The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)

by Danielle Lori

TEMPTATION IS HALF-NAKED, INNOCENT, AND dripping wet.

Elena Abelli, of course. So fucking wet.

The way she’d stood there, dripping water to the concrete while staring at me with those soft brown eyes and that sweet expression. Her long, wet hair and a body you’d see on a porn star. Jesus, it couldn’t be real.

Was her papà letting her run around half-naked while men were over? And as her soon-to-be brother-in-law, could I tell her to go put on some fucking clothes?

I’d thought my perception of her personality would be a big enough repellent, like a thick cloud of bug spray or maybe a little mace. Unfortunately, it didn’t do anything to turn me off. Not when I looked at her, and especially not when she spoke with that soft, warm voice that soaked through my skin and ran straight to my groin.

I knew what this was. I was a Russo. We wanted what we couldn’t have, and what I couldn’t have was Elena Abelli in my bed just one damn time.

My gaze found that blond prick talking to one of Elena’s uncles. I didn’t know the man, but I knew I wouldn’t help him if I saw him bleeding out on the street. A burn radiated in my chest from only looking at him. I’d barely stopped myself from smashing his face against the front door earlier.

Salvatore didn’t want to give up the favored Sweet Abelli, at least not to me. He probably thought he’d gotten one over on me.

I’d take the weird one. At least she would be entertaining. She was also the smartest choice.

And, honestly, I never was that great at sharing. I’d have to kill all of them and I already had enough on my plate.

I had already touched her more than I should. Had only shared my cigarette with her just so I could see her lips where mine had been. I’d imagined those little pink fingernails around a specific part of my body, rather than holding a smoke.

The whole goddamn situation was fucking annoying.

“Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.” —John Webster

A vulnerable me. I wasn’t sure why I let Nicolas Russo see that side. Maybe it was because his indifference made me believe he didn’t want to crack me. My eyes shot up when the click of the library door hit my ears, and, as if my thoughts had conjured him, Nicolas stepped in.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” —Emily Dickinson

We lay side by side and watched a girl fall in love. One of us already had, and the other knew she never would.

Benito reminded me of Manny Ribera from Scarface, in looks and personality. I could count on him flirting with at least one woman everywhere we went, like clockwork.

“Every savage can dance.” —Jane Austen

Frustration crept up my back. I had plenty of male cousins and uncles and a temperamental brother—the last thing I needed was another man butting into my life. I imagined everything Nicolas did, he did it with his all, because not even Benito would wear that expression over a man having his arm around me.

It didn’t take long to realize I didn’t belong, that I was already stained by the world I was raised in. That a man with a clean conscience and clean hands would never fit me just right. I’d destroyed a decent man’s life, and while he’d touched me in places I’d never been touched before, I’d wished he did it a little rougher. I’d wished he was tainted by the darkness, as the men I was used to were.

Everyone knew you didn’t fall in love with a man in my world, like the one who stood before me now. Not unless you wanted your heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. No, I’d never fall in love. Truly, I’d never expected to. You didn’t mourn something you’d always known you couldn’t have. At least this man wasn’t mine. He was too distracting, too fascinating . . . I’d never make it out alive.

Technically, it was a lie, but I was going to talk myself out of this. Because after Nicolas had overheard Tyler ask me out, and the fact that it was Tyler who I’d kissed—well, this might seem worse than it was. To the men in my family’s ears, it would sound like I’d gotten naked with the man. I told you—psychotic. Apparently, Russo men were the same.

I was resenting Nicolas Russo so much right now that I tried to ignore the warm, masculine scent filling the car. Sandalwood, clean skin, and a certain danger that made my pulse drift between my legs. I tried to ignore the way it invaded my senses and made the corners of my mind fuzzy. It hit me like a shot of liquor, and I distracted myself with buckling my seatbelt.

Without a word to me, Nicolas typed out a text. Probably to my papà. I could only imagine it read something like: Package picked up safely.

I swallowed. “Nicolas, please . . .”

