His Brother's Wife Read online

  Jackson stopped struggling and instead decided to stare at Inca, who regarded him coolly. His eyes ran up and down her body. Inca glanced at Raffaelo and grinned at him. He rolled his eyes.

  “Is she a good fuck, Raffaelo? She looks like she’s a good fuck …nice tight little cu …”

  Inca calmly stepped up to Jackson and smashed her knee into his balls. “Quiet, boy,” she said in a cold voice. “You’re on very, very thin ice.”

  “Seconded,” Raffaelo said and took Inca’s hand. Olivier tried to hide a grin.

  Jackson groaned, bent double with pain. “Fuckers. You have no idea what I could do to you all. None of you will get away with this.”

  Olivier gave an exasperated sigh. “Jackson, haven’t you learned yet? You have no power here. None. Dad’s gone. Ama’s gone. Stop with the empty threats. Grow up.”

  Ama and Enda came back in, Enda pulling her suitcase. Jackson smiled at Ama. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye, baby?”

  Ama didn’t even look at him. “Thank you, Olly. Raff. Thank you, Inca.”

  And, hand-in-hand with Enda, she walked out the Gallo house forever.

  Outside, he stopped her and took her in his arms. “You love me?”

  “I know it’s crazy fast, but, yes, Enda Gallo, I love you.”

  Enda grinned and kissed her. “Ti amo, Amalia Rai. Ti amo.”

  Three months later …

  Sorrento, Italy …

  Enda took her nipple into his mouth and Ama sighed, running her hands over his head and shoulders as he sucked and teased the tiny bud. When they were so sensitive she could scream, he moved up to kiss her and slid his huge engorged cock into her, Ama’s legs wrapping themselves around his waist.

  They had been living in Italy together for three months now, and it had been the happiest time in Ama’s life. The villa that Raffaelo had found for them was airy and spacious, and rustic enough that Ama felt that she was really in a different world. It had wooden shutters at the windows and delicate, white voile drapes that billowed out into the rooms, giving them a dream-like quality.

  When they had left San Francisco, Ama had called the dean of the conservatory, explained the situation, and asked for a sabbatical. Given the circumstances, the dean had agreed, but still, Ama felt bad about leaving them in the lurch. Enda had arranged for Selima to have a private security team, and although her sister chafed against the invasion of privacy, she had been horrified to find out what Ama had been through. Ama had tried, without success, to have her move to Italy with them, but Selima, finally free to do what she liked, had refused.

  “I’m sorry, Ama, but I have a life here now. I’ll take the bodyguard, but otherwise, it’s business as usual. Go to Italy with your gorgeous man and be happy.”

  And Ama was happy. Her father hadn’t been. He screamed at her about disloyalty and dishonor until she’d had enough.

  “Dad …you pimped both of your daughters out to men who beat and raped them. Who has the dishonor?”

  Her uncle, Omar, had stepped in and defended her. “Gajendra, this has gone far enough. You do not have the right.”

  Gajendra, his pride hurt and his business shaky, swore never to talk to his daughters again. Hurt but defiant, Amalia told him it was his loss.

  “I guess we’re both orphans now, baby,” she told Enda, trying to put a brave face on it, but when she burst into tears, he held her tightly.

  “You are my family, Amalia Rai. You, Olly, Selima, Raff, and Inca. I think myself a very lucky man.”

  Ama gazed up at him now as they made love on this sultry Italian night, moving together, Enda’s cock harder and deeper into her with every thrust. She felt drunk with love all the time now, and so sensual in her own femininity that she had become more adventurous in the bedroom. Enda had her hands pinned above her head, and she moaned as his pace quickened, the friction of his cock in her cunt sending shivers through her.

  “I love you so much, Enda,” she whispered, then gave a cry as her orgasm ripped through her. Her back arched, her belly pressing against his as she felt his cock shooting thick, creamy cum deep inside her. Enda, panting for air, kissed her, not wanting to disconnect. She squeezed her thighs around his waist. “Stay inside,” she urged, and he grinned.

  “If only I could forever.”

