Page 30 of His Tesoro

“A wheelchair assessment to be fitted for a custom chair.”

My lips parted, and all I could do was blink as Angelo took the risotto out of the microwave and took an appreciative bite.

“This is really good,” he said. “I don’t even like mushrooms.”

“Thank you. But what do you mean, a wheelchair appointment? I already have a wheelchair.”

“Boss said it’s no good,” Angelo said with a shrug. “He was very insistent that you deserve the best.”

My eyes were unfocused as I tried to make sense of my enigma of a husband—cold, harsh, and absent at one moment, and seemingly caring in the next.

“He’s a confusing man,” I finally said.

“Not half as confusing as women,” Angelo said.

I rolled my eyes, scooting forward so I could snag the container of cookies out of his hand. “Sexists don’t get cookies.”

“No, bella, please don’t be like that.” His lip jutted out in a pout. It was such a ridiculous expression on this huge, muscular man that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

He snagged the box out of my hand and shoved a cookie in his mouth before I could say anything.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said. “I have to go get ready. Don’t eat all the cookies.”

I fidgeted with the car radio, turning it to a pop station. Mila and I had spent hours passing the time listening to the radio when we were little, before we smuggled a TV into our wing of the house.

“So, Angelo, tell me more about yourself.”

We were stuck in Manhattan morning traffic.

“Uhh, what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Anything. What do you like to do in your free time?”

The light changed and we inched forward again.

“Don’t have many hobbies… I do attend a weekly poker night, if that counts.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I’ve never played. Mila and I had a deck of cards, but we didn’t know any games, so we just made stuff up. Are you any good?”

A smile tugged at Angelo’s lips. “I’m decent.”

“Can you teach me? Maybe I can come to poker night if I get good.”

He shot me an incredulous look. “A woman at poker night?” But at my scowl, he cleared his throat and quickly added, “It’s about time.”

I crossed my arms.

“Don’t take the cookies away from me,” he pleaded.

“Maybe I’ll forgive you if you teach me how to play.” I knew Angelo was only here with me because that’s what the Boss commanded, but I was desperate for a friend. “Oh!” I said. “Do you have a gun range you use to practice?”

Angelo took a right turn and parallel parked on a busy street in Midtown. “Why?”

“I thought maybe we could go sometime. I need to keep my skills sharp.”

My bodyguard snorted. “Your skills?”

“What, you don’t believe me? My brother taught me to shoot when I was younger.”

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