His eyes sparked. “What’s my name?”

I paused, opened my mouth but then closed it. I didn’t want to say it. Nicolas Russo had a reputation. Nicolas Russo was a stranger. Nicolas was distant. I didn’t want to call him Nico. It would flo...

He ran a hand across his face, wiping off a hint of amusement. “Touché.” Glancing at me sideways, he gave me an appraisal, maybe impressed I had the guts to say what I did. Licking his lips, his deep, serious voice rushed over me. “So prove it to me.”

My brows knitted. “Prove what?”

“That it was pl...

“How am I supposed to—?” My stomach erupted with butterflies when it dawned on me. The shock of what he wanted me to do settled in the space like an elephant in the room. “You’re serious?”

He wants Elena to kiss him to prove it was platonic

“If I do this, you’ll keep it to yourself?” I unbuckled my seatbelt and his gaze tracked the movement.

I rested my hand on the console, planning not to touch him anywhere I didn’t need to, and leaned in. He watched me with an expression like he was in line at the DMV. Five inches away, four, three . . . I jumped the gap. My lips touched his to Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck playing on the radio. Soft and warm, his scent was concentrated and mind-numbing. I hadn’t even moved my lips, only pressed them to his, but a moan climbed up my throat. I kept it locked inside.

“I like to be myself. Misery loves company.” —Anthony Corallo

THERE WERE TWO RULES I always followed. Never leave the house without my .45. And never put myself in a position I knew I couldn’t get out of.

The smallest sexual interaction I’d ever had with a woman had gotten to me so much I had to pretend I needed gas just so I could get the fuck out of that car. Heat crawled beneath my skin, and I rolled up my long sleeves.

Elena Abelli pressing her lips to mine was in breach of rule number two. I’d known it wasn’t something I could handle, yet like an idiot I’d let my dick guide me. It hadn’t killed me, but fuck, it felt like it. I was more worked up than I’d ever been. I swore, straight lust in all its itchy, burning glory rushed through my veins.

I’d underestimated her. I’d thought she would refuse to reenact the stage kiss, therefore giving me a leg to stand on by calling that “platonic” excuse bullshit. Truthfully, I didn’t give a fuck if it had been. It pissed me off.

Watching her with Tyler made me wonder if he was the man she was in love with. She hadn’t hesitated to kiss me to protect him. My teeth clenched. The ring on her finger was from a man. I’d bet money on it. Tyler? Or the man she’d run away to be with? Jesus, why did I care?

One lone black man was at the pump, filling up his old beater. A gas can sat on the oil-stained concrete; the one I had watched him fill while Elena was inside getting fucking groped. I grabbed the container and headed toward the station doors.

“What the fuck you think you doin’, man?”

“Some friendly advice,” I said without turning around. “Might get the fuck out...

It took him two seconds to put it together. “Aw, hell no,” I heard from behind me. A door slamm...

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” —John Keats

I had already been humiliated enough by the incident. I wasn’t a girl who wanted to be saved or avenged. I just wanted to forget about it and put it behind me. But I couldn’t do that because Nicolas had burned the entire gas station down. There would always be charred remains—and possibly a body—reminding me. I’d never seen the cashier come out. Sure, he was a disgusting creep, but did he deserve to burn to death? My throat tightened.

I hadn’t said a word to him the rest of the drive home, though he’d hardly tried to instigate a conversation. Between him threatening me about Tyler, kind of kissing him, and watching the gas station light up in my side-view mirror as we drove away, I was more frustrated than I’d ever been.

Elena, go check on Benito in the kitchen and make sure he’s still alive.”

“He was shot tonight. Though, maybe you aren’t so concerned about that as you are about who drives you home.”

It was a little cringe-worthy, but that wasn’t the reason I turned around and headed back to my room. That’s because her hand was in his pants. My cousin was getting a handjob in the kitchen, and while it was seriously unsanitary, I didn’t have the energy to tell them to get a room.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I felt was the wrong man’s lips against mine.