Incriminated, page 5
Once the door was open I was scooped back into his arms and carried to my room, a giggle escaping my lips. It was only then that the need in his eyes became visible, overpowering his normal expression. I reached up and slid my fingers over his bottom lip, gasping as he nipped at them.
"Michael…" I murmured, but he was gone. Before I could formulate a sentence I was pressed against the bed, my dress being hiked up over my hips. His movements were rushed, but gentle. He was quick to get his pants and boxers down his legs, kicking them off with his shoes. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, licking my lips as anticipation began to build in my stomach. He groaned a little as he looked at me, his eyes sweeping over my flushed skin.
"You're so damn beautiful, I can't stand it sometimes. And the way Danny kept looking at you…" the last part came out almost as a growl, his eyes darkening. Before I could bother to console him he was claiming me, showing me over and over just who I belonged with.
I was utterly spent, my body temporarily in shock from the pleasure that coursed through me.
After he regained his ability to think he put my legs down slowly, laying me on my side. He sunk next to me and stretched across the bed, taking a deep breath.
"I had planned to make love to you all night. I don't know what just happened," he said quietly, a tone of remorse echoing in his words.
"Michael. Please don't sound like you regret that… it was… it was great." I blushed, turning to look at him. A smirk instantly crossed his features, his eyebrows rising.
"Great, huh? Let's go for incredible." He pulled me into his arms and kissed me with more passion than I had ever experienced. We spent the rest of our night exhausting each other until we fell asleep.
I was falling in love with him, and suddenly that felt okay.
seven
The rest of the month went by in a blur of fun, and preparation. I had fully given into the idea of starting a fresh relationship with Michael and now that neither of us were fighting our feelings, things were great. The restaurant was a week away from opening and things were unbelievably hectic.
The first time he took me to the restaurant was two weeks ago; for what turned out to be an intimate dinner date. As usual he had only told me that it was a surprise, and had given me a time to be ready for him to pick me up. He had arrived at my door promptly at 8 and within twenty minutes we had been parked in front of a beautiful brick building with 10 foot windows all the way around it. It was right up against the water and Michael had not only purchased the building, but all of the surrounding land. He took me inside and I was greeted with a candlelit dinner, our own waiter, and soft jazz music filtering through hidden speakers. I would be lying if I said I didn't shed a few tears.
Though the restaurant was a modest size the land in general covered 3 acres. He had plans to build a small gelato café next to the restaurant once business was good. The land even included a small dock where I noticed a small boat had been sitting each time we came; but he never mentioned its purpose.
The building was beautiful on the inside. The floors were a rich creamy tile and the tables were an elegant mahogany. There was a small stage with a beautiful baby grand piano perched on it, and an old fashioned microphone. At the center of the restaurant was a large wrap around bar that could easily be seen from anywhere in the two-story building. The upstairs had been made into a more intimate lounge area with plush booths that Michael referred to as his VIP section. He said it could be reserved for meetings, parties, or a nice place for us to escape and have dinner with each other. That was the thing about Michael; he was sweet without trying. He naturally did things that made me smile on a daily basis.
I had easily fallen into my role of co-captain around the restaurant. While Michael busied himself with ordering liquor and food I had hired a lot of the waiting staff. I had personally interviewed each host, bartender, and waiter. We spent countless hours at night picking the silverware, glasses, plates, and linen. By the time we made it to the week of the opening I could easily rattle off phone numbers to at least 10 different suppliers.
Truth be told I had loved every minute of it. It felt good to finally have a bit of stability, and it felt good to laugh as much as we did. Michael had gotten an apartment nearby mine, though it seemed pointless since we rarely spent a night apart. We spent countless hours getting everything ready and by the time we left the restaurant in the wee hours of the morning all I ever wanted to do was collapse in his arms.
