Page 101 of The Devil's Pawn

“I’ve missed you,” he says over the shell of my ear, his breath skirting up my neck and making a hum of desire channel through me.

“You were gone for two seconds,” I whisper as we tread behind the two other couples, heading for the yard.

“Two of the longest seconds of my life.”

Staring up at him with a giggle, I find a huge grin spreading over his face, the kindness seeping through his eyes. The devotion there tethers to my heart, making it heavy with all the things it carries for this man, forever my husband.

Divorcing would’ve been pointless, even after he told me the whole truth. Because in time, I would’ve wanted to marry him all over again. I understand why he did what he did. My forgiveness was easily given.

I sway my body into him, my head finding his shoulder. This is so nice. I can’t believe it’s my life.

We might still have a lot of hurdles to get through, both from my family and from our own inner battles, but like Chiara said to me at the hospital, if we don’t stop to appreciate the things we do have, we’ll let the beautiful moments pass us by. I don’t want to lose sight of that.

Chiara opens the double doors, and we step out. The air is rich with the scent of barbecue, making my mouth water. We head down toward the pool, where a large rectangular table with ten chairs waits for us, along with someone in front of a grill. I can only make out the back of his head with his short black hair peeking out from under a white chef’s hat.

“Who’s that?” I ask Chiara, who takes a seat beside me while Dante pulls out the chair on my other side.

“We hired a caterer,” she whispers, leaning her head toward me. “I didn’t want Dom to be occupied with cooking. I wanted him to have a good time with his brothers.” She purses her lips. “He’s been so on edge with everything going on. This was my way of trying to relax him a bit.”

I glance over at Dom across from us. His foot is bouncing on his knee as he sits next to Enzo, taking a swig of his beer while his eyes dart over each corner of his property. Dante and Enzo talk, laughing away, not noticing their brother’s state.

“I see what you mean.”

“That’s how he is all the time. It worries me, but at the same time, I get it. You know?” She sighs, a line etching between her brows.

My hand lands over hers on her lap, squeezing in reassurance. “Yeah, it’s understandable. I still can’t believe what our fathers did. I don’t think I’ll ever come to grips with them killing a child. Trafficking. I’m disgusted.”

She bows her head. “I know. I wish you had met Matteo. He was the cutest little thing.”

“I wish I had too.”

We pause in silence for a few seconds, as though saying goodbye to the little boy she once knew.

Our men rise and head to pick up our plates, already filled with food. The utensils are already on the table, along with two bottles of wine, both red and white.

Once the guys return, everyone digs in. The clinking of knives and forks is a welcomed sound. Normalcy is something I need badly to help me forget the horror I lived through when Carlito captured me.

Reaching over, I pick up a bottle of the red wine, using the opener to uncork it. Chiara and I are both fans of red, so I pour her a glass, then some for myself.

“Would you like any?” I ask Joelle, who’s been quiet beside Enzo.

“Yes, please.” Her mouth tugs up at the corners as she holds up her glass from across, allowing me to pour some into it.

“A toast, guys,” I say to them all, lifting up my drink. “To family, and to the friends who became family.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Enzo raises his beer bottle, clinking it to my glass, and everyone else starts to do the same, repeating my sentiments.

I take a long sip of the semi-sweet wine. The taste of blackberry infused with a hint of cocoa adds a nice touch.

Chiara’s glass remains untouched as she cuts into her steak, slipping a piece into her mouth. I tilt my head, staring at her with razor focus, finding it a little odd that she hasn’t even tasted a drop.

“Aren’t you drinking?”

My question hangs in the air while Chiara’s flitting gaze avoids an answer, drifting between her food and me. I take a bite of my burger, picking up my drink.

“What? Are you pregnant or something?” I casually throw in with a laugh as I take another mouthful.

But instead of laughing with me, her face grows serious.

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