#charlies-congealed-spaghetti

[charlies-congealed-spaghetti]

"I had a pain inside me and I needed you to deepen it."

"breed me" by richie hofmann

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Mommy Dearest, Part 2

Patience pressed the gun against Salvatore's head, the metal grinding solid against his skull. "Borghese's a monster;" she said through gritted teeth. "And we can take him down together."

He stared ahead, jaw tight and dark-penciled eyebrows furrowed, before grinding out, "Fine."

She grabbed a rubber-banded stack of cash. 

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Consider this a sign-on bonus," she yelled back as she took off down the street, her heels clattering on the cobblestones. Her whole face was flushed and smiling as she pulled the door to her sedan open.

There was already someone in the driver's seat.

Liquid blue eyes met hers'. "Hello, dolcezza."

***

Johnny had been crying all month. Chris wanted deeply to comfort his brother, but he knew Johnny would just push him away. He sat by the oak in the front yard, letting the shade envelop him, his back pressed against the rough bark.

He didn't like thinking about Mama. Whenever he did, he saw her smile, and felt her warm arms, and tasted her cooking, and knew he would never see her again. There was a hole in his life that would never be filled, a hole with dark hair and dark eyes and the intrinsic feeling of a child's love.

All he could think was that Dad was lying. Dad was lying and Mama was coming back. She would come around the corner in a moment, carrying her basket full of vegetables from the market, and he would run into her arms like he always did and feel her warmth and love.

Dad's voice echoed around the front yard. "Giuseppe. Christoforo. Come inside. Your father has something very important to tell you."

***

Johnny's legs felt like they were tied to weights as he trudged across the yard. Why did Mama have to leave? Why? He felt like punching something. He didn't want to talk to anyone, Chris, Uncle Charlie, and especially Dad. He had a feeling dad didn't care at all about Mom dying, and some distant part of him noticed it, and it disturbed him deeply in his child's brain.

Dad was sitting in the living room, and there was a woman sitting opposite him, on mom's armchair.

She looked up at them, and her eyes were big and wide and stained glass-green.

"Children. This woman is going to be your new mother." Dad's voice was sweet and smooth. "You don't have to worry about not having a mama anymore. She's going to love you and you're going to love her."

The woman did not look loving at all. She looked scared. She was holding Fiorella on her lap, and Fiorella was sucking her thumb and pawing at her shirt.

Johnny felt fury rise up in him.

"NO!" he screamed, just as she opened her mouth to speak. "You're not my mama! I HATE you!"

Dad's eyes sharpened, in that way that he knew something was coming, and Johnny knew he was about to regret it, but he ran out anyway. His heart was pulsing with rage and fear. He did not want this woman.

He wanted his mama.

***

The first few weeks took adjusting to.

Patience stung with hate every second of the day, when she wasn't devolving into conniptions with the baby girl crying, spitting up her food, or clinging to her chest. Borghese had pawned her off on her and she was solely responsible for Fiorella throughout the day, being jerked awake by her crying, trying to bounce her on her lap to stop her crying, and trying to stop her from burrowing into her shirt to breastfeed. 

Borghese's two sons did not like her. Chris was cold, and Johnny was angry. Leonardo loved his sons, in a deep and yet distant way, leaving them alone the whole day. Patience limped from her ankle. Fiorella screamed. She wondered with a sudden, embracing horror if this was what her life would be like from now on.

Patience hated the way she felt relief when the door slammed open. She limped over to press Fiorella into his arms, and he responded by pressing a kiss into her lips. "Did you make dinner, my darling?"

"Fiorella was crying. I didn't have time," she gritted out. 

He caught her chin with his hand; his soft, manicured nails digging into her flesh. "Dolcezza," be said in his dulcet tones. "You'll need to learn to handle children and make dinner at the same time. It's part and parcel of being a mother."

Patience did not want to be a mother. She especially did not want to be a mother the way he pronounced it, with a disturbingly lustful gleam in his eye.

"Come now. I'll make some cacio e pepe and we can all enjoy it. Like a big family."

***

Patience sat, stone-faced and wearing a stiff homemakers' dress. She stared silently at her congealing noodles as Johnny and Chris sullenly ate and Fiorella made a mess of her meal.

Leonardo twirled the pasta around his fork, face placid and set. He seemed pleased as punch, the way he smiled at her as Fiorella started wailing. "Dolcezza, the little one is upset. Take her into your arms."

She sullenly hefted the heavy toddler onto her lap, and Fiorella sought her breast again, to her agony and to the unpleasant notice of Leonardo.

He watched her very carefully as Fiorella whined and desperately sought her hidden breast, and she noticed it as she desperately bounced her on her lap.

"You need to be a better mother, mia magnotta. Not a young loose woman. Hold her better. See--"

"She's never gonna be," muttered Johnny sullenly.

Leonardo's sharp blue eyes, and his attention, were diverted. "Giuseppe? Did you say something?"

