Page 24 of Depths of Hunger

Esme watches me closely, with concern written across her face, but she stays silent. She doesn’t have to say it—I’m weak as a kitten. It’s better to be presumed dead than to be seen as weak.

“What about the morgue attendant?” she asks, her voice hesitant.

I pull my belongings from the drawer, retrieving my phone from the plastic bag. No new messages—not surprising, considering everyone believes I’m dead. They are in for a rude awakening. “Wait for me outside. I’ll go to Venezia if I must. We need to find out what’s going on.” I don’t bother telling her she’s right; she already knows.

Esme frowns, her expression clouding as she realizes the implications. Her face pales, and she looks suddenly fragile.

“The attendant saw you and me. If I walk out of here, he’ll tell the world I’ve come back. Albert and my brothers will handle things on their end—a fake body, a falsified autopsy. No one will know the truth. But this guy? He knows I’m supposed to be dead.”

Esme nods, swallowing hard. “I know. I… just hate it.”

“Go. Tell Nico I’m on my way. I’ll be out in a minute.” I pause, then add, “Thank you for your help.”

She hesitates, then gives me a sharp nod. “Take care of yourself, Renzo,” she says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it before she slips out the door.

I take a moment, breathing through the lingering pain, collecting my things. I hear the door creak open behind me, and I turn slowly.

“Hey, dude, you’re not supposed to be in here,” the morgue attendant says, annoyance lacing his voice.

I ignore him, shoving the last of my belongings into the backpack.

“Seriously, man, you gotta go.” He takes a step closer.

I turn to face him, and his eyes widen in horror. “You… you were dead.”

“Not so much dead,” I say, grinning as my fangs flash, “as slightly under the weather.”

His mouth opens in a strangled attempt to scream. But I’m on him in an instant, my hand clamping down over his mouth, my fangs sinking into his neck. His blood floods my senses, warm and coppery, and my strength surges back with every swallow.

I let his lifeless body slump to the floor, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. About damn time. Now, to find out who wants me dead.

Chapter

Eleven

Irun a hand down over my black dress to smooth non-existent wrinkles. It’s been two weeks since Renzo died and I took over heading up the family. I stare at my face in the mirror. The fine lines around my mouth and my dark eyes weren’t there six months ago. Hell, I’m not sure they were there before my wedding. Was it only three weeks ago? I study my hair. It’s still glossy and black as it curls around my shoulders, but I wouldn’t be shocked to find gray strands poking through. I am exhausted. I’m also losing weight. I need to eat more but who has time? I rub the worry line between my eyebrows as if I can make it go away. I swear it’s etched in there now.

“Mia, you ready?” Angelo asks through the door.

I sigh. “Give me a minute.”

“Okay,” he says, and I hear his footsteps recede down the hallway. Angelo is getting too familiar. His boss has only been gone for a short time and he’s already acting like he’s my new guardian. He should wait downstairs and not say a word. Instead, he’s up here pushing me. I don’t like it.

I reach for the champagne glass which sits on the bathroom counter. I swallow a mouthful. It’s the good stuff, Dom Perignon and it seems to take me a lot more than one glass to get me drunk thesedays. So much has happened since the wedding, and none of it good. I still haven’t fucking got laid. My asshole of a husband died before we could have sex. I’m still a goddamn virgin. It’s so un-fucking-fair. My box of sex toys is in the drawer beside my bed, ready and waiting if only I had a husband to try them on.

I didn’t think I would miss Renzo. I thought I would be overjoyed to be on my own. And I am in one way, but I also miss him. He made me feel…that’s the reality of it. He made me feel so many damn things. I’ve been living like a statue. Cold as marble. Not daring to feel or think too much for fear I’d upset the delicate balance of things. Now I just don’t give a fuck. Someone killed my husband and shot me. I wince as I touch my side. The fuck if I’m just going to sit here and take it. I want to know who’s behind it and then I’m going to rip his balls off. That’s a promise, I tell myself.

My phone buzzes with a text. I don’t have to look. I know it’s Angelo. He hates being late. I, on the other hand, just don’t give a shit anymore. “Mia?” Angelo’s voice comes through the door again. “You can’t be late for your own husband’s funeral.”

“Actually, I can. They won’t start without me.” I grit my teeth. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Angelo is becoming something of a problem. Since the night we all got shot, he’s been by my side guiding me on how to do things and offering me support when I needed it. He’s helped me set some things in motion that should secure my place at the head of the family. But now, he wants more. I can tell by the way he looks at me, he wants to fuck me. He wants to be the man in my bed, not just the man in my office. He wants it all. Well, boo-fucking-hoo. The chance of him getting horizontal with me is non-existent. He’s not getting it. No one is because if I’ve learned one thing in the last two weeks, it’s that the moment I show weakness, someone will come to take what I have. I’m not willing to let that happen again. Not ever.

I down the rest of my champagne and head for the door to my bedroom. I should have taken time to eat but I wanted to be on my own, and if I ate then Angelo would eat with me. We’ll all come backhere after the funeral, and I can’t drink then either. All eyes will be on me.

“Albert,” I call as I go down the stairs, “can you make sure to send my mother flowers on Monday? It’s her birthday.” God forbid I forget that even though my husband was just killed.

“Of course, Signora. Do you wish to fill out the card personally?” Albert asks. He is a godsend and I am grateful for him. He’s been better at advising me than Angelo.

“No, it’s fine. Just tell her happy birthday.” I have no interest in speaking to her. She’ll just start on the long list of things she thinks I should be doing and how she should be the one to do certain things because, after all, she is the mother and wife of the two top members of the family. Except my father isn’t at the top anymore. I am and I don’t want her near me.

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