Page 54 of His Tesoro

I stuck my lip out in a pout, and she rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. We can be friends, but only if you make my favorite dessert.”

“Hey, she has to make my tiramisu first,” Angelo said.

“You’ll get your tiramisu once you teach me how to play poker,” I said.

“Poker?” Romeo asked.

“Angelo’s invited me to his weekly poker night, and I’m determined to beat them all.”

Romeo leaned back in his chair with a hearty laugh. “You invited her?”

“I’ve always said we need more women at poker night.” Angelo winked at me as Romeo snorted. “But you’re probably the worst liar I’ve ever met, so I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Have some faith, Angelo,” I said, elbowing him in the arm.

My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I couldn’t remember having a better day than this one. The only thing missing was having Mila and Matteo here.

As if my thoughts had conjured him, the door opened and I broke out in a huge smile. “Matteo!” It was only when everyone turned to stare at me that I realized how exuberant I’d been. I cleared my throat and took another sip of sake. I could blame my outburst on the alcohol—I was deliciously warm and tipsy—but Angelo had been right that I was terrible at hiding my emotions. My parents had done their best to make me a good, obedient, robotic Bratva wife who expressed nothing. Sometimes I wished I would have at least internalized some of their lessons—it would leave me less exposed in the brutal world.

“Come sit down, fratello,” Romeo said. “You might be able to find a couple pieces of sushi left that Sienna hasn’t force-fed your wife yet.”

“Move the fuck over,” Matteo said to his second-in-command, who got out of the chair next to me with a good-natured huff.

I tried to keep my cool that Matteo wanted to sit next to me.

He nodded his head at my new wheelchair. “How do you like it?”

“I love it,” I said, turning towards him. “Thank you so much for organizing it and getting it so quickly.”

Matteo busied himself with getting some sushi, but I thought I saw the slightest hint of red in his cheeks, and I wondered if my husband felt more than he let on.

29

MATTEO

The dim light in the basement cast shadows on the pathetic man swinging in front of me.

“Where is Arben getting the girls?” I asked. The man sobbed, tears and blood running down his face.

Domenico had found an Albanian spy watching my building.

My. Fucking. Building.

Arben was getting too bold. We should have been able to destroy him in a matter of days, but he was like a ghost. His father had been a pathetic, spineless son of a bitch, but he clearly wanted to make a name for himself. I clenched my jaw as the man let out another shrill scream as Domenico dislocated his shoulders.

The spy was strung up by his wrists, his legs jerking with desperation to touch the floor and alleviate the pressure.

“I don’t know, I swear I don’t know anything,” he choked out. “I was ordered to watch the building, that’s it.” His underwear darkened as he urinated himself.

“For fuck’s sake,” Domenico muttered, his face twisted in disgust.

I sliced a long cut in the Albanian’s skin, making sure to go through the clan tattoo on his chest. He let out a piercing scream, snot running down his face and mixing with the blood on his chest.

“Arben’s forces must be pretty weak if this is who he’s sending to spy on you,” Domenico said.

“Please, please,” the spy begged. “I don’t know anything.”

“Then what use are you to me?” I sliced another line through the man’s chest, but this time I dug my blade deep until blood and intestines spilled out onto the floor.

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