Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

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I gripped a white china plate tightly and pushed on a door to the back porch, leaving the warmth of the kitchen, the fresh air welcome to my nerves, the breeze taking a layer of stress with it. I moved past a set of women, their shoulders close together and words low, girlish giggles reaching my ears as I moved to the far end of the porch and settled into a white painted swing. My plate, covered in turkey, dressing, and three different casseroles, rested on my lab, and I dug in, scraping fork against china as I showed the casseroles little mercy. I heard Brad inside the house, his laugh recognizable above the din of voices.

I settled back, rocking the swing slowly, looking out onto the backyard. It was a large yard, with a pool and children’s playground, manicured grass and pavers filling the gaps in between. Azalea bushes lined the outskirts of the yard, almost obscuring a ten-foot iron wall that enclosed the area. I let my eyes wander, picking up discreetly hidden cameras scattered on rooftops and fence corners.

A figure appeared in my peripheral vision, and I dropped my eyes down, making eye contact with a tall, thin man. He moved closer, his eyes studying me, and my mouth automatically turned up in greeting. “Hello.”

He nodded at me and removed a toothpick from his mouth. “Good afternoon. You must be Julia.”

I nodded hesitantly, my smile wavering slightly as I took in his strong stance and scarred face. Dark eyes that carried no warmth. “Yes. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. You are ...” I attempted to stand, juggling my plate with one hand while extending my free hand out to him.

“Leo.” Brad’s voice came from behind the man, and I fought a shiver at the tone. It was unlike anything I had ever heard from Brad, a manner that commanded utter respect and, at the same time, carried hatred and disgust.

The man’s eyes met mine, and a trace of irritation flicked through them before he composed his face into a mask of veneration. He turned, nodding his head at Brad. “Mr. De Luca.”

My hand was still stuck awkwardly out, and the two men stared at each other, oblivious to my social gesture. I sighed noisily and sank back down into the swing, putting the ignored hand to good use and attacking some mac and cheese. I chewed baked deliciousness and watched the men, feeling like a spectator in some ancient art of combat.

Brad had about three inches on the man, and at least eighty pounds of muscle, yet the man seemed unafraid of the fury that radiated from Brad’s core. Leo. I recognized the name. This was the man who had killed Broward; this was the man who had come to my house in the middle of the night, with my death on his agenda. Brad leaned forward, putting his mouth close to the man’s ear and spoke softly. I strained to hear his words, almost falling off the swing in my eavesdrop attempt. I covered the slip by starting to swing, every push of the bench taking me closer, then farther away, then closer to the conversation.

Brad was tense, his jaw flexing, and I saw his hands clench. Leo turned and met my eyes, giving nothing away, his gaze flitting quickly back to Brad. Then they turned as one to me, and I struggled to swallow the broccoli casserole filling my mouth.

“Julia,” Brad said quietly. “This is Leo Casando. He is an employee of this family, one who I believe I have spoken of in the past. I apologize for interrupting your earlier introduction, but there was a matter of importance that I needed to discuss with Leo.”

Okay. This isn’t awkward at all. I nodded to Leo and attempted a smile but failed horribly, the final result being somewhere between a glare and a grimace.

The man started to speak but was silenced by Brad’s hand, which gripped his shoulder tightly. “Leo has other business to attend to,” Brad said smoothly. He released the man’s shoulder and clapped him on the back.

I nodded again and sank back into the swing, watching as Leo turned abruptly and walked away, his gait agitated. Brad sat next to me, the swing creaking slightly and threw an arm casually over my shoulders.

“Is everything okay?” I asked quietly.

Brad shook his head. “He shouldn’t have approached you. I’m sure he has been told of our situation, but I just reminded him of it.” He leaned over, taking my plate and setting it on the ground. I furrowed my brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh ...” he said, lifting me up easily and sliding me sideways onto his lap, and nuzzled my neck. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when you smell like fried turkey?”

I laughed despite myself, quieting when the two women next to us glanced over. “Brad, let me up.” I pushed against him, and he held me easily down, stealing a kiss before looking into my eyes.

“I want to marry you.”

I laughed softly. “We are getting married.”

