Page 65 of Capuleto

27

The price of disloyalty

Nikita twisted my fingers, threatening their integrity.

We moved far enough away from the group to avoid any eavesdroppers. Knowing her, I wouldn't be surprised if she started yelling at me like a madwoman.

Okay, Irene wasn't exactly her favorite person, and we agreed on that, but I didn't understand what had gotten into her to react like this. She even suggested that what I really wanted was to sleep with Irene, when all I was trying to do was tell her that Irene had offered to treat my injuries. Could it be jealousy? The possibility that such an emotion could erupt in her gave me hope, because it might mean she had begun to love me.

I liked the simple idea of it so much that I was tempted to push her to the limit to make her confess.

I was dying for her to tell me she loved me. I understood that everyone has their own timing and that I couldn't rush things. That's why I hadn't pressured her into making an open declaration. When she did, when she admitted that she harbored the same feelings that coursed through me, it would be one of the happiest days of my life, and I was willing to wait until she was ready, even though the need to hear it was agonizing.

I made a quick move to prevent the damn woman from dislocating my fingers.

As messed up as I was, both physically and emotionally, Nikita had the knack of squeezing my groin harder than a fucking bag of flour. Her hellhound attitudes excessively turned me on, not to mention I'd gone too many days without intimacy.

I turned the tables and pinned my wife against a tree, trapping her with my body. I hardly cared if she felt my erection against her belly, if some of my stitches popped, or if my burns hurt. Her touch was downright miraculous.

"Let go of me, or I'll gouge your eyes out and cut it off!" she exclaimed, trying to wriggle free.

"Tell me what I'm seeing is my wife dying of jealousy, and I'll consider it."

"Jealous? You haven't lived enough lifetimes to see that," she spat back.

"So what do my eyes see then?"

"A woman tired of being taken for a fool," she bucked.

"I might take you for many things, but never a fool." She slowed her movements a bit. "You've misinterpreted my earlier words, and I don't blame you; I omitted information that I should have given you." Nikita stopped dead.

"What information?"

"I'll give it to you if you assure me I can let you go without fearing for my physical integrity."

"I can't guarantee that, unless you're completely honest and I believe your answer, which is quite difficult." Her threat made me smile.

"Okay."

Nikita was not a woman you could easily lie to. I didn't want to, either. I would tell her what happened, and she would see that there was nothing to worry about.

I stepped back a few paces, not too many. My wife leaned against the trunk. Dressed all in black, she was stunning, reminding me of a black mamba ready to strike.

"Let's start from the beginning to give you the context," I said. Nikita waited silently, and I rubbed the back of my neck. "Before we went to Santorini, the night you and I argued because you wanted to take Adri to St. Petersburg, when you found out he was your nephew, to be raised by your mother and away from me, I went to the bar to talk to Dante."

"You mean you went to rant about me."

I shrugged. "I was angry; you wouldn't expect me to sing your praises."

"Go on."

"I was venting when Irene came in."

"How timely!"

"She was also friends with Dante."

"And I'm sure she walked into a bar full of bikers just because of that."

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