Burned Dreams (Perfectly Imperfect #7)

As he’s getting into his car, Rocco gives me a chin lift, a thank you for saving his life. The idiot has no idea that an expiration date was stamped over his pitiful existence the moment I found out he killed the last family member I had left. And I’ll be the only one who gets to end it.

Chapter 9

I loathe visits to Rocco’s father. Not only because he’s a misogynistic pig, but because my husband has an extremely sick need to show off in front of his dad. We’ve been to Elio Pisano’s three times, and on each occasion, the experience was worse than the last. Considering that the business partners will be present tonight as well, it’s bound to top all previous occurrences.

I finish fixing my hair and look at myself in the tall mirror. The tight red dress with its ridiculously low neckline that I purchased for this event makes me feel like a slut. Before marrying Rocco, my tastes skewed to casual clothes—jeans and tops, sometimes simple dresses. I favored comfort and pastel colors. I also wore my hair down and never put on makeup, except for special occasions. Rocco insists on a prim and proper hairstyle of a tight, sleek bun and heavy makeup because, in his eyes, it makes me look older and classier. He caught me clean-faced once when he came home from work early. I had to apply a double layer of concealer and foundation for the following week to hide the bruise on my chin.

With one final look in the mirror to make sure everything is as it should be, I leave my room and head downstairs.

Rocco is standing at the bottom of the stairwell, talking with someone on the phone. When he hears me coming, he looks up and nods. I guess my outfit is approved because he turns away and continues with his conversation in a hushed tone. As I’m descending the stairs, my eyes wander to Alessandro who is standing by the front door, and I almost stumble from the intensity of his gaze. Does he like what he sees?

Since my life fell apart like a house of cards, I’ve been feeling like crap. I’m a punching bag for a perverted man who makes me dress like a call girl so his friends can salivate upon seeing me, only to have him “punish” me for it afterward. But there is a palpable difference in my bodyguard’s reaction compared to Rocco’s. My husband’s face showed satisfaction upon seeing me literally half-naked. An amply revealing outfit means that more men will be ogling me. The expression on Alessandro’s face, however, is completely blank, but the look in those steely depths shows disapproval.

I want to laugh and cry at the same time. For months I’ve detested the heated looks other men have been giving me because it meant I’m going to pay for each one. And now, when I secretly yearn to havehislust-filled eyes on me, I’m gifted with disdain instead. Well, these days, I’m used to that, too. Even though it feels more pointed somehow. Breaking our locked stares, I walk toward the front door, looking straight ahead.

Rocco walks up to his shiny new convertible that’s parked on the driveway and holds the passenger door open for me. He was in an exceptionally good mood when he drove it home from the dealership and never even commented when I mentioned having spa days on Saturdays, as well. With the end of the year approaching, there is more work to be done, and Hazel jumped at my offer to come twice a week.

Swallowing the bile that rises each time I have to touch my husband, I take his outstretched hand and slide inside the car. Rocco walks around the hood and gets behind the wheel, jabbering about the horsepower and the speed the new car can reach.

“That son of a bitch Cosimo will die of envy when he sees this baby.” He laughs as he brushes the white leather upholstery. “I heard him telling Pietro that he was eyeing this exact model but didn’t want to spend a hundred grand. Do you know that he still drives that tin can he bought four years ago?” He makes a disgusted face. “Some people have no self-respect.”

Sometimes he reminds me of a spoiled child who has a tantrum if anyone has a shinier toy than him. Cosimo happens to be an especially touchy subject for Rocco. Whether the other capo realizes it or not, Rocco’s in an all-out duel with the elder man. He tries to best him at every turn. Whatever Cosimo gets, Rocco needs to surpass. Whatever Cosimo wants, Rocco needs to possess first. I think it’s all because the don seems to defer to Cosimo’s advice more, and Rocco can’t handle it.

Rocco continues rambling as he starts the engine and drives toward the gate. I pretend that I’m listening to his nonsense while my eyes wander to the side mirror. Alessandro’s SUV is following closely behind us. I can’t see his gloomy face in the mirror’s reflection, but I can almost feel his eyes on the back of my head. He didn’t say anything when he drove me to the Wellness Center this morning, even though we both knew I wasn’t going there to have a facial. And when we went by my mom’s place afterward, I’m pretty sure he noticed me slipping a purse I got for Mrs. Natello behind the sofa. He didn’t comment on it. Why hasn’t he said anything to Rocco?

I recall Alessandro’s hardened glance when he asked if Rocco had hurt me. The tick in his jaw when he questioned me about the things I buy. The edge in his voice when he assured me of his silence about my time at the spa. Maybe he hates my husband more than he dislikes me.

I dreamed about him again last night. We were in an elevator, facing each other, while a dozen Zippo lighters hovered overhead, throwing yellowish light on Alessandro’s face. I wasn’t scared of the tight space as I would be in reality. It was as if Alessandro’s presence alone chased away the fear and anxiety. He took a step toward me, grabbing the two sides of my dress. The sound of ripping fabric filled the small space as he tore the dress off my body in a single motion. I was naked underneath.

His eyes held mine while he undid his zipper and released his cock, then grabbed under my ass and lifted me, pressing my back to the cold elevator wall. The chill dissolved when his rough palms caressed my smooth skin. His touch seemed so real. As did the absolute bliss once he buried his cock in me with one swift plunge. The flames suspended above us flickered to the rhythm of Alessandro’s thrusts, making the scene even more surreal.

Like in the previous dream, he fucked me without mercy for what felt like hours, not a single word uttered aloud the entire time. It was raw. Wild. Unapologetic. And I enjoyed every second of it. I was free. When I awoke, I was so drenched that I had to change my underwear.

“Make sure you behave, bellissima,” Rocco says, pulling me back to earth.

I look up at the windshield and regard the shape of a big white house visible over the fence that stretches down the street. We’re almost there. I take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for what’s to come.

“You know the rules,” Rocco continues. “No talking unless someone asks you a direct question. No one is interested in what you have to say.”

“Yes, Rocco.” I nod.

When we park in front of Elio Pisano’s house and head toward the front door, I steal one fleeting glance over my shoulder. Alessandro is walking a few paces behind us, a towering shadow on a snow-covered landscape. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and my heart leaps in my chest as his gaze burns through mine.

***

“When can I expect a grandson, Rocco?”

My body goes stone-still upon hearing my father-in-law’s question. I don’t dare move my eyes from the plate in front of me.

“Ravenna is still young,” My husband says next to me. “We’re planning to wait for a couple of years.”

“You are thirty-five,” Elio roars. “You don’t have time for waiting. What if the first one is a girl?”

“Maybe Rocco wants to enjoy having his wife only for himself a little longer.” A man sitting further down the table snickers. “I know I would.”

Everyone around the table bursts out laughing. I take the edge of the tablecloth between my fingers and squeeze.

“Makes sense. There’s nothing grosser than a woman’s tits after she’s done breastfeeding. Make sure you book a plastic surgeon for her right after,” Elio jeers then nods toward my right hand, noticing my stilled movement as I was about to set down the fork. “What happened to her hand? Are you being too rough in bed, Rocco?”