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And he’s gone. There’s a moment of silence before Matteo clicks his tongue and inhales slowly through his teeth. “That nothing wasn’t a nothing.”
“Nope. I bet she gave him hell.”
“And not the fun type.” Matteo smirks. “You treat a woman like a dog, don’t be surprised if she comes and bites you in the ass.”
“Wise words, husband,” I tease, feeling lighter.
He smiles down at me and cups my cheek. “You don’t bite, kitten, you just scratch.”
Hmm.
“Here, put this on again. It’s safest on your finger.” He picks up his mom’s engagement and wedding ring set from the table and slides them on my finger, then lifts my hand to his lips for a tender kiss. “I’m going to shower.”
“Okay.” He lets go of my hand, and as he walks away, he drops the robe.
Right there on his lower back… oh heavens… red nail tracks where I scratched him in passion.
Kitten indeed.
51
MATTEO
We’re finally on the jet and flying back to the States. Four hours into the flight and I start to relax. Job one: check. Job two: botched in the best possible way. Tasha is sitting on the other side of the plane with noise-cancelling earphones, pretending to watch some movie, but I know better. She looks up often and stares out of the window, without going back to see what she’s missed. She might be tired, or her mind is simply drifting, like mine is.
These past few days had too much action for me to get my head around everything that happened in Sicily. A lot of questions have formed in the back of my head ever since I dealt with Randazzo, and the fact that he felt like someone I knew, or should know, beyond his history with the Scaleras. The Don never doubted Randazzo’s eagerness to see me, and to get a meeting with him—one of the most secretive and elusive capos in the European Mafia—was way too easy. And then there were his eyes…
“Matteo, you’re not fucking concentrating,” Stephano sighs. “I know you’re pussy-whipped?—”
“Yeah.” I can’t even get angry at him because he’s right. I shift in my seat, tearing my gaze away from Tasha. Stephano is keeping his cool, but I know he’s annoyed with me. He’s even more annoyed that Gigi Trapani was there last night, but I can’t get anything more out of him as to what happened with her—with them—once we left. He has nothing to show for months of work, plus he’s out of pocket with all the expenses he incurred to get the show on the road. He can do me a favor and get over it. They’re all Il Consiglio expenses and in the bigger scheme of things, insignificant. One man getting the prize is the natural outcome of any auction, and none of his clients need to know the final bid: zero.
We’re trying to run through some numbers while we’re together in an attempt to move on from what happened in Cannes, but my mind isn’t in it. I close my laptop screen and Stephano does the same.
“What’s your plan with her now?” Stephano asks.
It’s a loaded question. Tasha looked on as Stephano dealt with Tatiana’s assailant, Greg Martinez. I might have planted a bullet in his head, but Stephano would want some guarantee that Tasha will never talk. When it comes to that, dead is best.
“When we get off this plane, we’re getting married.” There. I’ve said it. Made it public.
“What? Why?” Stephano keeps his voice low, but it’s still shocked.
“It’s the only way I can really protect her.”
“Not from me,” Stephano grunts. “But why the rush, dude? It’s not as if she’s going anywhere.”
“No, she isn’t.” Whether she likes it or not, Tasha has been sucked into our world. She has no choice really, but when things start falling into place... At some point she’s going to realize how our pasts intertwine, connect those dots between Alex’s death and her mom’s and brother’s.
“Just fuck her until you’ve had your fill and let her go like you always do. It’s easier in the long run?—”
I lean over the desk and fist his shirt. “That’s enough.” One of Stephano’s bodyguards makes as if to stand up, but this is between brothers, so he hesitates. “You speak of her like that again, and I will fucking damage you beyond repair.”
“You’ve lost it, bro.” Stephano strangles my wrist and tears my hand from his shirt. He’s strong, as he should be.
I shrug loose and fist my hand in frustration. He is right, but he doesn’t get it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.
Stephano shakes his head with sigh. “Be careful, Matteo. The Don is dying and the last thing we need is you losing your common sense because of a woman. That woman in particular.”
“I don’t care. Best you let the others know how to treat her.”
