Page 37 of Revenge on the Mafia

Since I learned of Anna’s reaction.

He observed me with interest. He usually reserved it for selecting our merchandise. I didn’t care for the heat of his focus on me. “You smoke,” he pointed out.

“Not anymore.”

He scoffed. Then stopped. “You’re serious.” I held his gaze. His eyes were shrewd as he squashed the cigarette under his shoe. “First the invitation, now this. Lead the way, Maestro.”

I did. Stefano was sprawled on a chair at the dining table, attention on his phone, and Daria was all over the room. Touching and feeling up my home like she wanted to be fucked by it. Running her hands over the rough, structured walls, she placed her cheek on them and whispered. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

“What’s wrong with our home?” Enzo asked grumpily.

She gave him a cheeky smile. “You mean mine?”

Jesus. Was he still paying her rent to live in the house he owned?

“My mistake, principessa.” There was no hesitation in his tone.

“That’s our first child. This is my youngest. I loved doing it up. I miss it, you know.” She looked at me with accusation in her eyes.

Stefano glanced up from his phone. “Why haven’t you invited our cognata?”

“I don’t entertain.”

“Now you do?”

No, I didn’t want to leave home. I didn’t have a choice. This monthly dinner thing Daria had come up with was costing me time.

Behind us, pots banged in the kitchen. Three times, a four-second pause, and another sound. A pan, probably, or someone using it in place of my head. The conversation stilled. Got my annoying brother’s attention. Tucking his phone away, he got to his feet. My hackles rose as he swaggered in the direction of the kitchen. For a heartbeat, I forgot myself. The same blood as Enzo’s pulsed in my veins. Hot. Possessive. Insane.

“Stefano,” I fought to control my voice, but he would have picked up the warning underlined in it anyway.

Unfortunately, he was hard of hearing. Instead of turning back, he shrugged my words off with a swipe of his hand and swaggered to the kitchen. “Just going to look at what’s killing your pots.”

I clenched the back of my jaw. Glued my feet to the floor and watched him go, seeking what was mine. Another pot banged, and Daria winced. “At least I’m quiet in the kitchen.”

“True. You only burn things, principessa.”

“What? You love everything I make.”

Enzo brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “That’s because I’m lovesick.”

“Get a fucking room,” I clipped out before I took four steps to the side. I could only see Stefano draped against the doorway. But I already knew what he would find. A furious Anna. I’d somehow managed to set my entire household staff on fire. Magda, because someone else was cooking in her kitchen. Anna… well, probably because she’d rather kill me than cook for my family. The worst part was that I was pissed with myself. There was no pattern to my actions. She was a virus in my body. Spreading through my veins and fogging my mind. I wanted to hide her away and introduce her to my family at the same time. I wanted her to finish me, but somewhere in between those thoughts, I also wanted her to fuck me. Unfortunately for me, the only thing she planned to fuck was my mind.

Without realizing it, I’d taken two more steps. Just in time to catch her flying out of the butler’s kitchen with a heavy pot in her hand. She skidded to a stop at the sight of my brother.

His whistle and the low baritone in his voice sounded like fucking nails on a chalkboard. “Hola, chica.”

Her lips moved. I couldn’t hear what she said. Her voice was too soft. Thirty-two feet between us. I hoped she was saying something like, fuck off, I’m your brother’s. Stefano turned his head and gave me a smug look. Knowing her, she’d agreed to marry the bastard to piss me off. “I found your maid, Nico.”

I frowned. If he was going to emphasize the ‘maid’, he should have done it along with the ‘your’. My fingers twitched at my sides. “Stop being annoying and make yourself useful in here.”

He didn’t budge.

Ten grand at three points… three hundred a week. Miss two payments and the balance jumps to ten-six. I forced myself to walk away. Out of sight. There was no point in giving myself an ulcer. Fifteen thousand at four percent weekly… six hundred.

“What’s wrong with Magda?” Enzo had taken his tie off again. It was the second time he’d undone it. Every time Daria tied it up again, he undid something of hers. He’d swiped two bracelets off her wrists. She had either not noticed or given up on it.

“Nothing.”