We had ended so many nights by dragging our feet through the doorway of his apartment building or mine, riding the elevator with half-closed eyes. The second we made it through the door though…that's when we came alive. Our passion for each other had become something unexplainable. Every touch, every kiss—everything was perfect. We spent hours competing with each other over who would satisfy the other more. Each morning I woke with sore muscles, swollen lips, and beautiful memories—we were untouchable to the outside world.
The second we exited the apartment we became the power couple. Getting the restaurant ready was no small task—but we were enjoying it. His family had stopped by every now and then; adding their suggestions no matter how welcome or unwelcome they were. Elena had been the most helpful; tweaking some of the recipes and working with the three chefs that Michael had hired. She made suggestions for specials and even gave us her secret tiramisu recipe. I had nearly cried at the first bite. Alice had stopped in and begged Michael to turn the restaurant into a club after hours, which Michael quickly declined despite Alice's pouting.
The most entertaining visit had been when Frankie came in, yelling about how there, "weren't any pictures of the greats in the joint."
"What's the matter with you, knucklehead? You dense or somethin?" He had been sitting at one of the cushioned bar stools, while Michael and I stood behind the bar. Michael had been crunching numbers; I had been stocking the top shelf.
"What do you mean?" Michael sighed, raising his head for a moment to look at his Uncle.
"You think because you're hot shit you ain't gotta pay homage, boy? Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Lou Prima—fuck even Tony Bennett, though the asshole changed his last name. You can't have an authentic Italian restaurant and not show off what we're proud of, ya hearin' me? That's part of your culture, son. God, what do you see in this shithead, Gabriella?" Frankie grinned and winked at me, ignoring Michael's grumbling.
"Can't I have something that's my own? That's what every Italian restaurant does, zio! Huge crappy posters of all "the greats"! But everyone knows who they are already! They don't need to come in here to know those guys existed! They come in here to taste real, authentic, Italian food and that's what I'm giving them! Lay off me, old man." Michael punctuated his remark by putting a glass in front of his uncle, filling it half way with bourbon.
"Alright, alright. You little know it all. At least tell me someone's going to use the piano and it's not just fuckin' decoration or some shit!" Frankie arched a brow, knocking back half of the glass afterwards.
"Actually," I spoke up, a grin forming on my face. "Michael is going to play on Wednesday and Friday nights. And occasionally we're going to have different musicians come in—we'll have themed nights with special dishes, and only a limited amount of tables." I threw a smile Frankie's way, knowing he'd be happy to hear Michael was performing.
"That's more like it. You two finish up, I gotta get back to Elena." He finished the drink and got up, heading out the door without another word.
"God, he's the worst of all of them, you know that?" Michael sighed and turned to me, sliding his arms around my waist. I rolled my eyes and pressed up against his chest, raising my hand to push the few locks of hair that fell in his eyes.
"Stop it. You know they just want to you to be successful. Your parents would be so proud of you Michael." I smiled solemnly, hoping he knew just how true that was. Over the past few weeks I had learned a lot about his parents. Every time we had to take on a new issue with the restaurant, Michael would recall how his father would handle it. Often when Frankie or Elena stopped by they would talk fondly of being in the old restaurant; and shortly after the family stories would begin. I could see Michael's eyes soften, his expression unclear as he considered his words.
"I wish you could have met them," he said after a few moments, his fingers trailing up and down my arms. "They would've loved you like their own." He leaned over and pressed a slow kiss to my forehead, his warm breathe tickling my skin.
Once we cleaned everything up we locked up and headed to the front door, Michael's fingers tangled with mine.
"You bitch."
The words hit us the second we were outside. I turned to find Mrs. Genovese standing in front of us. She looked tired, dirty, and angry. Her beautiful pearls, perfect hair, and expensive clothes had been replaced with a loose ponytail and a pair of gray sweatpants that looked too big for her. A plain white shirt clung to her upper body, and her feet were donning a cheap pair of sneakers.
