Page 70 of Married With Malice

“I guess that’s true. Our last fuck fest did get a little wild.”

“Psychotic is more like it.”

“Definitely not our best day. What happened after I left?”

She throws up her hands. “It was a mess in there.”

I take a pointed look around the kitchen. “Suddenly messes bother you?”

“I bagged up all the junk and anything that was lying on the floor.”

“Perfect. Where’s the bag?”

She sniffs and looks out the window. Snow was promised in the forecast but so far there’s only cold rain.

“Garbage pickup was yesterday morning,” she says.

When my response is angry silence, she chews the corner of her lip.

“Look, I never knew you had a special magic pen,” she says. “I’ll order you a new one.”

“It wasn’t magic,” I say. “The value was purely sentimental. Just like the tux you burned on prom night.”

She quits biting her lip. “You said it wasn’t really your father’s tux.”

“I was trying to spare your feelings.”

“Since when do you spare my feelings? You’re the guy who told Matthew Pentone that I was an evil bitch and convinced him to dump me. Now you get your laughs by throwing him back in my face whenever you get the chance.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, forget about that disgusting prick already. And yeah, I spared you the mortification of knowing how Matthew Pentone bragged to the whole tri-state area that he popped the cherry of the big mob boss’s daughter. But at least you can now stop telling yourself he’s the good guy who got away.”

The shock on her face says it all.

She never suspected.Fuck.

This sure went bad in a hurry.

If I’d wanted to play the hero then I would have made sure Annalisa heard all the details of the locker room beat down I gave Pentone six fucking years ago when I learned how he was running his filthy mouth.

But I never wanted to force her to feel any gratitude toward me. I still don’t.

The shock passes and her eyes go flat. “For your information, I’m not even slightly hung up on Matthew. If that’s your version of sparing my feelings then don’t bother. I’d return the favor but now that your soul has been sold to the mafia,you have no need of a heart.”

We face off with dueling glares. She’s ice and I’m stone.

Not long ago, I would have shaken off the tension and found a way to defuse the situation with a wisecrack.

When did I lose that ability?

Call it an occupational hazard. The cost of spilling blood. I’m already so used to wearing the mask of a pitiless killer that it’s starting to stick to my skin. Pretty soon there won’t be a single line I’m unwilling to cross.

Anni is now looking at me funny, waiting for some quip or retort that isn’t coming. I gulp back some more weak coffee and toss the rest down the sink.

If I give her a Christmas gift right now, she’s as likely to run it over with her car as she is to say thanks.

She’s still watching as I rinse out the cup and add it to the dishwasher. When I remain silent and casually lean against the sink with my arms crossed, she sighs and grabs a spice jar from the table. “We’re supposed to be at my parents’ house at one.”

“I know. Richie and the whole family will be there too.”

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