  Ama giggled. “Man, that would make grocery shopping awkward.”

  “And business meetings.”

  “And recitals. Here, tonight, a recital by pianist Amalia Rai, who, you will notice, will perform while being comprehensively fucked by an incredibly handsome man. Front row tickets extra.”

  Enda laughed out loud. “Those tickets would sell out for all the wrong reasons.” He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Although, the thought of people watching you cum and seeing that beautiful rose flush in your cheeks …that’s kind of hot.”

  “Kinky.”

  “Guilty. What about you? Have you any kinks I should know about?” He finally pulled out of her and lay on his side, his hand stroking her belly. Ama smiled up at him.

  “You know, it’s hard to tell, because when I’m with you, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t try. But I don’t think I have enough experience to start thinking that way yet. If you want to suggest some things, I’m willing to consider them.”

  “Hmm.” Enda stroked her cheek with his finger. “Not sure. I’m sure we can come up with something together—no pun intended.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. Ama snuggled into his arms and breathed in the night air wafting in through the open windows.

  “This place is heaven.”

  Enda smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Listen, I was thinking …not wanting to stand in your way or anything, but have you thought any more about going back to San Francisco?”

  Ama felt a wave of nausea. Being so close to Jackson again …but then, there was her work to consider. “I keep going over it in my mind. I don’t want to be driven out of the job I adore because of Jackson and his threats, and I owe the conservatory at least a proper goodbye if I leave. My contract stipulates three months’ notice.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been considering leaving.”

  Ama nodded, her eyes serious as she looked up at him. “Truthfully, Enda, I have. I would be happy never to go back to the States. This place feels like home to me. You feel like home. I mean …” She went red and sat up, suddenly shy. “I’m not expecting you to …I don’t want to make you feel like you’re stuck with me, is all.”

  Enda chuckled. “Piccolo, I’m in this for the long haul. For good. You have no need to worry about that.” He ran his hand down her back. “As soon as the divorce is finalized, I would like to …well, I don’t want to make any demands of you, but I would be honored if you would think about …a commitment of some kind. Engagement, marriage, whatever we both want. Even just a commitment ring, if you feel like you don’t want to be legally tied to someone else. Whatever works for us. I love you, Amalia, and this is it for me. You are my person.”

  Ama tried not to let the tears in her eyes fall. “You always know how to make me feel like the most loved person in the world. Thank you, baby.” She pressed her lips to hers, then pushed him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. Enda cupped her breasts in his hands, then traced the indented line down her stomach to her navel. She shivered with pleasure as he circled it with his fingertip, her own hands reaching for his still half-erect cock and stroking it until he groaned and she lowered herself onto it, sighing as it filled her cunt.

  “God, Enda, I will never get tired of this …never …”

  The next day, Amalia met Inca for lunch in the town. They found a little trattoria and ordered a light seafood linguini and salad for lunch. Since being in Italy, she and Inca had grown incredibly close, and now Ama couldn’t remember when they hadn’t been friends. Inca was sweet, funny, very intelligent, and was so full of empathy for others that Ama marveled at her capacity for love.

  They also had the same sense of humor—bordering
on raunchy—and they often talked about their men in their lives. Inca was obviously still head-over-heels for Raffaelo even after all this time.

  “He was a tough cookie to fathom when I met him,” she admitted now as they ate, “But just his presence used to send my body reeling with desire. Honestly, he’s my walking, talking aphrodisiac.”

  Ama grinned. “I know how you feel …except my lightning bolt moment happened when I was walking down the aisle to marry Enda’s brother. Talk about awkward.”

  Inca’s cheek flushed scarlet then, and she tried to hide a smile. Ama squinted at her.

  “What’s this …gossip? What are you hiding, Sardee-Winter?”

  Inca grinned. “Oh, you might as well know. Tommaso was my boyfriend first, before Raff. And then it was Raff. And there was a little …overlap.”

  “You cheated on Tommaso.”

  Inca shook her head. “No.”

  “He knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he didn’t mind?”

  “No.” Inca looked at her steadily.

