I return to the romance category with this story that just had to come out of me. It was too hard to hold it in any longer. I hope you like it. Let me know what you felt in the comments below. Good, bad or (hopefully not) ugly.
There is a lot of build-up and story leading to the sex. I hope you like the journey and not just the destination.
A massive vote of thanks to my editor, KatieTay, and my beta reader, Privates1stClass, for ensuring the story ends up miles better than the first draft.
DISCLAIMER --
All characters and events described are fictional. Similarities to any people or events is purely coincidental. All sexual activity takes place between people above the age of 18. There is a fair amount of violence and bloodshed ahead.
"Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost."
― Inferno, Canto 1, Dante Alighieri
* *
PROLOGUE
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Did you fucking say sorry? This is the fifth time you're late on this instalment."
The man grabbed Roy by the front of his shirt and brought him closer. He had a gleam in his cold, blue eyes.
"Listen, Saviano. The old man might be lenient with your payments, but I'm not. What do you think we are, a fucking charity? Do you have any idea who you took money from?"
He spat at Roy who looked down.
"Daddy, I need help with-"
A cold horror went through Roy as he turned his head towards the door. A ten year old girl stood in the doorway with a book in her hand and looked terrified at the scene playing out in front of her.
"I'll be right with you, sweetie."
He turned his gaze back on the man holding his shirt.
"Please. Not in front of my children. Let me take her back to her room and I'll come back, I swear."
"You listen to me, old man," he hissed. "If you don't have the money by this weekend, I'll come back, but not to talk."
As if emphasizing his point, he took out a Smith & Wesson and aimed it at the door where the little girl stood. Roy turned his head to see the little girl paralysed with fear as she stared down the metallic barrel of the gun. His heart jumped to his throat.
"I'll start with the kids."
* *
The dawning sun crept in through the window of the Saviano household. The kids were trying their best to postpone getting up. They squirmed and softly whined, desperate to eke out a few more precious minutes of sleep. The window was open just enough that the warmth of the sun bathed the bed and the light shone straight into their eyes.
Undeterred, they squinted and dug in. Five more minutes of sleep. Definitely. Surely.
A man sat at the edge of the bed. He looked at the bright sun outside the window. It did not seem to matter to him that he had spent the whole night staring out of that very window.
His face was plain, a forgettable unshaven generic Italian American Bronx face you could easily replace with the guy who sat in the subway next to you and buried himself in the newspaper. He looked considerably older than he was. Bits of his hair had greyed and worried creases went from temple to temple.
His sleepless night was writ large on his face. Dark circles showed around his eyes. His face had generally sunk back into the bones of his skull. It was like a grotesque mask of someone who used to be much happier.
A war raged behind his kind blue eyes. Two fundamentally opposing forces fought for superiority. It was as if he had awoken from a long sleep and the only way out of his reality was an impossible choice.
"Dad, we'll miss the bus."
"Right," he said, snapping out of his trance-like state. The fatigue and lack of rest weighed on him as he went to the cupboard and retrieved two sets of clothes. The kids dutifully took their places in front of the bathroom sink and went to work with their toothbrushes.
Roy Saviano had a decision to make, but first he had to drop his children off at school. He knew the routine well enough by now to do it on autopilot. Even as his mind stayed firmly on his decision, his hands went through the motions of helping his children get dressed.
Button by button. Then down on one knee to tie their shoelaces. Once he was satisfied with both sets of laces, he stood back and checked for anything missing.
Much easier when it was a two person job.
Joe and Donna occasionally protested they were old enough to get dressed on their own. At the ages of eight and ten respectively, they felt grown up enough to take this responsibility. In truth, they hoped it would put their father's mind at ease.
But Roy Saviano had none of it. Especially not today. Every moment where he could feel his children close to him was special.
All the while, they discussed about school. Donna was thinking of signing up for her age group's soccer team. Joe, on the other hand, was having trouble with an older student who had taken to bullying him regularly.
He even walked them the couple of blocks to where the school bus would pick them up. It certainly diminished their cool quotient among their peers, but Roy could not be removed from their side with a crane.
The trio waved at their friends and neighbours. The Bronx was more like a small town than a borough of a bigger city. The Savianos knew everyone in a three block radius and everyone knew them back. They walked past the bodega and Roy bought a fresh pack of cigarettes. His habit had bothered Sofia to no end.
They stopped at the line of other kids waiting for the bus. Some of them grinned and giggled, undoubtedly amused that Joe and Donna's Dad had come to drop them off at the bus stop. They themselves whined, their cred taking a serious hit in front of their classmates.
"Let's hear it once again -- if the denominators are the same..."
"We add the numerators," groaned Donna. "I remember, Dad. Don't worry. I got this."
"You had better, because you'll be teaching fractions to your little brother next year."
The bus came by and Roy pulled the ultimate uncool Dad move by helping his kids onto the bus. He knew the ribbing and teasing would start as soon as the bus was past the next intersection, but he did not care. He needed to touch them one last time before they left for school. To hold them and know they were okay.
The walk back felt almost twice as long. Roy knew he had work to do. He had to get ready himself and he had a restaurant to open. But those were the farthest thoughts from his mind.
He stood in front of the entrance to his restaurant. It was an old brick and mortar building adjoining his house. It had been part of his family for three generations. His great grandfather had opened Saviano's. He had stood behind the kitchen counter as a boy and learned to roll gnocchi with his fingers and had understood how fine pasta had to be cut for it to be linguini and it to be spaghetti under the stern eye of his father.
There was a veritable deluge of memories within that place. The fun, the laughter, the constant ringing of the bell to let everybody know yet another customer had come in to sample the best mozzarella-drenched pizza this side of the Harlem river.
Roy looked up at the awning covering his entrance. The "S" in Saviano's had been ripped and fluttered in the wind. The fabric, covered in dirt and grime, looked like it had not been cleaned in months.
The interiors were not very different. Most surfaces had a layer of dust on them. There was a time when if either Roy or his staff saw a speck of dust, it was gone in an instant. Not any more. No one took pride in the ambience. No one cared any longer how the place looked.
No one cared. Period.
