Page 50 of Married to the Mafia

Afterward, we sit together on the bed. I’m nestled in his arms, feeling like I’m dreaming. If it wasn’t for the ache between my legs, I would be able to tell myself I imagined it. I’m dressed and so is he, not that he ever undressed. “How come you don’t get naked?” I ask?

“Scars,” he replies. “Lots of them.”

“What from?”

“Growing up.” He falls silent for a moment, his eyes faraway. I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“You ever have a dog?” I ask, wanting to fill the silence.

“Once,” he whispers.

“What happened to it?”

“It died.”

“Oh. How long ago?”

“I was twelve.”

“It’s tough when they die of old age, especially when you’re a kid. I had one die when I was nine. Betsy. I still miss her. What was yours called?”

“Max. He didn’t die of old age.”

“Oh. What was it then? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“My father killed him to teach me a lesson.”

“What the fuck? Your dad killed him?”

I turn to look at him, and he’s still staring into the distance. “Never be kind. Never get attached. People will take advantage.” He shifts away from me, getting to his feet.

“You really believe that? You think I’m taking advantage of you? You kidnapped me, remember. You forced me to marry you.”

“I had no choice. It’s me or Ricardo.”

I look at him, and for the first time, he’s not meeting my eye. “You’re not telling me something. What is it?”

“Nothing. I’m going to get some lunch. You want something to eat?”

“I guess.”

“Then let’s go.” He walks out of the room and just like that, he’s cold as ice again. It’s like he’s two different people, each of them fighting to be on top. Is he the emotionless bastard walking off down those stairs?

Or is he the lover who lets me have a safe word andgives me the best orgasms I’ve ever had? The man who saved me twice from Ricardo Belucci and a fate worse than death?

I follow him to the dining room. By the time I get there, he’s sitting with a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking out the window at the rain which is starting to fall. “You can share it with me,” I say, taking the seat opposite him. “Whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

“Not now,” he replies. “Now we eat.”

The door at the far end opens and two women walk in, both looking a lot hotter than me. I feel intimidated just being in the same room as them. Then I shake myself out of it.

They’re not married to Dino Gianni. I am. I’m his wife. For the first time, that thought fills me with warmth instead of terror. I’m not even sure when the change happened. I just know that maybe being married to him won’t be so bad after all.

Then he gets the phone call.

It goes off in his pocket while I’m digging into the best meatballs I’ve ever tasted in my life. He holds the cellphone up to his ear and listens. “What?” he snaps. “What?” He snaps again. Then he hangs up, and he’s looking furious.

“What is it?” I ask, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth.

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