He was slumped, staring angrily at his noodles. "I said she's never gonna be my mother!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Patience hugged the little girl tightly, and even she had quieted, her dark eyes wide.

Leonardo put down his cutlery and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Johnny, that's no way to talk to your new mother."

Johnny's lower lip was pooched out. "She isn't my mother."

Patience hated the quiet. It rung in her ears.

"Giuseppe, your mama is not coming back. She is gone. Do you know why she left?" His voice was soft and paternal.

Johnny's wet, dark eyes looked up.

"It's because she didn't want to be your mother anymore. That's the truth. She hated how you acted, Giuseppe. She left because of you."

Johnny watched his plate, eyes brimming and overflowing and his whole body trembling. 

Chris's throat bobbed, and his mouth quivered. His blue eyes were tracking tears down his cheeks.

"She left because you were a bad boy, Giuseppe. She left because you made her leave. And if you aren't grateful, your new mama will leave just like your old one did."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

***

"Go read your children a bedtime story," Leonardo told her softly.

Patience stood in front of Chris and Johnny's room, sweaty hands balled into fists. The dim light underneath the door shone dully.

She stepped in.

Chris turned away from her in his bed. Their Mickey Mouse nightlight shone a soft orange light as she sat down beside them. 

Johnny's eyes were still caked with tears as she leaned over him, her hair tickling his cheeks. 

"Once upon a time there was a king. The king was very happy, with his wife and his children. He loved them very much and they loved him."

Outside the window, a moth pressed its legs to the surface, and its wings fanned out as it sought the light.

"They all lived in a grand palace, and his wife cooked him scrumptious meals. Wonderful meals. What did his wife cook him?"

The question lingered, and then Chris murmured, "Spaghetti."

"His wife cooked him spaghetti and their sons ate it all up, every drop. They loved each other and they were so, so happy. And do you know what happened?"

Johnny was listening too, his dark head turned towards her slightly.

The moth batted at the window.

"The king was out in the village and he saw a girl. He didn't know why, but he wanted this girl, and he would do anything to make this girl his own. He went home to his palace and he… and he… he went into a small room and called his wife, his queen, into there. And as soon as she walked in he wrapped his hands around her neck and strangled her to death. He strangled the life out of her and left her in that little room."

The moth lifted its wings and flew away, as if it had never been there at all.

"And he went out and he took that girl, he took that girl from the village and put the queen's crown on her. And he called his children to him. And he told them… he told them…"

Johnny's hand was warm in hers, his skin smooth as she rubbed her thumb across it.

"He told them he had a new queen, and they were to treat her as their new queen, and forget their old queen, and how she loved them, and how it was if the old queen never existed at all."

Johnny's eyes were drifting shut. She held their hands in hers, comforting and warm, and slowly let them slip from hers.

Patience padded down the carpeted highway to the bedroom of her nightly torture. The light of the lamp flickered over her shoulders, her nightgown, her chestnut hair, and her pale, downturned eyes.

***

She tapped the numbers in frantically, the black shiny letters depressing underneath her fingers. She waited as the dial tone rang endlessly in her ears, almost crying at the length of time.

The door creaked, and she whipped around, receiver pressed to her ear. Chris was standing there, and she felt a wave of relief. "Honey, go play somewhere else."

Chris did so, but his mind was churning. The slow affection he had been nurturing to his new mother--Patience, and then the opaque eyes of Dad, and his comforting arms.

Dad was reading the newspaper in the greenhouse. His hair was unruly and curly, the same blond as his. He smelled the same, fresh pressed laundry and perfume.

"Dad?" Ventured Chris.

Dad looked over and smiled, and set down his newspaper to open his arms. Chris ran into them, his eyes shutting tight. The comfort of his father's arms lulled him into ease. "What's the matter, darling?"

Chris swallowed hard. "She… she did something."

Dad was silent as he rocked him, cradling his head in the hook of his arm

"What did she do?"

"She called someone."

***

Patience laid Fiorella slowly down into the bed, praying she wouldn't wake. Her eyes were shut tight, tiny warm body swaddled.

Taking care of a child was hard, constant, dirty work, and she was exhausted. Even more so when his vibrato spoke behind her, "Pazienza."

She stood stock still as he approached her, his arms enveloping hers.

"You haven't been a good girl, have you?" His voice made weevils crawl down her back. 

"Fuck you," she spat. 

"I know what you've done," he whispered in impeccable English. "And for the last time, cease your swearing. It's unladylike."

She stared deep into his eyes, those mirrors that reflected her pale face and pale eyes and--

His hands palmed her breasts through her silk nightgown.

"Trying to call someone… tsk, tsk. A little bird flew off to tell me. Who, pray, were you trying to talk to, dolcezza? Surely not anyone who has an interest in your situation…"

His voice trailed off to a murmur as he slowly thumbed her nipple through the silk. She cast a terrified look at the bed, where Fiorella was sleeping peacefully. "Fior--"

"Don't be loud and wake her up, then." He slowly pressed his finger to her trembling lips. "She's such a lovely baby, isn't she? And you're doing so well taking care of her." His hand slid between her legs. "How about we make her a big sister?"

