Page 133 of Vicious Kingdom

She protested, but I cut her off.

“Annaliese, from the moment you chose me five damn years ago, I was yours. I just didn’t see it until recently, okay? But I seeit. I see it now.” I cupped her cheek and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

More tears spilt from her eyes, but she kissed me back. Her lips were soft but insistent, and those fingers likewise gripped at me, as if her body believed me, despite the chaos in her mind.

“Now, let me feed you, let me hold you,” I murmured against her mouth. “Let me help you bear this.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” I said fiercely.

“My parents didn’t think I did,” she countered. “My grandma in Germany didn’t either.”

“Idiots. All of them.” I hugged her tight. “I was too.”

She snorted. “No, even when you were mad, you were never cold and unfeeling. You were the first person to give me something I never had but always craved.”

“What’s that?” I pulled back to watch her.

She lifted her shoulder. “Love.”

Chapter 47 – Leonardo

Aknock on the door interrupted my whisking. Taking my gun from the silverware drawer, I crept to the door. Through the peephole, black eyes stared back at me.

“Open the fucking door, fratello,” my brother growled.

I flipped the lock, and Sandro pushed inside.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I mocked, going back to my baking.

The gun glinted on the countertop beside the carton of eggs. I felt the don’s stare, but I ignored it. The amount of times he’d been here could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare.

“You’re…baking.”

“Yes,” I said, bracing for his teasing.

“You don’t bake.” He shifted his grip on a canvas bag I didn’t realize he’d been carrying.

I set the bowl down. The metal of the stainless steel clanked. “And how would you know? It’s not like we’ve lived together for the last two decades.”

Sandro opened his mouth…and croaked. Laughter spewed from inside, fighting past any words he failed to form.

“Vaffanculo,” I spat and poured the batter into the springform pan. After covering the top, I slid it into a water bath before placing the whole thing in the oven. “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Your father-in-law was murdered.”

Leave it to the don to state the obvious. “I know.”

Sandro came around the island, stopped beside me, and leaned his back against the counter. “Are you in danger?”

Under his serious tone was something rare: worry. I pressed my hands against the ledge, pushing back and forth like an exercise as I considered his question. “I don’t think so.”

“And how’s Annaliese?”

I turned around, leaning my own back against the granite to mirror his stance. “Hurting—bad.”

Sandro murmured.