Page 141 of Sin & Sapphire

“Bonjour, chérie,” I murmured into her hair, before releasing her.

“Good morning,maître,” she said, looking deliciously rumpled and soft.

I bent down again to swipe the drop of blood that welled on her lip with my tongue.

“Eat your pastry but get some protein in you too. It’s going to be a long day.”

Ana slippedinto the pew beside Maria Ferrari, clasping the widow’s hand in her own. Angelo followed, and I sat at the end.

We’d debated my presence, but Ana put her foot down. “Ginevra Russo and Sofia Oscuro have three husbands each. Pretty sure the head of the Costa clan can show up with a man. Or two, as the case may be.” I didn’t comment on the number of lovers Ana had entertained last night.

Mrs. Ferrari clutched at Ana like a lifeline as the mass went on, each eulogy more poignant than the last, tears dripping beneath her dark sunglasses.

When the moment came to bear the body out of the church, Angelo and I joined the pallbearers. Our contribution had been hastily prepared in a flurry of text messages the night before, but Ana insisted that the symbolism would unite the community in addition to the comfort it would provide the widow.

Ana had a lot of opinions lately.

I didn’t like leaving her behind to walk with Ferrari as we carried the casket to the hearse, but my worries proved unfounded when she slid into the black limo beside me a few moments later.

Angelo faced us and slid up the partition separating us from the driver. Ana lifted her hat off her head and set it beside him on the seat. She ran a hand over her brow, tension evident in the stiff set of her shoulders. Her lips twisted in frustration, but before she could open her mouth, I snapped, “Toy, on your knees.” My instincts screamed that she needed an outlet for her stress.

Her gaze snapped to mine before she gracefully sunk to the floor of the car between Angelo and me. I drew her cheek to my knee, careful not to disturb her elegant chignon, and stroked her cheek.

“Are you okay, princess?”

She shook her head, her skin brushing against the inside of my thigh.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,maître.” She looked up at me and wrapped her arms around my calf, leaning into my leg as the car started rolling. “But we’re not done yet, are we?”

“Put your seatbelt on,” Angelo said.

“Can I—” Ana looked up at me, her cheeks flushing a delicate rose. “May I stay here, please? I need—” She cut herself off and shook her head, as if she didn’t know how to articulate her need. “I need to turn everything off for a moment.”

Angelo shifted so she was caged between our legs, an elegant pile of fabric and blonde hair, beautiful and supplicating before us.

“Slut,” I murmured, “hands behind your back. Sit quietly until we get to the cemetery.”

“Yes,maître,” she murmured and closed her eyes, relaxing into my hold. Angelo stroked her back, and she leaned into my leg, the tightness easing from her frame.

Angelo met my eyes, full of wonder and vulnerability. My heart beat slowly and powerfully in my chest as I realized that it no longer beat for Angelo alone, but Ana too.

But pain was all I could give this brilliant woman. And that wasn’t enough.

Angelo leaned forward until our thighs touched, shrinking the cage that Ana knelt in, as though he could feel my need for reassurance. He moved Ana’s hands from behind her to my thigh, so she draped herself over my leg.

We rode in silence until we reached the cemetery. Ana rose without comment, blushing when she looked at us from under her long lashes, then took her place beside me, squeezed between my thighs and the door.

She set her hat on her head and quickly repaired her makeup before taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. When her hand found mine and squeezed, my heart stopped. A powerful pressure built in my chest. I twined my fingers in hers, unwilling to examine my need to comfort the beautiful creature who’d upended my life so completely over the last few months.

The funeral service itself was exactly as expected—the widow weeping on Ana’s shoulder, stoic uncles and brothers hiding their grief behind expressionless faces, and a trio of children doing their best to understand that their father was never coming home.

A heavily tattooed man who carried himself like he owned the ground he walked on stood across from us, glaring at my Ana, his eyes occasionally shifting to Angelo and me. His eyes caught mine. Enzo fucking Accardi. His brother had kidnapped the younger Russo girl, then her daughter, setting off the chain of events that resulted in Gio Costa’s death. And we’d been looking for him ever since Tchérnov’s men showed up instead of him at the bar that night.

“Enzo, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” Angelo moved to embrace Accardi, holding onto his biceps and kissing each of his cheeks. “Something must have happened to the checks you wrote the widows of the men killed when the bratva blew up the Costa compound. They never received them.”

Ana stepped up when her uncle released Accardi. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to protect our gorgeous little toy.

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