  “So, you were sleeping with both of them …” Suddenly Ama got it and gave a shocked giggle. “Both of them? At the same time?”

  Inca grinned. “Guilty. Are you shocked?”

  Ama processed this new information. “No,” she said finally, “Not shocked. Definitely not judging you, either, just F.Y.I. Kind of …envious? I’d love to be that uninhibited.”

  Inca looked relieved. “Eventually, it had to come to a choice though …and Tommaso knew that, although I did love him, it was Raffaelo who had my heart. And then I got stabbed, which kinda put a little of the wrong kind of kink in the relationship for a while,” she quipped, grinning, and Ama was amazed at her ability to joke about it.

  “The thing with Enda and me …I was a virgin before him.”

  “You were?”

  Ama nodded. “And although the sex is mind blowing, I’m a little scared to …suggest anything more adventurous yet.”

  Inca nodded sympathetically. “Before the Winter twins, believe me, I wasn’t nearly as open, shall we say. I think it’s just the matter of being with that one person who you can entirely trust in.”

  Ama smiled at her friend gratefully. “Thank you for sharing your experience with me, Inks. It does help …and, girl, you were wild.”

  Inca laughed. “I’m still wild, just with Raff now, as it was meant to be. I also have a great relationship with Tommaso now. I think because he has changed so much and grown more content in himself. He was unsteady emotionally when I met him. Our time together …I think it both messed with him and helped him, too, as strange as that may seem. Anyway, now he’s with Bo and their quadrillion kids. They’re coming over soon …I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

  Ama was still thinking about what Inca had said as she drove back to the villa. She felt a pang. She missed her own friends—Lena, Christina, and her sister. She would try to invite them all to Italy, although they had to be careful. Enda had made sure their tracks were covered, so Jackson couldn’t find them. Yes, he probably knew they were in Italy, but where, he wouldn’t be sure.

  In the three months since she’d left him, they had only communicated once, through their lawyers. Jackson wasn’t going to give her a divorce or an annulment. She would have to wait for the two years before she could divorce him. She had even tried to say that he could claim she cheated—because, technically, she did—but he just wouldn’t even consider it. She didn’t want his money or anything from him, but her freedom.

  That they hadn’t heard from him since was a relief to her, but she knew it made Enda uneasy.

  “He’s planning something,” he would fret, but she had told him.

  “This is what he wants. He wants us to be nervous, to be constantly looking over our shoulders. No. I refuse to live like that. What will be, will be.”

  She walked into the villa now. It was silent, but cool—a relief from the hot sun outside. Enda was still at work, still planning on building music schools with Raffaelo, but currently catching up on the work he’d let slide when he was in the States. Ama dumped her bag, changed into shorts and a halter-neck top, and checked the time. Four p.m.

  She hadn’t wanted any staff when they moved here, and Enda had agreed. So, now only a light security team were on the premises, but they worked the perimeter of the grounds and the house was a private sanctuary for Ama and Enda.

  She went to the cool, open-plan living area and sat down at the piano. She thought of the beautiful Bösendorfer that Jackson had bought her, trying to curry favor, and realized she preferred this much older, well-loved instrument here. Enda had told her his mother used to play on it and so it felt more like a friend than an object. Ama ran her hands over the keys and played a few bars of various compositions; Mozart, Bach, Copland. She closed her eyes and let her fingers move of their own accord with a new composition, light but sensual …a love song. She hadn’t written anything for months now, it seemed, but as her fingers moved across the keys, she could feel the imperative within her. She switched to modern music—Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, Norah Jones—singing along softly with the music.

  “I had no idea your singing voice was so beautiful.”

  Ama turned and smiled at Enda. “Ha. Thank you. It isn’t, but thank you anyway.” She started to stand, but he waved her down and joined.

  “Stay, and play some more for me.”

  So, she did. With Enda’s arms locked around her waist, she played through some of her own compositions for him. Neither of them noticed it had gotten dark by the time she had finished. Enda pressed his mouth to hers.

  “That was glorious. Grazie, cara mia.”

