Page 40 of Revenge on the Mafia

“This isn’t Italian.”

“No,” Daria groaned. “Let me eat, Enzo. This looks so good.”

“It’s paella, Fratello,” Stefano drawled, already digging in. “Just because it’s not Italian doesn’t mean it’s not going to be good.”

“I fucking know that. She could have poisoned it.” She would have. If I were alone. The entire reason I had them over was because I’d pushed her far enough for her to crush her consciousness and kill me. I wanted her up close with a knife to my throat. Nothing else would do.

“This is fucking delicious.” Stefano smacked his lips. “You can come over and make use of my house anytime, chica.”

Like hell she would.

“Medda, let me eat.” Daria yanked her hand away. Enzo captured it back easily. “I swear to God, Enzo, if you get between my paella and me, I’m kicking you out of the house.”

“Fuck’s sake.”

My brother looked so torn, I had to put him out of his misery. “She wouldn’t poison us,” I told him, my gaze unblinking, pinned on the would-be-murderer in my house. “Would she?”

She scoffed. Left my family gobsmacked. “Only one way to find out.” Then she spun around and stalked off, hips swaying all the way out.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ANNA

The nicest name I could think of for him was ¡Hijo de puta! Son of a bitch.

Rage had twisted so much into my body that it vibrated out of every cell. I wanted to grab my knife and stab him in a thousand different places. I’d start with his fucking eyes and mouth.

Calm the fuck down, Anna.

I was vexed enough to storm in and do it. The fact that I had to think of Mamá and Mara incensed me. I wanted to kill him. Now. My fist clenched around the knife I’d used to cut the chilies. But I couldn’t. When I wanted to expel my responsibilities and…

Sound of laughter filtered in through the gap in the door. Are they laughing at me?

Instead of sharpening my knife to draw his blood, I marched towards the door. Stefano must have said something, since he was obviously the only joker in the family. He probably made fun of the Don. He was definitely more fun than the asshole I worked for.

“Get her back here.” Joder. I’d pushed it. Pissed off the Don when all I really wanted…

“No.” One single word. No explanation behind it.

A chair scraped against the floor.

“Where’re you going?” The Don’s wife’s soft voice. Daria. I loved her socials. Followed her under a ghost account.

Wait. I jumped back from the door. Was he coming to the kitchen?

“Need to make a call.” Stefano’s voice.

“In the middle of dinner?” She seemed to be the only one who wanted to eat my food.

He said something in Italian. The fading footsteps meant he must have walked out.

I edged closer. “I don’t trust her food.” The Don. Was he still not allowing her to eat?

“Ironic, coming from a man who eats rotten food on a weekly basis.” Niccolò’s voice, tone dry.

“What?” She sounded pissed. Join the team. “My food’s not rotten.”

“The lasagna you tried to feed us last week could have wiped out the entire Martello gene.” The sound of cutlery followed. If the Don wasn’t allowing his wife to eat… only one person was digging in. He was so fucking sure I hadn’t poisoned him. I stewed in my anger. I wouldn’t have. Not in front of his family, at least, but it irritated me that he knew it.