Becoming the Street Boss - Hayley Faiman Page 0,73
another. She must sense me, or someone approaching her. I watch as she lifts her head. Those blue eyes that I’ve felt for three years meet mine and my heart stops momentarily in my chest.
“Dolcezza,” I rasp hoarsely as soon as I’m close enough for just her to hear me.
“Massimo,” she whispers.
She doesn’t stand, her face is pale, but at least she looks like she’s been sleeping. She drops her face to look down at her hands again, obviously sadness is etched over her entire being. She doesn’t look the way she did almost two months ago though, she doesn’t look nearly so gaunt and exhausted.
I’ll take that.
Sitting down across from her, I place my hands on the table the way I’m supposed to. If this is going to be the last time that I see her, I don’t want it to be stolen from me.
“You wanted to talk?” I ask after waiting for a few moments.
Pippa clears her throat, lifting her face to meet mine again. “Why?”
“Why?”
She tilts her head to the side, obviously deciding not to expand on her question. I could force her to explain what she means, but I don’t need to. I know exactly what she wants to know.
“You’re twenty. You never wanted a Made Man and this is one of the reasons why. It’s the right thing to do. I’m trying to be the good guy here, Pippa.”
She snorts. “For who? Yourself? Does it make you feel good to hand me cash and pretend I meant absolutely nothing to you? Is that what you think I want?”
My head jerks. “Is that what you think?”
She crosses her hands under her chest, pushing her perfect tits out. “It’s what I know, Massimo. It’s painfully obvious. The money is to assuage your guilt. I’m young, but I’m not stupid.”
Shaking my head, my eyes find hers. Maybe she’s right. Fuck, she probably is. It does make me feel good to give her the freedom she deserves. Though, all good deeds are meant to make you feel good, aren’t they?
“What do you want from me? I’m here for five fucking years, dolcezza.”
Pippa presses her lips together, shaking her head once. “Nothing, Massimo. I want nothing.”
She stands to her feet and I try not to look at her tits, the way her skirt and blouse hug her body like a second skin. She’s covered everywhere she’s required to be covered, but she looks fucking perfect.
“Pippa,” I murmur.
She leans over slightly, her eyes focused on mine and nowhere else. “I’m not granting you a divorce. I refuse to make it easy on you, to make you feel good about yourself. You don’t get to take me, own me, make me need you and crave you, make me fall in love with you, and then just walk away. I fucking refuse,” she hisses.
Without another word, she turns on her sky-high heels and walks away from me. I watch her, my eyes focused on her perfect ass. She disappears and I curse myself. She’s not going to accept my divorce and I can’t deny that I like that.
My wife is a fighter.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve misjudged her? Time will only tell. Five years is a fuckuva long time for her to wait for me. She won’t be the same girl when I get out and I definitely will not be the same man.
We may be doomed, but if she wants to fight, then she can be celibate for five years, who the fuck am I to say otherwise?
PIPPA
The days pass by in a blur. It’s visitation day again at the prison, but I’m not going. Not because I don’t want to go to see my husband, but because the asshole has taken me off of his approved list. Gavino is allowed, Arlo, Salvatore, and even goddamn Luca, but not me.
Maybe I should be thankful or grateful that he withdrew the divorce papers. Salvatore ripped them up right in front of me after I visited Massimo two weeks ago. I’m not sure what I feel about any of it. Not a fucking thing.
A knock on the door causes me to practically jump out of my skin. I was completely lost inside of my own head. Turning back to look over my shoulder, I call out to Renzo to come inside. He won’t.
He never does.
This is my bedroom with Massimo, another man shouldn’t ever enter this space. The only time he has come in was to lay me down in bed from a crying jag.