  Ama leaned into his embrace. “You, music, and this beautiful place. I’m in heaven.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her. “I’m glad you feel that way, piccolo.”

  Ama stayed in his embrace for a moment, then her stomach growled and they both laughed. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. I was going to make us some supper.”

  “Let’s cook together.”

  They went into the kitchen that Ama had grown to love. Exposed brickwork and old-fashioned fixtures belied the state-of-art kitchen equipment. She opened the vast fridge. “It’s too hot for curry,” she said, grinning at his disappointment. Since meeting her, Enda had become addicted to spicy meals. “Well, I suppose I could do a light vegetable one, and we could have it with salad and roti?”

  Enda grinned. “Sounds good to me …but you may be right about the heat. Maybe something lighter for tonight?”

  Ama laughed. “Look at us all domesticated.” She turned back to the fridge and made a decision. “Stir-fry?”

  Enda nodded. “Sounds good.”

  They ate out on the terrace, over-looking the Bay of Naples, Enda’s hand on her thigh. Ama was thinking about what Inca had said earlier. “Isn’t it weird that, when you meet the right person, anything goes?” she said now to Enda.

  “I know what you mean. I keep thinking back to that day. Your wedding day. You might think I’m the kind of guy who does that all the time, but no. It was just a confluence of events and feelings, and I thought what the hell? You looked so sad, Piccolo. It got me here.” He touched his chest. “I felt as if I couldn’t breathe until I kissed you.”

  Ama was moved. “Ditto.” She grinned mischievously. “I was talking to Inca today …she was pretty wild when she was younger. Not that she’s old now, but you know what I mean.”

  Enda grinned widely. “I do.”

  Ama studied him. “You know? About?”

  “The three of them? Yup. It was quite the scandal here back then. Well, not really scandal … not like it would have been back in the States.”

  She stroked his hair. “I think I would be too jealous to share you.”

  Enda kissed her. “Yeah, that scene isn’t for me.”

  “What is? You know, I would try anything with you. Anything.”

  Enda wiped his mouth on his napkin and stu
died her, a grin on his handsome face. “Okay …challenge extended. Let me fuck you somewhere we could get caught.”

  Ama chuckled, a thrill going through her. “For example?”

  “We have that benefit in town later this week. We could sneak behind a pillar and go for it.”

  Ama considered, then stuck out her hand. “Challenge accepted.”

  Enda laughed. “There’s a part of me that hopes we do get caught.”

  “You know what,” Ama said, smiling widely. “Me too.”

  ***

  Jackson Gallo picked up the phone. “Tell me you’ve found my wife.”

  His detective, Larry, chuckled. “And then some. They’re in Sorrento, as you thought. They have a villa—pretty comprehensively guarded, but both of them go out quite freely. Your wife had lunch with another woman today. Another Indian woman? Her sister?”

  “No, her sister is still here in the US. That must be Inca, Raffaelo Winter’s wife. They were unprotected?”

  “As far as I could see. Want me to kill her?”

  “No,” Jackson said sharply, “If anyone’s going to kill my wife, it’s me this time. The Winter woman …maybe. Another Penelope situation for her, I think. But not yet. I want to have all the pieces in place before I hit them with it all. What I have planned for them …they won’t have dreamed up in a million years. I don’t just want to kill my wife. I want to destroy her, my bastard brother, and anyone else who loves them before I finally kill Ama. I can wait for the right moment.”

  He gave Larry some final instructions just to keep watching and reporting. Putting down the phone, he smiled to himself. What he had planned wasn’t just murder.

  It was a slaughter.

  Ama lay in Enda’s arms as he slept. It was past midnight, but she couldn’t get to sleep at all. She wondered what was bothering her and couldn’t get a grip on it. Something was changing inside of her, and she couldn’t figure out whether it was physical or emotional or …what the hell is it? she thought in frustration, but the answer would not come. She gazed at Enda’s sleeping face. In rest, he looked so much younger, less stressed, more boyish. I love you, so much, she thought as she looked at him. I can’t imagine my life without you.