“We’re Lancelot and Guinevere, fleeing through the forest from a jealous King Arthur. Any moment we’ll come upon a white steed and Lancelot will swing me up upon its jeweled saddle and we’ll gallop off together.”—Hester Fox, ‘The Witch of Willow Hall
King
I sit in that office hearing everything and nothing all at once as everyone reported to me, knowing that I would rule everyone and everything in a few short hours.
A mafia kingdom at my age.
Who knew?
Dad.
He did.
He prepared.
I went through his extensive notes and nearly lost it in front of every boss when I noticed the sticky notes in his handwriting reminding me of things, giving me clues, information.
When I made it to the giant stack of black folders from Phoenix Nicolasi, he simply shoved them to the side and said, “Too much too soon.”
He was right. That stack was thick.
At the moment, I needed to focus on a blood ceremony, a bonding between all the bosses and me. At the moment, I needed to focus on finding out who the hell wanted to kill my parents—and me.
I was about to start the meeting when the door burst open, and Del rushed in. My heart wasn’t ready for that sort of shock, so I just sat there and waited for her to announce she was leaving when she said, “I love you.”
She yelled it, actually.
The look on everyone’s faces—priceless.
Junior looked ready to choke on his tongue to keep himself from laughing, and everyone else simply just did their jobs.
They fucking left me alone with her the way I wanted it.
The door closes.
“S-sorry.” Her hair’s back in a braid I want to tug so I can have more access to her neck, and she’s barely wearing any makeup at all; her skin’s perfect, she’s perfect. “Was that important?”
She’s also wearing entirely too many clothes.
A black Nike sweatshirt and matching pants along with flip-flops seem to be the only barrier between me and more of that sweet skin.
I almost laugh because it’s life or death important, but so is our current scenario where I need her and need to know she’s fully mine—finally mine.
“No.” I find my voice, my eyes rake over her, up and down, down and up, until they land on hers and stay there. “Not as important as this.”
“I’m not leaving.” She has the audacity to stare me down, to look into my eyes and not look away, and I love her even more for it. I love her for barging into a room full of powerful men and announcing herself without giving a shit. I love that she doesn’t look away from me.
I love that the only fear she has is for me, not from me.
She’s so fucking strong and doesn’t even realize her own strength. She’s everything I wanted. All I hoped for.
“You’re everything I need,” I say.
She takes a step forward and then stops. Her hands move to her sweatshirt. She quickly peels it from her body and tosses it onto the floor; she kicks her sweats off right after, she’s not wearing any bra or underwear, her flip-flops are next, and then she’s naked in front of me, completely naked in what is now my office.
Two more steps, three, and she’s in the light standing in front of me. I hold my breath, unsure of what she’s about to do, when she leans in and reaches behind my body; hers is warm, pressed naked against my clothes. Her nipples hard against my T-shirt.
When her right hand comes back, it’s with one of my dad’s old daggers that he keeps on his desk.
It’s also sharp as hell.
I don’t flinch.
I trust her. So I wait.
She holds it between us and then, in a flash, slices it across her palm. Droplets of blood start falling from her fingertips as she turns her hand upward; blood continues to pool.
She reaches for my right hand and does the same to me.
I expect her to press our palms together.
And she does, but then she puts my palm against her naked chest and does the same with hers against my shirt, the blood soaking slowly through the cotton and touching my skin. “Until it ends.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Until it ends.”
“I, Del Buratti take King Campisi, my love, my husband, and my new Capo to live with, to share the broken fragments of the crown of the Kingdom with even if the shards bring us death, until the end, I’ll walk by your side and carry the burden. Until it ends.”
I open my mouth to repeat what she said, and I don’t have words; I can’t even form them. I grip her wrists, then, in a semi-bloody mess, reach for her head and pull her up for a kiss, not caring that blood’s still on my hand, on hers, on both of our bodies.
It seems right somehow.
That I’d be in that office, blood dripping from our fingertips vows spoken, kissing.
She jumps into my arms, sending me stumbling back against the desk; her left hand goes to my jeans and shoves them down. I kick them down while she pushes my briefs down next, and then I’m flipping her onto the desk; her back collides with a few black folders as they go flying. I shove them from the desk and join her on top of it. I guide myself inside her slowly. Blood cakes parts of her cheeks, her arms, and her chest.
Ours.
Ours.
Ours.
I repeat it over and over again as I move inside her.
“It had to be this way,” she says, clinging to my biceps. “I needed it to be this way.”
“Never easy.” I steal a kiss, tug on her lips with my teeth and kiss her again while her nails dig into my arms, pulling me closer, making my movements faster as she fights me, joins me, only to fight the again.
I’m falling into the deep.
I’m going under.
And for the first time, I’m not afraid.
I welcome the waves against my body, against my skin, and I smile when her hand is the one I’m holding while we sink.
It might end today.
Tomorrow.
Years from now.
But until it ends… we have each other.
And that’s all I can ask for.
A tear slides down her cheek, I catch it with a blood-caked finger, and I kiss her again as I lose complete control resting in her, finding my home.
“You’re mine,” she says as another tear slides to the desk.
My movements are slow, my hips thrusting in movements that feel like the salty waves taking us over.
She comes up to meet me in another kiss. My hands move around her holding her tight against me as she gasps into my mouth.
I may not have understood why when I was in this office when my dad made his final commandment.
I do now.
I get it now.
I finally get what it means to sacrifice, to do the hard thing, and hope in the end that it’s the right thing.
She clings to me the way I cling to her. We stay on that desk sweaty, bloody, exhausted.
Full.
And for the first time since hearing my dad may not make it—I smile.