The Long Walk into his Arms
      Chapter 1
 

He is talking quietly with Bernard’s son, his hands gesturing with dominance. Nino is sullen, a pout ridiculously lush on those lips only a woman should have. He looks like a child, a spoiled child who will not relinquish his toy. Danny stills himself, gathering his patience, fighting the violence of his hot temper. Things are not going well, obviously. I don’t know what they are talking about. I tell myself that I don’t want to know. But I do. I need to know; I need to know how deep Danny has entered into his world of crime.


Thus far he has managed to keep himself clean of anything other than white-collar crimes. True, not a glowing recommendation, but he has no blood on his hands. He has yet to order a hit, or, thank God, perform one. I haven’t allowed myself to think about what I would do, how I would react if such a thing were to happen. I pray that it never will.


But I’m afraid. Carmen is always pushing him to commit more and more illegal activities … money extortion, threats, a few broken bones here and there, and, yes, an occasional lesson of death that need be taught. He has resisted her efforts, struggling to remain as high above her criminal filth as he can. But still she pushes. We both know why, but we haven’t discussed it.


Since Carmen has accepted me -- as much as she ever will, she knows that Danny will never leave me. She also knows that he will never force me to stay if I want to go. And she believes that once Danny takes that step and goes too far over the line, that I will have no choice but to walk away. Danny also believes this, which is why he fights so hard to remain as pure as he can, for me … to keep me, to keep my love.


Of the three of us, I’m the only one who questions whether or not I would walk away. I know that I should, but then if I did what I should, I would have been gone a long time ago. The question is whether I would? And I can’t bring myself to answer that question. I am afraid that the answer would disappoint the memory of my mother and all she taught me.


I suppose in my secret heart that I have answered the question then, by not facing it openly. I don’t believe that I could walk away from my husband, even if he were to do … I shut my mind down. I won’t think about this. I can’t. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, searching for peace. Idly my fingers twist and pull at my hands, and then I encircle the wedding band on my ring finger and my peace is found.


I open my eyes and Danny is walking towards me and as always my heart swells at the renewed sight of him. I thank God once again that I can see, that my blindness was only a temporary thing - to never have seen this face would have been one of my greatest losses. His gaze softens as he looks at me and I find myself smiling in return, thoughts of Carmen, and everything tied in within her, evaporating like mist on a sunny day. He is my sunshine, I think as he cups my face in his hands, his mouth covering mine.

Ever since Nino came back to town, Danny has been tense. He said that the way Nino returned is what worries him. He’d expected him to slink back into the fold with his tail between his legs, anxious to make amends for his nearly irreparable blunder. Had Bernard not so fully sweetened a forgiveness package for Carmen, Nino would be dead. Every one knows this.


His return wasn’t unexpected - it had been four months since the attempted bombing - but his attitude was. He was as cocky as before, if not more. And he baited Danny on a constant basis, from the petty - offering double-edged compliments to his choice of wife - to the dangerous - thinly veiled threats that Danny wouldn’t be around much longer.


Bernard tried to control him. Danny tried to ignore him, but the situation was getting worse. He was not letting up and it was becoming obvious that if Danny did not make a move to stop Nino’s assault soon, the families would begin to lose respect for him. A man could turn the cheek only so long before he was considered a coward and Danny was quickly reaching that turning point. He knew it. Carmen knew it and continually reminded him of that fact.


And I knew it.


Tonight, I saw Danny polishing his gun, checking the chambers, squeezing the trigger. I felt a chill run though me and I had to turn away, but he saw me and the torment and sorrow on his face brought me back into the room. Back into his arms. He held me, his face buried in my hair, his arms wrapped tightly about me. I closed my eyes and savored the feel, the scent of him … but pressed against my back, I could feel the hardness of the gun, still in his hand and it took everything in me not to pull away. Away from him.

His knuckles are red, there is some bleeding and upon his jaw is a dark bruise. He looks grim, but there is also a caged tension radiating violence and excitement. It scares me. It arouses me. And before I can think of what it means, I am clawing at his shirt, my lips hungrily fastening upon his flesh.


He pulls away slightly and there is surprise, strong enough to be called shock, in his eyes, but the desire is too intense in mine and he capitulates to my passion without a word. His lips are on mine, his hands underneath my skirt. And I am up in his arms, my legs wrapped about his waist. I bend down to him - a novel experience - and our mouths devour each other. I press against him, my body craving his touch. We tumble onto the bed and he cups my face in his hands.


I lay a kiss against one finger and then the next and I am tasting, loving the salty tang of his flesh. And then there is the blood from his knuckles in my mouth, but I don’t care because he has slipped my underwear off and his fingers are inside of me. All thoughts have fled my mind but Danny and Danny’s touch - sliding into me.


His fingers ease in slowly and I want to scream at him for more and just as I am about to, he picks up the tempo, his thumb feathering my clitoris while he pushes the palm of his hand against me. He fastens his mouth upon my nipple, through my shirt, my bra and I am pulling at his hair, my fingers entwined in the curls. My hips rise, pushing against him, wanting more, wanting release.


He knows me so well, my body, my needs that just when I am there, right at the precipice, he pulls away and sits back on his haunches. I gaze up at him, my legs splayed on either side of him, my skirt bunched up around my hips, my eyes glazed with desperate passion and he smiles. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks slowly on them and that smile sends spirals of heat throughout my body.


Somehow, from somewhere I find the energy to rise and as I do, his eyes darken, his smile fades a bit and still he savors the taste of me on his fingers. I reach for the button of his pants, his zipper and I am frenzied, jerking them down, pulling at his boxers, needing to see him, touch him, feel him inside of me.


I look up at his face as my hand encircles his hard flesh and his eyes are closed, the smile a memory and his breathing comes in gasps. His hands curl about my waist and he pushes me down. My fingers slip away from him as he cups my breasts, as he parts my lips with his own, his tongue diving into my mouth. Once again, my hips are driving against his and now it is bare flesh upon flesh and my hand finds him again, guiding him into me. He breaks free from our kiss, his head buried in the crook of my neck as he moves inside of me, taking it slow, making it last. His hand falls from my face and a moment later, his finger once again slips inside of me.


Slowly he thrusts into me, building up waves of pleasure, touching me deeply, intimately, doubling, tripling, multiplying my pleasure. I clutch at his shirt, moaning his name and his finger picks up its pace, one more joining in as he drives deeper into me, harder and faster and deeper, deeper and I am crying, flying, dying that little death my husband offers so gloriously.


He lets out a hoarse cry, falling heavily against me, pressing occasional kisses against my throat, my shoulders. Slipping my hand beneath the collar of his shirt, I rub his back in time with the sounds of our breathing and slowly drift back to reality. I recall the bruise on his face, the blood on his raw knuckles and I am slightly nauseous now, remembering the taste of that blood in my mouth. I stiffen slightly and he turns to me.


"Michelle?" he asks softly and the timbre of his voice is enough to dissipate any queasiness I feel. I am able to summon a smile for him, but he sees right through it.


"What?"


I hesitate to answer, but his eyes repeat the question and so I find myself answering honestly, "you were in a fight."


His expression dims and he pulls away from me. I know why. He feels as if he has tainted me, I can tell from the look in his eyes, never mind that I jumped him. He gets off the bed and puts his clothing back together.


"I got into it with Nino."


"What -" I start to ask what happened but then remember that I don’t want to know. He understands this and offering a sad smile, he walks out of the room. I am left physically sated, but my soul is aching.