His: Tony: The Sabatini Family by Fiona Murphy (mystery books to read .TXT) 📗

“What the fuck does it matter if I have a cigar now? I’m already dead. God damn it, that’s my fucking doctor. I gotta go.”

Shaking my head, I swallow the second espresso.

“Dominic is going to lose it,” Carmella hisses at me. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to him.”

“I’m doing this for him. He thinks he’s happy. He’s fucking miserable. I want him to have what his cousins have. Regina is a beautiful woman who isn’t jaded from this fucked up world. She will love him, and he won’t be able to keep from loving her back. In the end, he’ll be happy. That’s what matters. How it begins doesn’t mean shit.”

Tossing down her dish towel. “Tell yourself that. I’m out of here. I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut. When this blows up in your face, I will say I told you so. I made you tiramisu for your birthday. I hope you choke on it.”

I take a deep breath and wonder how bad it might be when Dominic finds out I had a hand in this. It could be bad, but I’m willing to take the chance. For his happiness, there aren’t many things I wouldn’t do.

***

Tony

Walking Dominic out, after I set the alarm, a glint of light through the stained glass windows catches my eye in the living room. I’m drawn into the room. I don’t come in here anymore. The reds, pinks, and plums of the room remind me of Christy. Was it Dominic bringing up Christy today? He hasn’t said her name since she walked out. As promised, he never said, he told me so. After I stopped wallowing in my misery, he only ever asked if I wanted to talk. I didn’t, so we didn’t.

I haven’t told him that a little less than six months after she walked away, I called Hugo and told him to find Christy.

For the first time since she left, I went hunting for a release from more than my hand. Yet without all the liquor and pain clouding me when I tried to touch the beautiful woman, my dick couldn’t get hard. It was a betrayal to touch someone else. Anger flared to life all over again at her, at myself. The next day, I tried again. This time all I sought was a willing mouth, something, anything to prove I was wrong. Christy wasn’t coming back, and I had to move on from her. But it still wouldn’t happen.

The next day I contacted Hugo.

A little more than three years ago Cesare started teaching Matteo to call me nonno, grandfather. The honor hit me straight in the chest. Holding Matteo, I couldn’t help thinking of the child I had tried so hard to have with Christy. That night, I reached out to another contact, a former FBI agent, and he’s been looking for her too. Neither one has found her.

It was supposed to have gotten easier. It never did. There were days when I didn’t think of her at all. Days I filled with my nephews’ children who brought me such great joy by calling me Nonno, and I was happy. A time or two I even allowed myself to think of another woman. I have taken a half dozen women out, but when I tried to touch them, nothing happened. Then came the nights and the voices and the regret and emptiness closed in around me.

What got me, made me wonder if I was losing my mind were the nights when I would swear on the last part of my soul I still left, I felt Christy reaching out to me. Felt her longing and need as if she was there beside me on the bed.

I’m pulling up the number before I even think about it.

“Hey, Tony. I’m telling you, man. Every Monday for the last almost five years, I do it. I run her social through all my databases. I hit her brother’s social media pages to see if there’s a mention of her or a picture. I also hit her up on social media. Nothing. If I ever hit pay dirt, I’ll call you before the page finishes loading.” Hugo sucks deep on a cigarette.

“Thanks,” I say as I hang up.

Shaking my head, I walk out of the room and force the memories back...until tonight.

***

Christy

“Mommy?”  Rosie tugs at my nightshirt, waking me up.

Groaning, I see the alarm clock glowing that it’s only a little after five in the morning. Rosie has this frustrating habit of waking up too freaking early, waking me up, then falling asleep again—usually less than a half hour later. Leaving me awake, while she gets another few hours of sleep.

Even though it’s long past time, I only started her sleeping alone in her bed in the weeks after I made the decision to go back to Tony. Well aware he wouldn’t be happy about her sleeping with us. If he allowed me back into his life and bed.

It’s been a challenge for both of us. Three or four nights a week, I found myself laying down with her to get her to sleep then leaving when she was finally asleep.

“What, baby?” I pick her up from beside the bed and tuck her close to me.

“Today is Papa’s birthday. Is today the day we get to go see him?”

Damn it, I knew I told her we were going to go see him too soon. The words came out without any plan. They had been weighing on me more and more with each day.

I blink back tears. I’m not allowed to cry in front of Rosie. It was something I told myself when she was only a year old, and saw me crying and got upset. As Rosie has grown and begun asking more questions, I haven’t been able to find the words to excuse what I did in taking her away from her father. Despite my hope...and fear, the love I have for Tony has