Page 68 of Married With Malice

I don’t know how we got here. I can’t stand fighting with Annalisa. What I want is to hold her and protect her and make her feel good.

But the foulest parts of my job have started crowding out everything else in my mind and each day brings a sinister new shadow to nibble at the edges.

How long until I turn into Richie Amato? Or into Albie Barone?

Ruthless and cold blooded, ready to order an execution over an unpaid debt or an insult before casually sitting down to a plate of Aunt Donna’s lasagna.

I suspect I’m halfway there already.

This is what Cale warned me about.

This is why he always threw himself on the sword, a futile bid to protect me from a fate I willingly joined anyway.

Though my brother is the only person who could relate, I’ve kept all the havoc to myself. Even if there wasn’t some cloak and daggeromertacode to honor, Cale has earned his happiness and I won’t bring my darkness into it.

When we spoke this morning, I got a kick out of hearing his excitement over impending fatherhood. Cale will be an excellent father. I’m deeply proud of him. I’m sure he wishes he could say the same about me but things are what they are.

I shake the lid off the square jewelry box and examine Anni’s charm bracelet. I thought about giving her this peace offering last night but she was gone, attending midnight mass with her mother and sisters. I’m not too keen on stepping into a church these days. My presence will probably boil the holy water.

With my fingertip, I trace the tiny sterling silver palm tree charm. That sun-kissed week we spent on the beach feels as distant as an ancient golden fantasy.

A pan clatters to the tile in the kitchen. Anni calls it a motherfucker. I pop the lid back on the box, figuring the gift can wait until she’s not being tormented by kitchen accessories. Maybe she’ll forgive me and crack a smile. But for now the box goes back into my drawer.

I haven’t sat in this chair since the day of our argument, although ‘argument’ feels like the wrong word, kind of like calling D-Day a scuffle.

All the ugly Christmas decorations she dumped in here are gone. The paperwork that was scattered on my desk is also gone. Just some contracts that can always be reprinted.

Anni must have had quite a tantrum after I stormed out. In addition to tossing my contracts and removing all the Christmas crap, she saw fit to clear off my entire desk, down to the pens.

Allthe fucking pens.

Shit.

I jump to my feet and start frantically rifling through drawers in search of the engraved pen given to me by my brother. The last time I saw it was right here. The pen was in my hand when my wife stormed into the room in the midst of a wrathful decorating spree.

Now there’s no sign of that pen or any other pen. My desk is pen free and one of the few possessions that actually matters to me is now being held hostage by the sexy human tornado currently abusing cookware in the kitchen.

A deep sigh of irritation does nothing to enhance my mood. Anni can do whatever she likes with every other pen on the planet but I’m getting that one back.

Approaching the kitchen right now is not unlike sticking my hand in a beehive. However, the view from the doorway more than compensates.

Annalisa is on her hands and knees in front of the sink and mopping up a wet spill with a dishtowel. There are smudges of flour on the black yoga pants molded to her body. The energetic rhythm she uses to attack the floor speaks straight to my cock.

I end up gripping the back of the nearest barstool and suppressing a lustful groan. Sleeping on the couch for the past week hasn’t been fun. There’s nothing I’d love to do more than close these last few feet of distance between me and my wife, then strip off her flour-speckled clothes and fuck her into oblivion where we stand.

I’m aware this is an unproductive fantasy.

Our most recent argument was the worst one yet and it was all my fault. I was jealous and cruel and she paid me back. Our old push-and-pull cycles are getting nastier. This is becoming a rotten habit, the way we keep daring each other.

Anni straightens up and throws the sopping dishtowel into the sink. Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail with long strands escaping. Her cheeks are flushed. She notices there’s a flour handprint dusted on her right thigh and attempts to rub it off with her palms. Then she looks up and recoils with a gasp at the sight of me standing six feet away.

“Can you make a noise the next time you go skulking around behind me? I’m not in the mood to pass out from shock today.”

“I didn’t realize I had such power. I wonder what else I can do with it.”

With a deep exhale, she crosses her arms. “Are you here to torment me or is there another reason?”

My eyes trace the contours of her body. The pink fleece top she’s wearing slides off one shoulder and the hem has been cut just above her navel. Her pants sit low enough on her hips to show off a tempting slice of skin. She still maintains the toned body of a figure skater. I’ve memorized every inch of her. Fucking perfection.

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