get the hell off of me, you cheating bastard!” I cried in a weak yell, tears running down my temples and into my hair.

  There was an ocean of emotions between us and I was drowning in them all.

  “Cheat? Gianna, what are you on about? I don’t cheat on you! How many times I gotta tell you to get those ridiculous ideas outta your head?” he has the balls to keep lying.

  “You’re going to lie to my face, when I can see the lipstick on you and the fucking perfume is choking me with the smell of your betrayal? How much more obvious do you have to be, Gio? Are you gonna start introducing me to your whores, too?”

  “Nooo. No, baby, no. You are completely mistaken. That is not at all what it looks like. That was some fucking dancer who thought she could get closer to me than she was allowed,” he says like I’m just going to believe him.

  “Those fucking cops that the Fiores whacked, not only caused a huge disagreement between the families, but with the police in our pockets. It’s all a big mess, baby. My brothers hired a few strippers who would provide more than a visual distraction for the capos at the meeting. One of the fucking dancers thought she could kiss me and get away with it,” he laughs, still a little drunk and glassy eyed.

  He goes on to tell me that while she’s giving him a lap dance—which in my still offended state of mind right now, this revelation doesn’t make me feel that much better— had decided to kiss him, so he backhanded her.

  I wasn’t sure how to feel.

  I didn’t want anyone touching him, but I don’t like the idea he could just hit a woman and be so blasé about it either.

  Giorgio continues his little story, not realizing all it’s doing is re-invigorating the hurt and anger, even though it was only a lap dance according to him.

  It still makes me jealous.

  I was in too much emotional turmoil, I didn’t know how to let any of it go.

  “I told that fucking putana that if she touched me again, she’d never be able to dance for a crowd with the scar I’d leave on her face... if I didn’t make her disappear instead.”

  Oh my God!

  Nothing is off limits in that world.

  “Giorgio, since when do you hit women?” I asked shocked.

  “Ah, Gia, don’t be so naive. Our means of demanding respect are what others would consider unsavory. We do whatever it takes, and no one, not even some bimbo dancer is gonna be allowed to cross a line with me.”

  “It’s not right, I don’t like any of this, Gio,” my conscience was weighing in.

  “It is what it is, bella,” he says softly, maybe trying to take out the bite of the finality of his words.

  He gathers me in his arms and starts peppering my face with soft, liquor-scented kisses.

  I know it’s to distract me, but s
o many conflicting emotions are running amok right now, I’m not sure which will take center first.

  I’m shocked Giorgio is someone I still don’t really know.

  I’m saddened immensely by that thought, and what it’ll mean if he continues to become someone I can’t recognize.

  How could he hit a woman? And think it’s justifiable in any way?

  I hate this.

  I hate what it is doing to him, to us. We seem to be stuck on this winding road, slowly journeying to the demise of our relationship. And I’ve been mourning the crash long before.

  He’s running his fingers through my hair, when he licks his lip and winces.

  “How could you think I would cheat on you, Gianna? You know better,” he chides.

  “You didn’t come home, Gio. Even though you’re barely here anymore, you never not come home,” I tell him, ashamed of my lack of sanity earlier.

  I was scared more than anything, and then... I saw red.

  I’m no better than him hitting that woman, having hit my husband.

  I feel like I’m losing my way.

  He starts kissing me, passionately, not trying to test the waters but reminding me just who he is to me.

  He lifts me off the floor to straddle his lap, and slips my robe off my shoulders, removing me of everything in his way.

  Naked, I feel like I could shatter in his arms right now with all the cracks that have weakened me.

  The adrenaline was gone, and the shame had me unable to look at him in the eyes.

  He knows this when he lifts my chin to face him, “C’mon, bella, show me all that passion... Nah-ah, don’t get shy now. Show me, baby, right now,” he whispers, cupping my ass and pressing me into him, making me rub his length through his pants, driving me insane.

  I close my eyes, embarrassed of my need.

  I can’t resist this with him. After everything, I just need to be close to him in any way I can.

  “All of this is yours, bella. All of me, belongs only to you, Gianna. Stop doubting it,” he seals with a kiss.

  Still on the floor, he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his zipper, taking himself out.

  Torturously, he rubs himself slowly through my folds, finding my center, kissing my breasts.

  “Just like that,” he says, pushing me down on him as he lifts himself up, impaling me, “show me just how passionate you are as you ride my dick, baby.”