Read Online Adversary by S. W. Frank - Free Book Online Page B

his shorts for warmth as he groaned irritably at a cool draft that suddenly fanned his uncovered torso. Then a loud thump jostled him awake and he bolt upright wondering whether Palermo was experiencing an earthquake similar to what occurred in the north. Palermo is on the southern end, Sicily is what Nico always scowled. Proud Sicilian’s usually do but to Alfonzo it was Italy just separated by names.
    Alfonzo shook his head at the sounds shaking the walls. It's no wonder the motherfucker couldn’t keep furniture; Giuseppe liked rough sex and apparently Shanda did too.  Thank goodness I’m going home in the morning, Alfonzo scoffed. Sergio that lucky sonovabitch was probably sleeping like a baby in Nico’s guest room, maybe he should have stayed there, too.
    The dark room had a thin stream of light. He thought he closed the door before he fell asleep. Apparently not. He suddenly noticed the child clutching his blanket like Linus from the Peanuts cartoon.
    Carlo’s face was pressed to the floor, thumb in his mouth and sucking hard. “Hey, got scared?” Alfonzo asked sliding off the bed to the carpet to lift the boy to his lap.
    Giuseppe’s face he had. The cherry lips, strong nose, tufts of rich black hair and piercing blue eyes.  The boy’s skin had lost the infant pallor but he remained quite pale in comparison to Giuseppe or Shanda. In fact if not for the Giuseppe resemblance he’d swear this wasn’t his brother’s kid. But colorless or not Carlo was loved.  He removed the finger from the child’s mouth. “None of that shit. I get you’re scared but that’s your mommy and daddy making out.”
    Alfonzo rose with the child and sprawled out with the child on his chest. He rubbed his back in circles like he did with the youngest when they fought sleep. Carlo relaxed; he felt the small body go limp and stubby arms spread to his flank.
    Alfonzo’s eyes closed, thinking of his family, wondering what they were doing and aching to hold his wife in his arms. Days apart, calls across an ocean when he needed comfort had taken a toll. He fought demonic urges that snuck in sometimes during weak moments. Many times he questioned sanity or cursed temptation but swore to stay faithful. He promised, gave his word at the altar and these second chances don’t come around for many. Burned by the memories of the faceless women’s lips on his body, heat and lust without a soul connection he twitched. A liar he’d been before, asking for trust when he shattered it long ago with liquored nights in luxury places when associates bring women to please guests. Oral sex he deemed harmless when his dick leaped to feel relief as women licked him clean. Selange suspected, hadn’t she? She had an inkling of his misdeeds as women often do. Premonitions, instinct are feelings gained from context clues. What had it been that unveiled him? Perhaps the answer is as simple as she was not stupid. But, he’d convinced himself blow-jobs meant nothing with the cloak of dishonesty called excuse and treated her like she was. Justifications abound for his actions; harmless, meaningless are the words when love is not involved. Injurious to the heart is the hypocrisy to demand fidelity from his wife without disclosure of his wrongs. Selange was a good woman; she’d always been that until he stole with sugary lies a trusting portion of a loving sweet heart. When he said he hadn’t slept with other women, deep within she knew he had given part of himself away and could never get it back. Not many times, yet once is enough. Like Giuseppe he’d thought his Prima Donna was happy but her soul had cried loneliness in the dark. He did not want to be his father, nor lie in bed waiting for death loveless.
    Second chances.
    To be an honorable man.
    A faithful husband.
    A dutiful son.
    A loving father.
    To dance with joy.
    Wars raging in the heart do not make for peaceful homes. Love is what he needed. Fighting and battling turmoil isn’t what he wanted.