Luna
I close my bedroom door and lean against it, my heart pounding against my rib cage threatening to break out. She might as well have a mind of her own. My brain is telling me that we can't like Amani but my heart is saying otherwise. The way our height contrasts so well. The way he towers over me, making me feel safe. The way I'm not feeling afraid when he's around me. I have not been able to stay around men who are not my dads. I always think that if a man is looking at me, he's probably thinking just how fat and ugly I am. With him, it feels different, it feels like he's looking at me with admiration.
The entire day plays in my head like a movie I can't pause nor do I wanna pause. Amani sitting in the front row. Those gorgeous eyes scanning my every move like someone who is trying to memorize me. The way he just walks around with ease and effortlessly looks fine.
The memories of the drive to uni and later to my office bring a smile to my face. The way he was trying so hard to put a brave face when I swerved from lane to lane between cars. He had to hold for his dear life on the door handle. I don't really drive that bad with someone else inside, but come on, I was mad that he showed up after four years and still had the audacity to make my heart flip. Oh the way he tried his best not to react to my music. I was ecstatic when 'or nah by The Weekend' came up. The song is literally a 5 minute song full of smut. It's my favourite song. It's just so graphic but I rarely listen to it with someone else around but, I had to see his reaction and trust me it was priceless. I so wanted to laugh out loud but I didn't. I was too busy torturing him. I shouldn't have teased him. Shouldn't have turned the volume up just to watch him bite his inner lip, which for the record was hot.
Then there was the elevator.
I start undressing. Returning every accessory where it's supposed to be, my rings, watch, glasses,necklaces and my bag, leaving my anklets and waist beads on. In that elevator, for those agonizing seconds, our eyes met in the reflection and something shifted. The air got thicker. The space felt too small. Too hot. My lungs forgot how to work properly. The way his eyes squinted just a little bit, as if he was trying to study me. It felt as if he was trying to figure me out through my glasses. I was hoping they'd be dark enough but no he could still see my eyes, it felt like torture.
I told him about Caspian. About what he did to Elle. And Amani didn't even flinch. Didn't judge. He just listened with those eyes that seemed to read my soul and said it was brave. Brave? I've been called many things, reckless, yes. Evil, I can't even count the many times I've heard that. Dangerous, hell yeah. Psychotic, even my friends call me that. But brave? That was new. I'd be lying if I said that him calling me brave didn't feel good.
I know what he did in Italy. I've known for years that he's a Mafia royalty, the De Luca family has been number one in the Big Five for generations. But four years ago when he and his brother disappeared, the whispers started. My dads would talk in low voices at dinner, thinking I wasn't paying attention.
"The De Luca boys have gone savage," Dad had said one night, his voice a mixture of respect and horror. " They are burning everything to the ground and hunting people down."
" Lorenzo and Aurora were attacked," Papa had explained when he saw my confused expression. "Nearly killed. The boys are handling it."
'Handling it' was quite an understatement of what they actually did.
The girls and I did some research to feed our curiosity. We called in favors from close acquaintances who had benefited from our family connections. The stories we heard were terrifying. Houses burned down while their owners watched. Vineyards destroyed. Bodies disappeared without a trace. The De Luca boys had gone rogue. They were out for blood. No one dared to speak their name.
And you know what? I completely understood. If someone hurt my dads the way Amani's were hurt, you bet your ass I'd do the same or worse. I'd burn the fucking world down if it were to come to that. Hell, I chased a man down with a car and made him pay so much that he was screaming like a banshee by the time I was done with him. I bring hell to people who have wronged people I don't even know, imagine what I'd do if my dads were in danger. Who am I to judge someone for protecting their family?
That's why I waited. Why I didn't ask about Italy. I was so tempted to ask but I just opted not to. It's his secret. Because when you've done some dark things, you need someone to grant you permission to share that darkness on your own terms. He'll tell me when he's ready. Or he won't. It's his story to tell. Either way I know who he is. I know what he's capable of. And somehow it doesn't scare me. I know it should. Maybe it's because I know I'm capable of the same darkness or maybe it's because I see the same darkness in my reflection in his eyes.
And then I almost said his Italian was sexy.
Nia, are you crazy? Get your shit together.
I am definitely crazy. I don't have another nicer word to describe me. Because somewhere between the therapy session and the drive home, I started liking having around. The defense mechanism I had this morning, driving like a maniac, teasing him with my taste in music and giving a whole lot of attitude, it all started melting. I stopped resenting his presence and started noticing things I had no business noticing.
Like the way that heavy Italian accent wraps around English words when he's not thinking about it. " Non sono un prude…. Stanco…. Suffiente…." Every time he slips into Italian, every time his deep voice gets rough with the language of his childhood, something low in my belly tightens.
It shouldn't be hot. It's just an accent, right? Just words in a different language. A language that I understand. We speak Italian all the time, at home and with my friends, but hearing it from him hits different. Oh, the way he says my name, Nia. My swahili name laced with his Italian accent. I want to hear him say it in other contexts. Private contexts, against my skin and….
Get it together girl.
I noticed the way he drove the car with one hand. How I wished the other hand had been on my thigh. Those god-damned veiny hands. I close my eyes tightly, trying to delete his appearance from my brain, if that was even possible. But his venom piercing, which I'd hoped he still had ( I had always fantasized about how it'd feel in my mouth and all over my body) comes crushing to my mind. Just me and my filthy mind thinking about how hot it'd be for our piercing to clash when we kiss….
I place my tongue ring between my teeth. I remember how when I licked my lip earlier in the car, his eyes literally dilated so fast I almost thought he was about to faint. He didn't even have to say what he was thinking, his face said it all. Damn that's hot.
The piercing is one of the few things I did during my dark days. Days where the emotional torture I got from my ex, Calvin, got the better of me. Days where physical pain felt like it'd be the only way to solve my emotional problem.
But Amani looked at it like it was the sexiest thing he had ever set his eyes on.
I can't let my guard down around this man. I can't think about him. He disappeared for four years without a word, even if I knew why he disappeared and respect the hell out of him for that. I don't even know whether I'm even allowed to be mad at him for it. Because we were not a thing to begin with. A man who came back different, harder, darker, finer and with shadows in his eyes that match my own.