Alessandra Torre - Masked Innocence

Automatic sprinklers started in the gardens below, and Brad leaned on the railing and ground out his cigar in frustration. His father spoke again. “No. Death is the only way.”

Brad straightened, turning to face his father. “I have stood aside and watched you ruin and take countless lives. You know my opinion of your business. I won’t dishonor you by voicing it in your home. But this is one time I am not coming to you and asking for compassion. I am demanding her protection. You have cursed me with this family. Now let me have one benefit from its association. If you come for her, you will be sacrificing me.”

The eyes of his father deadened, black holes on gray skin. “You’ve been away too long, Brad. You’ve forgotten how I respond to demands. You may be my blood, but you are also the biggest indicator of my weakness. And everyone watches me closely for weakness.” He stepped forward, gripping Brad’s shoulder with his hand. “It’s the principle of it, Bradley. My priority is this family. A family you ceased being a part of a long time ago. And she risks that priority. So, as I said before, death is the only way.” He released his grip and turned, stepping back to the railing and looking outward, away from his son.

Brad came home at 1:00 a.m. His cousin and Martha were in the den, Stevie watching TV and Martha dozing in a recliner. Brad leaned on the door frame, his hands in his pockets, and asked Stevie the question with his eyes.

“She’s upstairs. Asleep, in the guest room.” At his words Martha stirred, then opened her eyes, seeing Brad and nodding hello.

“The guest room.” Brad’s tone was quiet, questioning.

Martha swung the recliner closed and stood, stiff-legged, and came over to Brad. “There was a slip of the tongue, Brad. She knows who you are.”

Brad’s eyes showed his anger, but he patted Martha’s shoulder and kissed her head. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her. You go on to bed.”

Her shoulders slumped, she walked over to Stevie, kissing his cheek and squeezing him hard. “See you soon, Stevie. Don’t be such a stranger.” Then she left, and Brad followed her to the back door, waiting at the window until he saw her enter her apartment. He locked the door, then swung by the fridge on his way back to the den.

He rubbed his brow, stress evident on his face, and met Stevie’s eyes across the room. Walking forward, he set two cold beers down on the table, pushing one to Stevie. “Figured you might want one.”

Stevie grinned, and used his shirt to open it, taking a big sip. “Didn’t want to take one earlier. Thought you might want me sober.”

“You thought right.” Brad sank into a big leather chair, putting his shoes on the table and opening his own bottle, tossing the cap toward the corner trash can. It missed and Brad wearily closed his eyes, resting his head against the worn leather.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Stevie asked.

Brad opened his eyes in response, lifting his head and his bottle. He took a sip and then played with the liquid on his tongue, staring forward, thinking. Stevie let him think, knowing that he would get an answer eventually.

“I am in a bit of a predicament.” Brad spoke slowly, deliberately, his deep voice filling the quiet room.

“If you need help, you know you have my loyalty.”

“This is not your fight.”

“It’s not yours, either.” Stevie leaned forward, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “She’s pussy, Brad. I know you hate collateral damage, but you need to let this one go. They will make it quick. She won’t suffer. And then all of this, the Broward mess, the family rift, the takeover complications, will disappear. And you can go back to your clean life and continuing pretending that you’re not numero due of the Magiano dynasty.” His eyes searched Brad’s and Stevie shook his head in disgust at what he found there. “Don’t give me that look. You know this world. I don’t know that girl, and I have no loyalty to her. My loyalty is to you, and I love you like a brother. You standing up on this—for her—it’s going to rip apart every bit of this life you’ve worked so hard for. She’s a fuck. Maybe a hot one, but one who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. These girls come and go—you know that.”

Brad spoke, steel in his words. “Because you’re one of the few friends I have, I’m not going to break your fucking face for that statement. I’m also not going to dignify it with a response. Except for this. She’s not just pussy. I don’t know what she is yet, but she means something to me. You’re right. I know this world, and I know the risks involved. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told my father. If they come for her, they will have to go through me. And I have no problem dying in that fight.” His eyes cold, resolute, he drained the rest of his beer and stood, walking toward the kitchen. On his way out, Stevie spoke.

“Martha was right.” His voice was bitter, quiet, and Brad dropped the bottle into a trash can and turned to face him.

“Right about what?”

“You love her.” He spat out the words as if they were dirty.

“No.” He shook his head quickly, looking away.

“Christ, Brad, you’ve known the girl, what, a month or two?” Stevie stood up, walked over to Brad, looking into his face, which was growing darker. “You, with the heart of steel and the unending supply of ass. You’re supposed to be the smart one!”

Brad’s right fist connected with Stevie’s chin in a strong uppercut, his left hand grabbing the gun out of his holster. In one smooth motion, he flipped the gun around and cocked it, pointing it at Stevie’s head. The wounded man recoiled, and he glared at Brad, not bothering to wipe the blood pouring from his split upper lip. They faced each other, two experienced men in the game of war, one unarmed and knowing his weakness.

“Get out.”

Stevie laughed, cold and hard. “You need every friend you got right now.”

“I don’t need any more bullshit right now. And you’re bleeding all over my fucking carpet.”

Stevie walked slowly around him, eyeing the gun, leaving the study and heading for the front door. “When you’re over this shit, I’m gonna want that gun back.” Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

Brad locked the doors and reset the alarm. Then he turned off the lights and walked upstairs.

