Page 88 of His Tesoro

I breathed in sharply. “You’re mean.”

He pulled my hair, causing my lips to part. “That’s right, tesoro. Mean and cruel and dangerous. Don’t forget it.” He gave me a hard, claiming kiss and then he was out of the car, rounding it to open my door.

Enzo had already gotten my wheelchair out, but Matteo was eyeing the steps leading into the mansion as if he was going to destroy them.

“I can walk if you help me,” I suggested.

Matteo ran his hand through his hair with a huff. “No, you won’t. I will carry you, and then have a discussion with Lombardi.”

“Miliy, you can’t be upset with your capos for not having wheelchair-accessible homes.”

His eyes flickered at the term of endearment. I hadn’t meant to say it, but it felt right as it slipped from my lips. It wasn’t a term I’d ever heard spoken in real life—my mother certainly wasn’t going to call the Pakhan darling—but I’d read it in one of the few Russian romance novels I’d had access to. I loved having a name that only I was allowed to use for my husband. It made me feel like he actually belonged to me.

Matteo’s arms framed the car door opening, his body caging me in. “You’re very free with your demands today, wife.”

I shrugged. “It’s because I’m brilliant and you should always listen to me.”

He ran his hand along his jaw and I knew he was trying not to smile. I took the opportunity to run my eyes down his body. Matteo stood tall and strong in his black suit, pure power radiating off of him.

He caught my wandering gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Just admiring my husband,” I said. “Either that or deciding if I’m going to kill him for leaving me unsatisfied.”

“I might be concerned about your threat if you didn’t sound like a fierce little kitten.”

I rolled my eyes. “I keep telling you I’m a great shot. I could probably destroy all your men easily in a shoot off.”

Matteo leaned down, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “Whatever you say, tesoro. Now, let’s get this tedious party over with. We have a busy night ahead of us when we get home.”

My cheeks heated when Enzo gave a little cough, clearly having heard my husband’s words.

“Come on,” Matteo said. He maneuvered me out of the car and into his arms. I handed Noodle’s leash to Angelo.

“Maybe you should just stay in my arms all night.”

“Your arms will get tired.”

He jiggled me in his hold, making me laugh. “As if.”

I grinned, pressing my smile to his throat. He smelled so good, like leather and smoke and rain. “Have I mentioned that I like your beard?” I ran my fingers down his sharp, unshaved jaw.

“You might have.” Matteo took the steps up to the house with ease.

The heavy front door was flanked by four guards who all bent their heads when they saw Matteo, murmuring “Boss.” Matteo gave them a curt nod and then the butler opened the front door for us, revealing a foyer so opulent it hurt my eyes. Every surface was gilded in what seemed to be real gold, with massive framed oil paintings hanging from the walls.

“Umm… They definitely like gold,” I said.

Matteo snorted. “Feeling inspired to make over our apartment?”

“I’ve always said if you can view a room without sunglasses, you’re doing it wrong. What do you think, Angelo? There’s a distinct lack of gold in your apartment.”

Angelo hid his laugh with a choked cough as a short man in a black tux approached us.

“Don Rossi! Welcome to my home. We are honored to have you here. Everyone is gathering in the gardens.” The man—who I assumed was Riccardo Lombardi, one of the capos of the Five Families—glanced at how Matteo was holding me and then at my wheelchair in front of Enzo.

“Your house is not accessible by wheelchair,” Matteo said, by way of greeting. “Fix it.” He strode past Lombardi through the sitting room and out the open French doors leading to the yard. The setup out here was just as opulent as the interior—golden candlesticks on linen-covered tables, flower arrangements that must have cost thousands, and a crowd of elegantly dressed members of the Family.

My cheeks burned as everyone turned to take in our entrance. “Can you put me down?” I whispered. I was plenty embarrassed to be seen in a wheelchair, but being carried in Matteo’s arms was so much worse. In his arms, I was prominent and noticeable. In my chair, I became invisible.

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