Page 29 of Married With Malice

“How many times do I have to say yes?” I call back.

There’s a loud thump. I think she just kicked the door.

Grabbing my shorts, I leave her sanctuary and set up camp on the sofa. The easiest way to get in a sleepy mood is to tackle those dull real estate contracts again.

I’m still doing this half an hour later when the bathroom door creaks open. I don’t even look up as I hear Anni’s footsteps run over and slam the bedroom door, immediately turning the lock. Seconds later, the bedsprings creak and the light under the door disappears.

I don’t regret sleeping alone tonight. The last thing I’d ever want is for Annalisa to grudgingly submit to sex on her father’s orders. When I do finally get my hands on her, she’ll fucking melt like ice cream in July.

And that time is coming.

I get hard again just thinking about how sweet the victory will taste.

6

ANNALISA

Three days after my wedding it occurs to me that the worst thing about being a mafia wife is also the best thing.

The job of a mafia wife isn’t a new concept to me. All my life I’ve watched my mother submissively perform her role without complaint. She knows nothing of the constellation of Barone business holdings and turns a blind eye to both the lawless reality of my father’s activities and the long list of women he always keeps on the side.

Now I’m no different. I’m an accessory. I’ll never be consulted and I’ll always be kept out of the loop. I’ll be trotted out for certain social occasions in order to enhance the image of my husband.

However, there is a silver lining. A mafiacapois more of a lifestyle than a job, which means most of the time Luca will be off doing dirty business and I’ll be left the fuck alone.

That’s where I am right now, alone on a tranquil beach with my Kindle and a bag of salted chickpeas amid the soundtrack of gentle waves teasing the shoreline. It’s downright heavenly. Best of all, there’s no husband in sight to ruin my good mood.

Luca has been gone since yesterday morning. He dropped a comment about a business meeting in Miami and then took off.

I do not know when he’ll be back and I do not care.

Having the entire suite to myself last night was wonderful. I’m hoping Luca stays elsewhere until it’s time to leave next week. A repeat of our first night here isn’t something I’m looking forward to.

Maybe I should remain here in the Keys alone indefinitely. Luca is free to return to New York and wave a gun around and play gangster games. That would be the ideal arrangement.

We’re not going to get along, not ever. Perhaps Luca is rational enough to understand that his life will be far less unpleasant if we’re living in separate states.

I wonder if he really did have a business meeting in Miami. He went to law school there. He must still have a lot of connections in the area. Perhaps there are one or two old girlfriends just waiting around for him to call so they can suck his dick.

A sudden flash of irritation strikes. It feels pretty close to anger.

How strange.

There’s no reason why I should be bothered by the idea of Luca getting his kicks with some (possibly imaginary) side piece.

Even if I wanted him for myself, which I absolutely DO NOT, men like Luca Connelly aren’t faithful. None of them. Not my father, not his uncle, not the unending network ofcaposand underbosses and soldiers populating the mafia realm.

I don’t know, maybe they’re in danger of getting their macho cards revoked if their cocks stay in the marriage bed.

Anyway, it’s entirely possible that while I’m sitting here chewing on salted chickpeas and staring at the crystal clear ocean water, Luca is buried inside some South Beach supermodel.

Why should this feel so shitty?

Whether she exists or not, he’s all hers. I’d rather crawl over a bed of staples than admit that my pride has been vaguely wounded.

So what if he doesn’t want me? He can’t have me anyway.

It’s so very confusing, this business of being married to your enemy. Zero out of ten stars.

---