Page 71 of Cruel Tyrant

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” I fist her hair and bite her lower lip. “Go send the men away, dolcezza. I think I’m in the mood for some private time with my wife.”

She laughs when I slap her ass and shouts out the door at the soldiers, and I watch her as she turns back to me, cheeks flushed and smiling big, and I know I made the right decision all those months back. My only regret is that I didn’t choose her sooner, because then Bruno might still be alive, but at least I have her now and that’s more than enough for me.

Chapter 42

Stefania

I’m exhausted from a long day of work.

When Davide said he wanted me working on his books, I figured it was simple accounting. I’d add some numbers, make sure everything was solid, and probably commit a few felonies as I hide his real earnings in a shuffling mess of shell corporations and offshore accounts. The usual mafia stuff.

But now he’s got me running multiple properties, which means interfacing with all sorts of colorful dickheads, from stubborn property managers to pissed-off clients. And on top of all that, I’m still cooking the damn books.

It’s exhausting, but it’s rewarding, and for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I have ownership of something. This isn’t like my law firm gig back in Philly where I was basically a nepo baby, only working there because my brothers got me the gig. Well, it’s a little like that, but I’m thriving and kicking ass, and Davide couldn’t find someone better even if he fucking tried. Which he better not.

I get out some good white wine, line up a couple glasses, and fill them to the brim. I put in some microwave popcorn and get it popping. I’m drained and sleepy, but I have a standing movie date with Elena every Wednesday night, and that cannot be missed.

“Almost ready,” I call out as the door opens and the microwave beeps. I bend over to grab the bag out. “I’m thinking something nice and gory tonight. Maybe I Know What You Did Last Summer? I’m still in a horror movie kick. What do you?—”

I straighten up and stop mid-sentence. Elena’s standing at the island, grinning at me, and Laura’s a few feet behind her.

Elena and I are tight. We seem to get each other, and I love her like a sister. But Laura’s been tough. Even though she hasn’t actively hated me in a while, I haven’t been able to win her over to my side. Everyone says that’s fine, she doesn’t really make friends very easily, and I can tell that’s true. She keeps to herself, and okay, I can respect it.

But I want to be on good terms with her. I love this family, and she’s a part of them.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Elena says real casually and picks up her glass of wine.

“No, not at all.” I beam at her. “I’m really happy you came.”

Laura’s face screws up and she looks annoyed. “Don’t read into this.”

“There’s nothing to read into,” I say, getting out a third glass, and pouring her a full drink. “Nothing at all.”

“Yep, you’re totally casual,” Elena says, elbowing me. “Are you hyperventilating right now?”

“I’m just so excited she’s here,” I gush, unable to help myself.

Elena cackles and Laura groans. She tries to walk out but Elena hurries and stops her.

“Now, come on, you love horror,” Elena says, steering her sister to the island and forcing her to sit. “I’m putting you here, and Stefania’s going to stay over there, and you’re going to say to her what you told me you wanted to say.”

Laura’s jaw flexes. “I don’t want to anymore.”

“I swear, I will break your fingers in the freaking door if you don’t just get it out of your head. Now, I’m going over to the couch, just pretend like I’m not here.” Elena wiggles her fingers at me and hurries away to the other side of the gigantic lower floor.

I stare at Laura, smiling like a total moron, my heart swelling up a million times its normal size. She glares back at me and looks like she’d rather eat her own vomit than have a conversation with me. I keep my mouth shut because I’m afraid that if I say anything, it’ll scare her off again.

After a few seconds of borderline psychopath staring and grinning, she picks up her wine and drinks half of it down.

“You’re fine,” she says once she’s finished.

I lean closer. “Sorry. What?” Because I genuinely have no clue what she’s saying.

She winces and rubs her temple. “I said, you’re fine. Okay? I don’t want to murder you anymore. You’re fine. Can we watch the movie now?”

She moves to stand but I hold up a hand. “Wait a second. What changed your mind?”

Laura looks annoyed. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why not just accept that I no longer want to murder you and be happy?”

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