Patience's mind jolted into horror as she pushed him away. "You killed her," she spat, her voice cracking. "You killed her mother. You're a monster, Leonardo Borghese. A fucking monst--" 

She was cut off by his soft red lips pressing against hers. His arms wrapped tight around her  caging her in, and she felt the hardness of his cock against her thigh. Her spine went stone stiff.

He pulled her towards the wall, hand spidering over her scalp as he rested it against the wall. She lifted a leg to kick him, and his grip turned harsh, yanking her hair. "Don't fight. You don't want to wake up the baby, would you?"

Her gown was already hiked up to her waist, the folds slipping down to pool around her navel as he angled his waist between her arched legs.

The coldness of his zipper startled her, before the heat of his cock made her erupt with agony. He stopped halfway in, shoulders quivering and a sweat-soaked lock of golden hair plastered to his forehead. His length was pulsating between her lower lips, hot and heavy and lustful, and in that split second where she was praying he would pull out he thrust himself fully.

All she could think of was Francesca's face. Every gasp, every thrust made her stricken expression linger in her mind. "Fucking murderer," she managed as he lifted her so high she had to wrap her legs around his waist for balance.

A taut shoulder muscle pressed against her frail chest as he slowly lifted her, then agonizingly let her slide down the wall onto his cock. Every swollen inch of him disappearing into her made her chest soar and her legs numb. She hated how she wanted to curl her body around him and match him thrust for thrust 

His breath fanned over her pale, trembling shoulder, and he pressed a wet kiss underneath her ear as his strong arms held her up.

He was in and out, leaving her empty and then filling her. Her toes pointed pin-straight in the air as he ground her against the wall, his heavy and wet cock digging deep inside of her to nuzzle against her cervix. She knew he was about to spend when his hips tensed.

"Please don't," she sobbed pathetically, trapped between his hard body and the wall, completely immobilized as he prepared to fertilize her. "Don't--don't come inside me--please--please--"

But he was not stopping, and as he held her head, his thrusts became more measured, carefully dragging his flesh against pink ripe insides, and the heaviness of his body, the pressure between her spread pussy lips against the small red nub in her folds as he slipped a soft fingerpad in--

Her back was shivering, she hated it, but a buzz was building up slowly inside her--

He let loose with a short intake of breath, cutting her words off as his seed soaked into her womb. Her thighs relaxed under his strong thrust, every single molecule of his cum pouring into her fertile body.

She let herself slump, arm loosely and unwillingly slung around his neck. The smell of his perfume was sickly sweet, like decaying flowers, and it made her gorge rise even more than the lukewarm seed dripping out of her.

He slowly let her down, her nightdress falling to cover her stained thighs. He let out a deep sigh, and laughed breathily.

"Brush those tears out of your eyes, dolcezza. Once you've borne our first child you'll be thanking me."

***

Patience felt a sharp distrust of Chris after that, although a part of her--the adult part--knew how frighteningly petty that was. He was a kid and he trusted his father, that was all.

Johnny and Chris curled up on the sofa while Patience tried to rock Fiorella in her arms. The baby was used to her presence and never cried when she picked her up anymore--and Patience felt a jolt of disgust when she thought of how easily she was slipping into maternality. Maybe Leonardo was right--she was becoming his perfect brood mare and wife, dressed in her frilled, flowered dress, hair combed and lipstick red and rocking his child in an armchair.

Just watching him on the television made hate cloud her eyes. He was speaking with councilors in the city hall, all older balding men in suits, and he stood out like a jewel. He was putting on a play for the cameras with every word and gesture, pretending to be so concerned with vity issues.

The camera faded away, and then he was talking to a reported outside city hall. "My wife," he said, "left me to go back to Sicily. She found someone else. I loved her, my Francesca, but she was wicked at heart, and it is better she is not raising our children. How many times had I come home to another man's coat on the rack?"

"That's not true," murmured Johnny.

Patience looked over. "Hmm?"

"She wasn't… my mama wasn't bad like that. She was a good mama. She didn't do any of that stuff…"

Chris didn't say anything, but his mouth trembled. She could see gooseflesh on his bare arms underneath his t-shirt.

"I know," she said quietly, putting Fiorella down to toddle. Her hair was growing thick and dark, just like her mothers'.

"What?"

"I know your mom was a good woman. And I know your dad is lying." She went over to kneel by Johnny and Chris. "Listen. What happened to your mom…" her voice died out and she swallowed.

She took their hands in hers and squeezed them. "I'm gonna make things right, for your mom. I promise. I'll fix all this."

Chris's hand was slack in hers, then it tightened to squeeze her back.

From then on, something changed between them. They stopped seeing her as an interloper. They stopped ignoring her sullenly, and refusing to talk to her.

Slowly but surely, Johnny and Chris had begun to accept her into their life.