“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”
—Marilyn Monroe
“STUPIDO!” MAMMA REPEATED THE WORD three times, her voice resounding in deaf ears, before muttering in Italian that all of her children were stupido as she left the kitchen.
“Fuck, Elena. Stop.” Tony winced.
I pulled the cotton ball away from the nasty cut on his face. “You can hit Nicolas with your injured hand, but you can’t take a little burn of alcohol?”
And to think that I had waited on him all night when he could throw punches like he was 100 percent. He was regretting it now, with his tight expression and the red seeping through the bandage on his hand.
God, he looked awful.
There was nothing more gruesome than watching two men pummel each other half to death. Especially when you had the odd feeling of not knowing who you wanted to win. Tony . . . right? I swallowed, feeling like a traitor.
After Tony had shattered a glass against his future brother-in-law’s hard head, Nicolas had wrapped an arm around my brother’s neck and slammed him to the floor. The heavy thunk still resonated in my mind.
Nonna had looked up from her game of tic-tac-toe with my sister and sighed. “Finally, some entertainment.”
Adriana had taken a sip of wine, her expression lightening since whatever news she’d received earlier, and, oddly enough, bet my nonna fifty bucks on Tony. Apparently, Nicolas was part of the reason she was upset.
Papà had only sat back in his chair and watched, and so had Nicolas’s uncles. No one was stepping in, and for all I knew they were going to fight to the death. The thought settled unpleasantly in my stomach until I couldn’t watch it any longer. I waited outside, in front of the restaurant, with Dominic.
I wasn’t sure how it had started, but I imagined Tony had found out about the picture, or maybe Jenny had admitted she’d been with Nicolas recently.
And this was the aftermath.
Red marks covered Tony’s bare torso, the beginning of bruises forming on his ribs and back. Blood spilled from a nasty cut on his face, from his nose, his lip, and dripped down his chest.
He leaned back in the island chair, dressed in his shoes and dress pants, texting.
“What’s the cut from?” I was unsure of how such a ragged wound from the corner of his eye to his hairline had been the product of a fistfight. Though, I guessed it was a pretty severe one, as though they’d both been saving all their aggression for it.
“Broken chair leg.”
My eyes widened. “He hit you with a chair leg?”
What a cheat.
“Yeah. After I hit him with it.”
Oh.
Truthfully, I didn’t know why I was even trying to help Tony. He hadn’t exactly been the best brother as of late. It made me feel like a pushover, but for as long as I could remember I’d had this mother-hen gene I couldn’t get rid of. It was an urge to help I couldn’t ignore. I didn’t know where I’d gotten it. It wasn’t from my mamma and, as Nonna used her cane to push open the kitchen door and then thanked Tony for winning her fifty bucks, not from her either.
My skin also danced with an edginess that tonight had left behind. I had to do something to stay busy, otherwise thoughts of him came to the surface, making me feel hot all over. And, to be clear, it was the wrong him I thought of.
I crossed my arms, still wearing my dress and heels. “Well, did you get some hits in? Because it looks like you took the brunt of it.”
A sarcastic gaze flicked to me before he glanced back to his phone. “I got enough.”
“Please tell me you aren’t texting Jenny.”
“I’m not texting Jenny,” he said dryly.
He was texting Jenny.
“You both cheat on each other. Don’t you think it’s not the healthiest relationship to be in?”
He set his phone on the island and ran his hand through his hair. “I love her, Elena.”
A little lump formed in my throat. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Tony.”
“Of course not,” he responded with a serious tone, and I thought we were going to have an intelligent, meaningful conversation for once, but then he opened his mouth again. “Good sex has to come with it.”
I sighed.
He laughed and ran a hand down his chest, smearing blood as he did. “You’re a good sister, Elena. Now come give your big brother a hug.”
“No.” I frowned. “You’re sweaty and bleeding.”
“A hug is the least I can do.”
“The least you can do is not—no, Tony, don’t!”
He squeezed me in a bear hug and made a show of wiping his nasty man-ness all over me. I groaned, wrinkled my nose, and tried to fight my way out of it.
He sucked in a breath. “Fuck.”
I froze. “What?”
“Broken rib, I think.”
I winced and pulled back just as Papà pushed the kitchen door open. He glanced at my first-aid supplies on the counter and then at me with disapproval, telling me not to coddle Tony. His gaze went to his son, eyeing him with that judgmental stare he was good at.
“You look like shit.”
Tony chuckled. “Thanks, Pops.”
The door swung shut, and then Papà’s voice filtered through it. “Office, now.”
Wide awake, with all my synapses still firing, I dragged my feet to my room. As the hot shower water sluiced down my skin, I wondered how bad Nicolas got it. Who was cleaning his cuts? Gianna? An unpleasant weight pulled on my chest.
In a restless daze, I combed my wet hair and then pulled on some panties and a tight t-shirt that said, “Sleep Tight, I Bite.”
Lying in bed, the gothic band Type O Negative leaked from Adriana’s room and into mine. A good sister would have gone to ask her why she was upset, but I was beginning to learn I was a selfish one. I closed my eyes, wishing I could only flip a switch to get rid of this attraction for her fiancé.
When I opened them, I still felt it—a fascination so deep in my skin it was like it had always been there, lying dormant. My breathing turned shallow as I relived the night: his presence brushing mine, his deep voice in my ear, his hand on my thigh, pushing my dress up and up.
Warmth ran between my legs, leaving an emptiness behind I was scared only he could fill.
I had it bad.
So bad.
I wanted this man like I hadn’t even known you could want a man.
Throwing the covers back, I slid out of bed and padded to the dresser. I pulled a Zippo lighter out of my clutch.
With the scratchy sound of the flint, a flame danced before my eyes.
After the fight, I’d gone back inside to retrieve my purse and found the lighter on the floor. It was his, with an ace of spades on the side.
I took it as easily as he took my sanity.
Climbing back into bed, I lay there and flicked the Zippo open and closed, filling the room with a flame for a man I shouldn’t have.
Before I snuffed it out.
