Page 9 of His Tesoro

I turned to the guard with a smile. “It’s amazing.”

“You’ve never traveled before?”

“I’ve never left Chicago.” The truth was, I’d barely even left the east wing of my house. When Mila and I were younger, before my condition worsened, we would sometimes attend parties or go on outings with our nanny. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

“New York is a great city. I think you’ll like it there,” he said.

“Have you lived there your whole life?”

“Yeah. Born and raised. I grew up poor and sort of fell into all of this”—he waved his hand at our luxurious surroundings—“when I was younger. The Boss has been good to me.”

I met his gaze, looking at him intently to see if he was telling the truth. Mila always said I was too trusting, but I would rather believe that people were fundamentally good than spend my life expecting them to lie or hurt me. Maybe I’d been born into the wrong world.

“Can you tell me more about him?” I whispered.

Matteo had headed to the back of the plane a while ago, but Romeo was across the aisle from us, and more guards were sitting on the couches—yes, freaking couches, which couldn’t possibly be normal—and I didn’t want them to overhear.

Angelo gave me a kind smile. “You might have guessed that he’s not very expressive. But he’s a fair Don. He rewards people who are loyal to him.”

The unsaid words hung in the air—what happened to those who weren’t loyal.

“Does he have a family?” I asked.

“He has a sister. She lives in the same building as him. But I think that’s it. You know his parents were murdered?”

I furrowed my brow and shook my head. I hadn’t known that. I knew essentially nothing about my husband except that he looked good in a suit.

“By his uncle,” Angelo said, voice low. “It took the Boss two years to overthrow the traitor and reclaim New York.”

“When was that? How long has he been Don?”

“That was thirteen years ago.”

My eyes widened. “How old is he?”

Romeo chuckled from across the aisle, and I realized I’d spoken too loudly. I blushed and curled in on myself. My father couldn’t stand when I asked questions.

“Don’t worry,” Romeo said with a wink. “The Boss ran away, so now he has to face the consequences.”

I raised my brows, shocked at the way he was talking about his Don. If anyone spoke about the Pakhan like that—even his right-hand man—they would be punished.

“Matteo is thirty-eight,” Romeo continued. “Old fucker.”

Angelo snorted. “And how old are you?”

Romeo flipped him off. “Thirty-seven,” he answered begrudgingly, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Romeo just winked at me again.

I couldn’t believe how young Matteo had been when he became Don, and I felt a burst of sympathy for my new husband. No wonder he was so serious. He’d been responsible for all of New York for so long. I bit my lip, thinking about the seventeen years between us. The age gap didn’t bother me, but it was probably another reason Matteo wasn’t interested in me. I was young and naïve… why would he want to spend any time around me?

“Tell us about yourself, Sofiya,” Romeo said.

I shrugged. “Not much to tell. I’m not very exciting.”

“On the contrary, I expect you’re about to bring no end of excitement into our lives,” he said, leaning back in his seat.

I gave the gregarious second-in-command a hesitant smile. “I like baking and reading. Boring, like I said.”

“Are you any good at baking?” Angelo asked, rubbing his stomach.

---