Page 72 of Revenge on the Mafia

“Where do you sleep, anyway?”

He stopped. “In my office.”

In his office? I stared at him and made a face. “What? You have bedbugs on all the mattresses?”

“Something like that.”

“You know I could move to the basement or out of your house.”

“No.”

“Fine. The guest bedroom.”

“No. You’re my wife. You sleep in my fucking bed.”

I sighed. “I don’t know why you insist on making your life difficult. Marrying me, keeping secrets, killing people… and now giving up your bed.”

He didn’t answer me. He moved. I followed as I was attached to him.

“No wonder you have nightmares.”

People greeted him in Italian. He ignored them all and made for the enormous living room at the end of the hall. Daria and Lorenzo’s home must have been pretty. I couldn’t see it through the bubble of my bitterness. “You know I’ll run.” He stopped and stared at me. “If you won’t give me answers and if you won’t let me kill you, I have no use for you.”

He tugged me closer. “That’s why I’ll keep you close. Rest your feet. You can run after I’m dead.”

“I can’t wait,” I bit out.

Something bittersweet flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped whatever he was going to say when Stefano squeezed his shoulder. “How’s marriage treating you, Fratello?”

He ignored the question and asked what the commotion had been about. Stefano said something about some small investors trying to meet with the big fish.

Daria stood across the room. The moment our eyes met, she made her way to us. “Oh…” A slow smile spread across her face. “No wonder he wanted you to wear this for your wedding.” Her words played with my heartbeat. She pulled me in for a hug, which became awkward since I was still plastered to his side. “At least you got to wear it to your party.” She eyed my other hand, captured in her brother-in-law's. When her gaze came to me, it was filled with a question.

I answered it with an awkward smile, still caught up on what she’d said. I was wearing my wedding dress? The silk suddenly felt suffocating on my skin. He had gotten me a fuchsia dress? For our wedding? I shook my head. I was reading too much into this. There was no way he would know about my past obsession with the color. I looked up to confirm it. He was talking to Stefano, but his gaze was on me. Hunger and need zapped me. I took a shaky step back. He pulled me in effortlessly.

“You know you can tell me anything right?” Daria whispered next to me.

I took her in. She looked like pink cotton candy. Pretty pink cotton candy. A dress that looked so soft on her, I wondered if it would melt if it touched the darkness of heat.

“I know.” But what could she do about it?

She threw a nervous glance at my husband. “Really.” She pressed my hand. She only wanted to help, and maybe she could clear up a few questions of mine. Not anything involving Papá. I didn’t know much about the Mafia business, but I knew nothing of importance would have reached the women. But maybe some of those chaste questions.

“I’d like to touch up my makeup,” I told her.

She was quick to take the hint. “Oh, I’ll join you.”

I tugged at my hand. He didn’t release it. “You don’t need to touch up anything,” he growled.

We stared at him.

“I also need to pee.” He glared at me. “Or would you like me to lift my dress up and do it here?”

His gaze dropped to my slit. When it came back to meet me, it brought a wave of frustration. “Don’t wander off.”

I leaned up to pat him on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Don’t worry. I won’t run off before I take your last breath.”

He growled. Then turned and gripped my neck. He was surprised by his actions. A word fell from his. “Promise?” It panged in my chest. Surprised me with it.