"I have you to thank, right?! Pissy cause you lost your job so you had to get back at me? We were fuckin’ even, you whore. Who do you think you are, you little cunt! I was ARRESTED. Most of the estate was cleaned out as "illegally earned funds". Every dollar we had left I had to use for my bail. I spent two weeks in a cell, you insolent little bitch. All so that you could be my husband's slut?" Her voice had become higher and higher, the rage hitting me in waves.
"I never slept with him. Not once. And the only person at fault for this is you," I spit out, gripping Michael's hand tightly.
"You stupid little girl, you can't treat me like some common moron!" she yelled before pulling a gun from the back of her sweat pants. Her body was trembling; her fingers gripped the black metal tightly, as though the gun was what tethered her to reality. My eyes frantically moved from her face to the gun, panic seeping into my veins. The moment slowed down, everything becoming so painfully detailed. The sound of the safety coming off, the sound of her pulling the trigger—they echoed around us. I could hear Michael's voice, could feel him shoving me to the ground, and then…
Nothing.
eight
Beeping. What the hell was that terrible beeping noise? As I became more aware of my surroundings I also became painfully aware of the throbbing in my skull. What the fuck is happening? I groaned and shifted a little, instantly noticing that something was incredibly wrong.
My eyes shot open and scanned the room, confused by the white curtain, pastel wallpaper and small TV perched on the wall. Hospital? I tried to sit up but was quickly pushed back down by a warm hand.
"Unh uh, toots. Relax, you need to give yourself a moment."
Frankie's voice was soft but firm, as his hand pulled away. My eyes instantly met his as different emotions floated through me. He seemed to understand the confusion, concern, and fear that he saw in my expression. Smiling, he pulled a chair up to the side of my bed and sat down, taking my hand in his.
"You had a nasty spill, doll. I guess that's the easiest way to put it. They told me not to stress you out too quick once you woke up, but I've never been one for beatin' around the bush. Do you remember anything?"
"You had just left the restaurant, Michael and I were locking up and then… Mrs. Genovese?"
"Good, seems like you aren't too out of it. Look, Gabriella, I don't want to scare you but I ain't keep anything from ya, alright? Michael is in here. That crazy broad was trying to shoot you; Michael knocked you out of the way and took the bullet. Got him right in the stomach."
His face was grim, and the tears formed in my eyes instantaneously. It was like an ongoing nightmare that I was never going to wake up from. The second any happiness came to me it was ripped away. Things had been going so well and now Michael…Michael!
"Is he okay? What do you mean he got shot? For me? Frankie please tell me he's alright."
"Shh, bambina relax. He just got out of surgery a little while ago. The doctor says things look good, slow recovery but the bullet went straight through. They didn't find any fragments in him and it didn't hit any major organs. The kid's luckier than he fuckin' knows, hand to God. And all for you, piccolina. That boy loves you more than you know."
I nodded and hung my head, guilt forming in the pit of my stomach as I thought about how hard I had made him fight to prove that love to me. And now here he was in the hospital with a gunshot wound.
"Eh, look at me, bambina. I know that look, you're feelin' guilty. Knock it off, okay? I'm no idiot, Gabriella. I know exactly who that dame was and once we got you guys to the hospital I knew there was somethin' I was missin. That knucklehead doesn't give me credit for how smart I am, you know that? Thinks he learned all the bullshit he knows on his own." He laughed a little and shook his head, his eyes gazing off as if he were somewhere far away.
"I won't paint myself as a saint for you, I wasn't always the picturesque man you see before you." He winked before leaning back in his chair. "I use to work for Genovese—not as one of those idiot muscle men, but as a liaison to some other… families in the business. I won't say I don't have crimes on my hands, but I got out before things got too messy. Genovese… he wanted too much, ya know? Always messin' with good families. I didn't like it, not one bit. The racketeering, the illegal gambling… I could deal with it. But he was always messin’ with good businesses, families we had grown up with even! He tried to get me to stay, but I wasn't havin' it.”