“Sooner. I want my family to recognize you for who you are, my wife.” He brushed a bit of hair off my face and studied my eyes. The intensity of his eyes silenced the flippant response in my throat. “Leo and the others, they understand that you are to be left alone, but I won’t sleep soundly until you are fully protected. As my wife.”

I swallowed, seeing the worry in his eyes. “Brad, I’ll be fine.” He said nothing, and I ran my hand along his wrist gently. “I need this time, I need to know that I am making the right decision.”

He shook his head quickly and let out a small smile. “The right decision is for me to snatch you up quickly, before you realize that you can do better than me.”

I tilted my head playfully—mock thinking. “You know ... you may be right, Mr. De Luca.”

“But no one,” he growled, bringing his mouth down to my neck and teasing the curve of it, “will ever love you like I love you.”

I said nothing, allowing my soul to swoon as his lips took a slow, lengthy journey up my neck and to my lips. Inside, I fought with my mind as it swooped through endless scenarios that could occur with our future. Then his mouth took mine, and I forgot everything but the sensation of pure, premarital bliss.

After I polished off some pecan pie we moved—Brad, Maria and I—a threesome of normal, up a giant staircase onto a quiet floor and down a plush hallway. Brad’s hand protectively at my back, I recognized this for what it was—time. Maria gave me a small smile, kissed Brad gently on the cheek, and leaned on a large set of double doors.

It was dark inside, and I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. Dark mahogany lined the walls of my dream library, a space filled with books of every shape and size. Other than bookshelves, there was one fireplace, four chairs, and three men. The family.

Maria excused herself, leaving me as the sole vagina in the room, a ratio that left me distinctly uncomfortable. I fought the urge to fidget as we stepped forward.

Beauty. That was the first thing that hit my mind. The genes that blessed Brad with an impressive stature, gorgeous features, and mind-numbing sex appeal hadn’t skipped over his siblings. Two dark, younger versions of Brad, similar in their devastation, but slightly varied in features, stood before me, flanking an older man, who stood at our entrance. He stepped forward, aided by a cane, a tall man with a shock of white hair and dark skin. He stopped before us and tilted his head at me.

“You must be Julia.” A scratchy voice spoke, that despite its tenor, commanded respect. Eyes that studied me carefully.

Unsure of the proper protocol, I stepped forward, extending a hand and shaking his. He had a fierce grip, and grabbed my opposite shoulder as he grasped my hand, locking me into his space, his eyes arresting me. They searched my soul, a desperate invasion that explored every inch, distrust and accusation in their depths. With a jerk, he released my hand, turning away from me and walking carefully back to a leather chair which he sank into, words tumbling from his mouth with a sigh. “Please, sit. I am weary from today’s activities.”

Brad gestured to a chair and I sat, my legs shaky. He stood beside me, strong and tall. “We can’t stay long. We have other obligations.”

His father scoffed, an action that turned into a cough, and he stopped for a moment, his face turning red before he let out a series of coughing barks. One of the men beside him stepped forward, concern in his eyes, and the old man waved him off irritably. “Stop that, sit down. Everyone, sit down. Brad, find a chair. I won’t have you hovering above me like a damn hawk.”

I glanced at Brad, noting his tight face, and watched as he nodded, dragging up a chair, wariness across his features.

“I assume you know the business of this family?” It was a dry question, stated without malice or concern, directed at me.

I nodded, meeting his sharp eyes. “Yes.”

“And you find ... issue, with this business?” He watched me closely, sitting back in his chair and studying me.

I stared back, my face expressionless. “Issue would be the wrong word. I disagree with your business practices. Issue indicates that I am confrontational in my disapproval.”

A slow smile spread over his face, a transformation that brought a hint of the good looks he must have once possessed. “That’s an interesting choice of words, Ms. Campbell.”

I said nothing, and he glanced briefly at Brad. “What exactly are your intentions with my son?”

“I intend to marry him.”

“Yes, I gathered that from my son. The issue is, Ms. Campbell, that marrying Bradley is not quite as simple as happily ever after. Do you love my son?”

I hesitated at the change in his tone, the question rolling harsh off his lips. “Yes.”