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But I’m not entirely sure that matters any longer.
When I’m finished with my bath, I put on soft, comfy clothes, and start packing. I could have Leah do it for me, but I’d rather do it myself and make sure that everything that comes with me is exactly what I want. I pack all of the things I bought with my friends today, as well as some of my other favorite clothes, and my toiletries. I pack my books, a few magazines, and anything else that I think I might need in order to keep busy while we’re there. I have no idea what Salvatore’s plans are for the trip. For all I know, he might tell me I’m confined to the hotel room for my own safety, and then spend the entire trip handling business elsewhere. It’s not outside the realm of possibility.
I keep wondering when he’s going to come up to our bedroom. But an hour passes, and another, and another, until I’m done packing and I’ve gotten sleepy. I crawl into bed with my book, with no sign of Salvatore, as if he’s avoiding me. It makes me wonder if he’s changed his mind and decided to cancel the trip, and is just avoiding the inevitable fight that will go along with that decision.
I’ll find out in the morning, one way or another. So I turn off the light, and go to sleep.
—
“Gia.”
Salvatore’s voice wakes me. It’s morning—the light is filtering through the curtains of the bedroom, and when I glance over at the clock on the nightstand, it says it’s eight in the morning. I rub a hand over my face, sitting up sleepily.
“What?”
He frowns. “The private jet leaves in three hours. Leah can take your things downstairs. Go ahead and get dressed, and meet me in the entryway in an hour and a half. She’ll bring your breakfast up.”
Everything he says is curt, brusque, without any emotion. I sit up fully, pushing my hair behind my ears. “Where were you last night?”
He ignores my question, as if I didn’t say anything. “An hour and a half, Gia. Try not to be late.”’
And then he turns on his heel, and strides out of the room.
I watch him go, frowning. There’s none of the attempts at softness or intimacy from our dinner together the night before last. He’s entirely closed off, and I’m not sure why.
A small suspicion wriggles its way into my head. What if he was with someone last night?
It’s entirely possible. Mafia husbands aren’t known for being faithful. Marriages like my parents’ are the exception, not the rule. Most mafia men have mistresses on the side, girlfriends, or women at clubs that they go and visit when they want something exotic. Even as sheltered as I’ve been all my life, I’m aware of that.
It would be perfectly normal, in terms of what’s acceptable in our world, for Salvatore to have someone on the side. In fact, most people—my friends included, most likely—would think I was the strange one for being upset about it. Mafia wives are supposed to accept that their husbands philander, as long as they’re discreet and don’t get other women pregnant.
I shouldn’t be upset about it. I should be glad, if anything, that there’s a possibility Salvatore is taking care of his needs elsewhere and leaving me alone. Leaving me still technically virginal enough to marry Pyotr, if Pyotr were to come and rescue me.
But the thought of Salvatore with someone else sends an irrational flood of jealousy through me, making my chest tighten and my stomach churn. I think of his hands on another woman, making her moan, his lips at her ear whispering the filthy, encouraging things he whispered to me in the workout room, calling her his good girl, and I grit my teeth, wanting to scream.
How dare he be with someone else, when he hasn’t even finished the job with me?
I throw back the covers, striding to the closet to get dressed. I don’t have any proof of it, but the suspicion worms deeper. He probably wanted to enjoy himself before being trapped for however long on a honeymoon with a wife that he apparently has no intention of fucking. But he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. I think of the bikinis I picked out, some of the skimpy clothes, and I’m filled with fresh determination to make his part of this trip as difficult as possible.
I’m going to make it an utter misery for him to keep his hands off of me. I’m going to make sure he has to face exactly what he feels, and think about what he’s done.
I throw on a blue and white sundress and a pair of flat sandals, put my hair up in a bun, and add a pair of rose gold and diamond hoop earrings. My luggage is all stacked neatly by the door, and a few minutes later, Leah knocks on the door and walks in with my breakfast tray.
I’m too excited to eat very much. For all my confusion and jealousy over Salvatore—which is also tying my stomach in knots—I’m going on a vacation overseas for the first time in my life, and the anticipation is driving me crazy. I pick at the muffin and yogurt that Leah brought up, sipping my coffee, until it’s time to go down and meet Salvatore.
He’s waiting in the entryway, as he promised. Unexpectedly, my heart stutters in my chest when I see him. He’s talking to his head of security, and he looks different than normal, less buttoned-up. He’s wearing dark grey chinos and a white linen shirt with the first few buttons undone, enough to show the soft dark hair on his muscled chest, a thin golden chain lying just below his collarbones. His dark hair looks thick and a little messy, and there’s a shadow of dark stubble on his chin.
He looks more rugged than usual, a little dangerous, dark, and deadly. I feel heat bloom in my chest, radiating outwards, my pulse suddenly fluttering in my throat.
I swallow hard, telling myself it doesn’t mean anything. But all the same, I brace myself not to let him see. I want to have the upper hand on this trip, not him. And if he knows I’m standing here with my heart racing just because he looks a little more undone than usual, I would be the one at a disadvantage.
The man Salvatore is talking to glances towards the stairs, and Salvatore stops mid-sentence, turning to look at me. For the briefest second, I think I see a look of frank appreciation on his face as his gaze sweeps over me, and then his expression shutters again.
“Right on time,” he says evenly. “Perfect. The car is waiting outside.”
I follow him out to the waiting SUV. I have no idea how much security is coming with us, but I have a feeling it’s a decent bit. Ever since the wedding, I don’t think we’ve gone anywhere without a full team of bodyguards.
My suspicions are confirmed when we get to the hangar. No fewer than twelve men in black cargos and t-shirts with guns on their hips get out of the SUVs that followed us, hanging back as mine and Salvatore’s luggage are unpacked from the cars and taken to the plane. I follow Salvatore to the jet, my pulse suddenly fluttering with anticipation.
