Page 79 of Princess of the Mafia

The door pinged open behind me. I dragged my gaze to the mirror. An old couple trudged in and glanced at us. My wife tensed in my arms, a palm in between, pushing at me. I allowed a distance of a few breaths but kept her caged in between.

Unhinged, she mouthed with a frown, and I brushed my hand to wipe the amusement off my lips.

Only for you, I mouthed back, and she pulled herself taut in defiance.

It didn’t matter, anyway. I was going to win her over even if it killed me.

“I wish you’d tell me where we are going,” she whined for the thousandth time.

I was relieved when Orso pulled the car to a stop, because excitement was crawling up my nerves, and I didn’t trust myself not to spill out the words.

“Soon.” I jumped out of the car and pulled her out.

She looked around with a frown. We were standing in a private gated community in front of a run-down house. White brick walls, tall pillars, and iron railings wrapped around it in a sad line. No sane person would walk inside it, yet I let Orso drive along the long driveway leading up to it.

She whirled around, catching the rundown garden and the loss of the hum of New York traffic. “This doesn’t look like a restaurant.”

I couldn’t stop the grin that split my cheeks. Jesus! She was making me into a fucking juvenile. I pulled her up the brown-brick stairs, put the key into the lock, and opened the large white doors. Fuck! My hands were shaking. The last time they did that, I was in a hotel room wiping the blood off a kid. I gave my head a shake and strode into the foyer. It was round, with a spiral staircase wrapping the edges. Tall white pillars turned a dull yellow lined the circumference.

“What do you think?” I waved my arms around.

“What is this?” She was still standing on the threshold, trepidation in every bone. Yet her hand stroked the door frame absentmindedly.

“Our new home,” I declared, and my voice echoed off the walls, and my enthusiasm bounced off the high ceiling.

Her face lost all trace of color. “What?” she croaked.

“You heard me.”

She asked, “You bought this?” in a drawn and tight voice. “Why?”

I shrugged. “You said you want to buy your own house and do it up.”

“I wanted my own house,” she snapped, and foolish nervous energy coiled in my stomach.

“This is your house.”

“But you paid for it.”

Awkward silence crawled on the dirty marble floor and raced up the yellowed walls. I swallowed a heavy sigh. I wanted to tell her I would always be hers. I would never hurt her like her papà. I wanted to tell her to take that leap and trust me to be there. “I’ll put it under your name.”

Silence. My breath wheezed three times in and out.

“Yeah?” She took a small step inside.

“Yeah. But I’ll live here with you.”

“It’s not mine then.”

“I’ll pay you rent.”

A wobble of a smile traced her lips. “You’ll pay me rent, huh?”

“Sì, Principessa.” Three long strides, and I had her crowded against the wall. “And if I ever cheat on you,” she stiffened in my arms. “I won’t. But if I ever lose my freaking mind and cheat on you, you get to kick me out.”

She cocked her face to mine. “You’d do that for me?” Her voice trembled, and I heard all the pain of a childhood within it rattling like stones in a jar.

“I would,” I promised her.

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