The Mafia’s Obsession

Ayla

Alessio doesn’t shed a single tear at his grandfather’s funeral. He watches with cold, emotionless eyes as they lower the casket into the ground.

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends, family members-today we bid farewell to a man whose life was truly a testament to the strength of the human spirit, and to its complexity.”

My husband’s face doesn’t so much as twitch as the priest’s words wash over him. He’s been like this all day-cold. Like he’s willing himself not to feel.

“Nazio Razone was a man who made his mark on the world. He was loved by his family, trusted and respected by his associates. Bysome, he was even feared. He cared greatly for his legacy, a legacy which continues to this day.”

At last, Alessio reacts. Almost nothing, a tremor of his eyelid, a stiffening of his posture. I reach out, offering my hand for him to take. He stares at it for a moment, as though in confusion, before interlocking his fingers with mine. Almost like he’s reluctant.

“Nazio ‘s life was not without hardship. 15 years ago, he experienced the tragic loss of his son, Andres, and his daughter-in-law, Julia.”

Alessio squeezes my hand, staring forward, face blank. A rush of emotion comes over me as I realize the priest must be talking about his parents. I never knew about that. He would have been a teenager when it happened.

“But even in that loss, there was light. Nazio took in the couple’s only child, his grandson Alessio, and raised him as though he was his own. I believe Nazio ‘s true character can be seen in the love he showed for that child. I am told that in the final months of his life, nothing filled his heart more than the fact that the two of them had grown closer.”

I look over at my husband, and there’s not a hint of emotion on his face. He doesn’t look back.

We don’t talk much after the funeral. He doesn’t say anything, and I don’t want to interrupt his space. We drive home in silence, several trays of baked ziti made by his associates’ wives sitting in the backseat.

“How can I be there for you?” I ask when we reach his penthouse. “What would help you?”

He doesn’t say anything, but pulls me close to him. I had expected a hug, but instead I get a rough, dominating kiss. I return it, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth and his hands to slide up my thighs, under my dress.

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“Mine,” he groans, pressing me against the wall. There’s a neediness in his actions. Like he’s losing himself into me.

“Yours,” I whisper. “Use me however you need.”