“The day I left I swore off the whole lifestyle, moved my family to our home and never looked back. I always feel like I have a target on my back, but... no one ever comes. When Michael's parents were killed, God bless their souls, I had an idea it had been Genovese—but never any proof. I mean, what better way to get back at me for leaving then killing my little brother, and his beautiful wife? But all this shit with you randomly showin' up, Michael suddenly rejoining the family… I knew somethin' was going on. And then wasn't that bitch the icing on the cake? I looked back at Genovese's death more critically, knowing what to look for now." His eyes found mine and took on a very serious expression, his hand gripping mine tightly.
"Michael killed him, didn't he?" he said quietly, though I could tell he already knew the answer. I swallowed hard and stared at him, before answering with a slow nod.
"And somehow you got mixed up in all of this? That's why that no good bitch was after you huh?"
I sighed and took a deep breath, before giving Frankie an abridged version of exactly what Michael and I had gone through. I explained what happened at the club the first time I met Genovese, explained how Michael had kidnapped me, how we lured Genovese, how he brought me to his apartment, how Michael had shown up that night and how Genovese had died. The whole time Frankie's jaw was tight, his eyes boring into mine.
"You got some serious gonads on you, you know that? The sheer fact that you dealt with all of that and somehow still get a smile on that pretty face when you see my nephew? Shit, the kid is lucky you haven't cut his dick off while he's sleepin’. Mother of God, how the fuck did he pull all this shit off?"
He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath before patting my hand in a fatherly manner.
"Well I think it'll make you happy to know the lunatic has already been locked up."
"She has? How long have I been out?"
"Less than a day, bambina. It's about 4 in the morning. I'm going to go check on Michael; I'll let the nurse know you're awake."
He offered me that handsome smile before sauntering out of the room. I took a deep breath, surprised by the tears that immediately begun to fall. She was going to go to prison. Michael was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.
Within ten minutes a plump, cheery older nurse with bright red hair came in. She checked my vitals and smiled widely, surprised by how quickly I was coming to. She pressed her hand to my face and turned it, alerting me to the stitches that ran from my forehead to my ear. Apparently I had hit a rock on the way down, big surprise there. Couldn't just fall and hit the grass, huh.
She helped me stand up and let me walk around the room for a few moments, making sure my balance was on point. Once she was comfortable she asked if I wanted to visit Michael. My eyes lit up at his name, and I nodded quickly.
"Alright dear, let me tie up that gown in the back and we'll get going." I dutifully turned and let her tighten the ties of my hospital gown before she slipped my IV onto a portable stand and led me to the ICU.
Anxiety gripped at me as we made our way through the halls. I knew Frankie had already told me that Michael would be okay, but the idea of having to see him in the hospital bed made my stomach churn. She stopped outside of the room and gestured towards the door, offering me a smile.
"You'll be alright, honey. Go on in."
I stepped into the room slowly and smiled at Frankie and Elena who were sitting on a small loveseat, wrapped in each other's arms. Elena offered me a small wave, while Frankie winked and gestured towards the bed. I turned slowly and let my eyes rake over Michael's form. His eyes were closed, and there was a small monitor next to him beeping at a slow pace. I moved towards the bed slowly, taking a seat on the edge. I had to choke back the tears, forcing myself to remember that he was going to be just fine.
I sat there for what seemed like hours, though I honestly had no idea of what time it was. Every now and then Elena or Frankie would leave the room, but they never spoke—they left me to contemplate the situation silently. After what had seemed like my fifteenth prayer, his eyes began to flutter.
"Frankie, Elena," I said in hushed, urgent tone. They immediately shot of the seat and moved to the other side of his bed, watching his face carefully. Michael's eyes opened slowly, fluttering as he tried to adjust to the light of the room. His eyes moved from face to face, before they stuck on mine. He stared at me quietly, an intensity burning in his expression that I couldn't place. Was he angry he saved me? Should I not be here?