* * *

HE CHECKED THE master bedroom first, hoping that she had moved there and was waiting for him in bed. But his bed was empty, the room silent. He turned to leave and then stopped, seeing something. Pieces of wood and ripped canvas scattered the floor and bed. He stepped forward, trying to distinguish the items in the dimly lit room. Then, realizing what they were, he swallowed a smile and headed to the other bedroom.

He opened the guest-room door quietly, stepping over a tray of untouched food and walking silently into the dark room. Julia was sleeping, her breathing quiet and regular. She lay at an awkward position, her arms splayed, head tilted up by too many pillows.

He watched her sleep, his mind thinking over Stevie’s accusation. Was it possible? Or was this his knight in shining armor instinct? He had felt things for her, had told her as much this morning. But it was way too soon for love.

He felt out of sorts, a sensation that he was not used to and was uncomfortable with. He was used to being in control, to manipulating circumstances so that everything flowed to his liking. Staring at her, frustrated, he let the thought move around in his mind. Love. The thought floated, flipped, then settled. Maybe they were right. And in the realization, he saw light at the end of the tunnel.

I woke from the weight of his body, pressing on the bed as he pulled back the covers and climbed in. I felt cold air, then hard warmth pressing against my back, his arms wrapping my body and pulling me close to him. He moved one of the pillows underneath my head, and my neck relaxed into a more comfortable position.

“I’m mad at you.” I spoke through the layers of fabric but didn’t pull away. Our bodies felt too perfect in the warm bed.

“I know,” he whispered, planting a soft kiss on my neck. “As you deserve to be. But go to sleep now, and lecture me in the morning.”

“I’m starving,” I said, my tired stomach growling, reminding me of my missed dinner. Thank God I’d had some mac and...

“Do you want me to get you something?” Brad asked from behind me. But I didn’t answer. I was already back asleep.

* * *

MORNING CAME, WITH the normal warmth of sunshine filling the room, smells of bacon cooking and sounds of Martha downstairs. I kept my eyes closed, and tried to avoid thinking, tried to pretend for a little longer that everything was normal. Unfortunately, my mental defense system was weak and out of practice. My eyes opened, revealing the well-appointed guest room, and Brad stirred behind me, sensing my movement. I rolled over, still nestled in the cocoon of his arms, and stared up at him. His eyes, heavy with sleep, blinked, and he looked at me warily.

“Good morning.” His voice husky and dry.

I skipped the pleasantries. “Brad Magiano.”

“Yeah, um, Martha told me that you found out about that.” His eyes held no shame but twinkled with something close to mischievousness.

“And that’s funny? You being part of one of the largest crime families in the country? The family that’s hunting me down like a wounded deer?”

“Hey, it’s better than me not having connections to the family that’s hunting you down.”

I frowned at him, pushing away from his chest. “Stop being cute. This is a major problem. I would have left your house last night if I didn’t think I would be gunned down in the street!”

He grabbed my arms and tried to tug me to him, a movement I wormed out of, propping my body up on an elbow. “I’m serious! What the fuck? You are the fucking enemy, and I have been sleeping with you.” The Julia Roberts reference popped out unassisted, and I hated the joviality it inserted into the conversation. But his face straightened, and I saw the seriousness enter his eyes.

“Julia—I know I should have told you. There is no excuse for that, and I’m sorry.”

I waited, expecting the declaration of no excuse to be followed by an excuse. “So? Why didn’t you?”

He groaned, lying back and staring up into the ceiling, avoiding my eyes. “I changed my name when I was seventeen, when I left that life. I have no connection to my family other than traditional obligations. Their business, their lifestyle, I left all of that behind, as much as I could. Sometimes, like now, it is inescapable. I had hoped to handle it without you ever finding out.” He blew out a breath and turned to me, his eyes finally meeting mine.

I narrowed my eyes at his, rolling away from him and standing up. “So you would have kept this a secret! You never planned on telling me!”

“It’s not who I am. It’s what I was born into, and what I made the conscious decision not to be. I’ve been pigeonholed by it my whole life. I didn’t want that from you.” His eyes, frustrated pools of exposure, captured mine, and he held me there as he stood, the bed between us.

“So you didn’t know about the threat? About Broward, about me?”

“I’m not in their circle. I wasn’t consulted or aware of any of those actions. Please know that.” I saw truth in his eyes, in his desperation for my approval.

“It doesn’t matter. I understand you not starting the relationship with that tidbit, but when the shit hit the fan—when one of your family showed up to kill me—that is when you should have told me this. We have enough hurdles to overcome in the relationship, Brad. Big hurdles that already scare the hell out of me. Your family...I don’t know how I would have taken that under normal circumstances. But now, in these circumstances...it’s a deal breaker, Brad.”

He physically swayed from my words, his eyes closing and head dropping. He stayed that way for a moment, solid, unmoving steel. Then he raised his head and met my eyes. “A deal breaker.”

“Yes.”

“You. The woman who raised holy hell in my kitchen, who professed her love for me, love that seemingly had no bounds. You, who wormed her way into the life that I have so carefully constructed. Do you think I want this?” he asked harshly, his arms dropping, two tightly coiled expression of frustration.

“Want what, exactly, Brad?” I spat out the words, stepping forward until I hit the bed. “What exactly have I done to make your life so damn hard?”