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“Will it?” I challenge. “I know we’re all on edge around here, and these flowers are like a goddamn bomb right now. But this is exactly what Nunzio wants. He’s fucking with our heads. He wants me to be scared. He wants you and Nicoli to get angry and lose your shit, why? Because people make mistakes when they’re not in control.”
Maximo cocks his head, considering my words as he glares at the guard. His fists are still clenched tightly at his sides when Nicoli grabs the guard behind his neck and drags him to the front door. “You’re fired. And consider me not having him kill you to be your severance pay.”
He slams the door shut and pulls out his cigarettes before lighting one and angrily pacing with it stuck between his lips. I can only imagine how close he is to exploding, wanting to go on a goddamn rampage through the city right now.
Leandra appears at the top of stairs. “You know your mom doesn’t like it when you smoke in the house.”
Nicoli glances up at her, taking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a plume of smoke. “Yeah, well…she’s not here.”
“But your wife is,” she says as she starts to descend the stairs. “And she happens to be pregnant, too. So, I’d appreciate it if all you could stop smoking around her.”
Nicoli glances at me, and I can see it’s only dawned on him. “Fuck,” he mutters, opens the door, and stomps to the driveway, stubbing the cigarette with his heel into the asphalt before coming back inside. “Happy?”
Leandra smiles. “Very.”
“Get a trail on whoever got these flowers delivered,” he orders Maximo.
“Already on it.”
“Good.”
“He’s going to slip up,” I say simply. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Maximo straightens in front of me. “How can you be so sure?”
“That psychopath thinks I might be pregnant with his baby. I can assure you, even with a fifty-fifty chance, that son of a bitch will risk coming up for air just to find out I’m carrying the next Ferrero heir.”
ChapterTwelve
NICOLI
The night is darker than usual. Or maybe it’s just my psyche reflecting some pitch-black ominous shit into the world. Even the stars seem like evil motherfuckers sitting against the darkness, waiting to spit fire and watch us burn.
I think about Mirabella and what went down when she interrupted an official Dark Sovereign meeting by clicking her heels across the floor, sashaying that hourglass figure of hers in there like it was her playground, and the rest of us had to ask her permission to play.
Did it piss me off? Yes.
Did I want to haul her ass out of there? Yes.
Did it turn me the fuck on seeing my wife act like she owned the world, taking on five grown-ass men? Fuck, yes.
A hard cock is probably not the most ideal reaction I should have had toward that entire scenario, but what can I say? My wife’s strength and fearlessness is a potent aphrodisiac for me that shoots straight to my cock.
But then I saw the way she froze this morning after Nunzio’s flowers arrived, and I wanted to set the world on fire for her, slay her demons and eliminate all her fears. I want to be strong for her so she doesn’t have to be, but that’s not what she needs. It took me so long to realize she doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight her battles for her. She needs a man to love her, and a beast to fuck her. Even after what she went though, she still trusts me to be that man, to be that beast for her. God, she’s so much mine, it’s ridiculous.
I’m leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette, watching the embers flicker in the darkness when Maximo’s truck pulls up. I suspect he’s still mad at me—probably at the entire fucking world. I went into that meeting expecting everyone’s worst reactions, but I didn’t expect Maximo to lose his shit the way he did. I knew he’d be upset. I just didn’t anticipate to what degree. We’re both strong-willed men passionate about protecting those we love, and we’ve kicked each other’s asses numerous times. The last time being me using his face as a punching bag after my wife got kidnapped.
I was two hundred percent sure it would end with him punching me in the face. And I would have let him. I wouldn’t have fought back because I understand. I get it. If Mira had to have Nunzio’s child and we had to raise a Ferrero kid in this house, it would be the worst test life could ever put any of us through. He’s angry and confused, but unfortunately, I can do nothing to change that. Not now. It has to be this way.
From a distance, I can see the tension in Maximo’s shoulders as he jumps out of the truck. He moves to the back door and pulls it open. A woman jumps from inside the car, hands balled at her sides, and butts into his chest with an angry shout. I watch her struggle against him for a few seconds, swearing and flailing at him like she doesn’t realize she’s only wasting energy. She’s jerking and cursing, trying to kick her way out of his grip. Her defiance would be admirable if it weren’t for her loyalty to Nunzio.
“Keep moving,” Maximo growls at her, his grip on her arm unyielding. I can’t help but feel a twisted satisfaction seeing her squirm under his control.
They disappear through the heavy doors of the mausoleum, and I flick the cigarette butt into a pile of leaves and kick at a patch of thistles. I pull up my collar against the chilly breeze and follow closely behind them. The air inside is cold and damp, the scent of decay and death clinging to every surface. This place has always made my skin crawl, but it serves its purpose well tonight—the perfect prison for our prisoner.
“Here should be good enough,” Maximo says, pushing Briana against one of the cold stone walls. She stumbles but quickly regains her footing, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and defiance.
“Is this where you’re going to kill me?” she spits, her voice echoing off the walls. “Bury me alongside the great Vincenzo Del Rossa?”
