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He takes a deep breath and asks, "Is the panic attack and outburst related to the scar?"
I bite back tears. “Yes and no. Listen, it’s our wedding night. This isn’t the night to discuss it.”
“All right,” he sighs.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks.
A smile lifts my lips. “Please.”
***P***
Poised in a large black chair in the sitting room, my hand brushes down the front of the classy lavender dress that stops at the knees. I peer at the mousy brown-haired woman who cries every couple of minutes about her husband’s infidelity.
My brow lifts. “Why did you marry a man in the mafia?”
Ezra clears his throat.
I meet his gaze.
He shakes his head.
“I’m just saying they sound like men who can’t keep their dicks in their pants.”
Ezra rubs his brow and sighs.
Ezra, my husband’s most trusted bodyguard. Is also now my confidant with this whole Donna position.
“Ok Rose, I’ll talk to my husband and give him my suggestion on what to do about your husband.” I grin.
“Please don’t hurt him. Thank you,” she says, rising from the sofa.
Ezra escorts her out of the room, then returns.
“What would you like the guys to do?” he asks.
“Break his legs,” I bite out.
“Usually, we break one arm for the first refusal,” Ezra adds.
I ignore his words. “When Natalia arrives, send her to my lab.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pitucco.”
It’s so weird to be called by Nick’s last name.
Getting Nick out of his own head last night had been difficult.
I persuaded Nick to fuck me again. Sex had been the last thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop obsessing over the scar. In the middle of the night, he held me tight and whispered in my ear, “You have until five in the evening to tell me who hurt you before I drop dead bodies in your lab.”
The tiny hairs stood all over my body and a chill struck my spine.
I only recall seeing a glimpse of Nick’s dark side the night I found out he was in the mafia.
After washing my hands, I stare through the microscope.
There’s a knock at the door. Panic strikes my body.
“Yes?”
