Too Late To Love: The Don's Dying Wife

ke. Cigarette smoke. The heavy, c

my heavy

minated only by the city lights bleedi

chair in the corner, a silh

his cigarette burned like a sing

been hom

he had been staying at the

my teeth as a sharp pain l

omed over the bed, radiating the chill of

ist like a manacle. His grip was bruising. He ha

n and bones

y strength was a fading mem

over the protruding bone of my wris

, his tone mocking. "Is that

acking sound. "Yes, Dante. That's it. I'm starving mys

way, he reached for the bedside lamp. He flipped the swit

he com

d against

bedside table, was a w

sat a strawberry cake. It was

ctually

n a dream. That phone ca

berries, and nausea rolle

solid food for days; I n

at him. He

smile like the girl I use

He actually thought a cake c

unsteadily to the trash can in the corner of the room and let

t perfect

ful bitch,"

ry strides and slammed me against the

but the threat hu

for that," he snarled,

sked f

d out, the lie tasting li

issed. "You wanted to

e wild with rage, but beneath th

ay his cake. He didn't care th

tic, Dante,"

against mine, the hard wall of his chest pinning me in

n on the sensitive skin there. It hurt. But the pain w

e medicine," he muttered against

ody, resting over the h

mmanded. He began to u

rove he owned me. He wanted to hate-f

't have the strength left

ool on the floor. His rough hands found the thin

pau

sharp, skeletal ri

looking down at my wasted

are y

sound sliced through the he

me, then down at his pocke

flashed bright

yes searching my face for s

rse with conflicted desire. "Beg me to

ack against the wa

rth it, Dante,

ds were

thing. That was wh

into stone. He a

a?" h

er end, tinny and pathetic. "Help me, Dant

't look aw

her, though his eyes we

t, the mindless chatter of her television-any distraction

eaving me shivering. He snatched up his jacket and cast

ay, Elena," h

e room. He walked o

he ghost of a strawberry cake and t