In It For Life
23.
Francesco touched the door knob with growing dread. To his relief, Karl hadn't locked the door, but he still slinked inside the room like a burglar, trying to make as little noise as possible.
"I'm awake." Karl's clear voice startled him. It was already night when he had finally mustered the courage to walk up the stairs and make an attempt to talk to his husband.
"Karl," Francesco began, "I didn't have a chance." His eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he could make the other's shape on the bed. Karl lay on his back, one leg bent from the knee, and seemed to be deep in thought. That to anyone not knowing him. Francesco felt his hackles rising, though. Karl lay in waiting, like a predator waiting to strike. His seemingly relaxed position was part of the act.
"Spare me. One thing dad is right about you. You're one sick whore."
Francesco had heard the word one too many times before, thrown at him in all possible ways. But now, it made him sick to the stomach. "I guess so," he said in a low, defeated voice.
"You even let him fuck you?" Karl's raised voice didn't take him by surprise. "I won't ask you if everything he said is true, because I didn't hear any denial from you. He fucked you like you were his personal whore."
There was some sort of finality in how Karl said that. No coming back, right? Francesco leaned against the door. "You know me," he said in an even voice. "I'd do anything to survive." He wouldn't grovel and beg, for sure. He wouldn't repeat that he had done it for Karl.
"Like with me, back on the island," Karl stated.
"Yes, like that," Francesco let it drop just the same.
"So, if we follow your crazy bitch logic, are you going to fall in love with my dad, too?"
"What? Are you fucking mental?" Francesco saw the trap too late. "I hate that asshole's guts."
"Yeah, maybe," Karl said mockingly, "but I bet you love his cock in your ass."
Francesco had no idea he had it in him, but he even succeeded in taking Karl by surprise. In two moves, he was on the bed, straddling Karl and trying to choke him. He barely had his hands on his husband's throat, that the tables were turned, and he was trapped under Karl. Again, his miscalculations were to blame.
With little effort, Karl pushed his arms wide open, releasing his own throat, and squeezed Francesco hard under him. Then he was the one to grab Francesco by the throat while pinning him to the bed.
At this point, Francesco felt strangely calm. What unusual way to go for him; strangled by his husband, in a house in the suburbs. Now that was something Don wouldn't see coming. His beloved son whacking his newly wed spouse wasn't something to sweep so easily under the rug. As much as he could do something like that, he started laughing, the sounds coming out of him nothing but noises of choking.
Karl eased his grip, without letting go. "Cesco," he said with a snarl. "Are you fucking laughing?"
Francesco went slack, and Karl released him. "Well, I was trying to picture your dad's face while you were taken away for offing my sorry ass."
The slap that followed didn't sting. By Karl's standards, it was a caress. "I wouldn't off your sorry ass, idiot. That's how little you know me."
Francesco grabbed Karl by his shirt before he could move away. "What's it gonna be then, Karl?"
Karl wrapped his fingers around Francesco's wrist but didn't push his hand away. "I have no fucking clue. I have no idea what the fuck to do with you."
Francesco tightened his grip. "Punish me. It worked for us before."
Karl worked his jaw. "That was before. This isn't you fooling around and sucking some rando's dick behind my back."
Francesco knew very well what was left unsaid. "Karl, I'm yours. You can do whatever you want with me."
"No," Karl said curtly and pushed himself up and away from Francesco. "I don't trust myself not to go too far. And I still like you with all your teeth."
Francesco didn't dare to run after Karl when his husband walked out of the room. He curled into himself on the bed and lay there, trying to feel nothing. Fucking Don. What the hell was he after, anyway?
***
Since he had become Karl's lawfully wedded spouse, Francesco no longer had what was called a job, and the lack of something to do struck him as particularly unnerving the next morning when he woke up. The house had enough rooms for Karl to sleep in one, and Francesco inspected them, one after the other, only to be met with the slightly stale air of unlived in space. Eventually he walked downstairs and groaned at the haphazardly thrown blanket over the sofa. Were they that much of a cliché married couple already?
"Karl?" he called out and looked for his husband in the spacious kitchen, as well. There was no sign of him anywhere.
He was about to walk outside when the front door opened, and Morgan came in.
"He took the car," the bodyguard explained. "And informed me to keep an eye on you."
Francesco groaned and walked back into the hallway. "He's the one who needs that. Care for a coffee? Breakfast?" He assumed that the large fridge he had noticed must have been stocked with everything they needed. Minus marital bliss, of course.
"I already ate, but you should eat something."
Francesco opened the fridge, looked inside, and closed it. "I don't think I can do that."
