Page 37 of A Touch of Fate

Samuel’s face hardened, a shadow of the past flitting through his eyes. “Of friends who died because of me.”

My lips parted in surprise. I could tell it was a topic Samuel didn’t want to talk about. I nodded and stopped myself from asking more questions. Maybe I’d ask Danilo about them. He definitely knew the details about Samuel’s past, especially his rescue mission. But Danilo, too, didn’t like talking about it as it marked the year in which he’d lost his fiancée to Remo Falcone.

Maybe one day, Samuel would feel comfortable enough with me to share the full story.

“I’ll freshen up and get dressed. Will we have breakfast together?”

“Sure. I took the day off.”

I got into my wheelchair, acutely aware that Samuel watched my every move. The tension in his upper body and the keen attentiveness in his expression made it clear he was ready to leap out of bed and assist me should I require his help. It was kind of sweet but also frustrating. I didn’t want to become someone he had to care for, at least not beyond what a husband did for his wife. I smoothed out my nightgown and resolutely gripped the wheels before I moved toward the bathroom. The door was closed, and I had to angle my wheelchair to the side to push it open. Samuel climbed to his feet, obviously thinking he needed to open the door for me.

I sent him another smile before I disappeared inside the bathroom. The moment I stopped in front of the sink, Samuel appeared in the doorway. I had to stifle my laughter, though I also felt a little like screaming. Clearing my throat, I gathered my courage and said, “You don’t have to hover, you know? I’m an adult. The wheelchair doesn’t mean I can’t handle things on my own. You can treat me like you would any other woman.”

I cringed at my last words.

Samuel frowned. “You are my wife, and I want to take care of you.”

“That’s really nice, and I appreciate it, but unless I ask for help, I can do it on my own.”

Samuel nodded. Still, I wasn’t sure if it had really gotten through to him. Maybe he’d actually need to see me handle things to believe I could. Mobsters could be stubborn and overprotective. I had to admit a part of me was pleased that Samuel took our marriage serious enough to want to make goodon his promise, but I also knew I’d get frustrated very quickly if he treated me like a child. I wanted to be a partner on equal footing, which was hard enough in our traditional world.

“Do you want to be alone, or can I brush my teeth?”

“You can stay.”

He came in and stopped in front of the other sink. I still wasn’t sure if he didn’t use the toothbrushing excuse to keep an eye on me. Maybe I would have been annoyed if that didn’t give me the chance to admire his breathtaking body. Yesterday, I’d been too overwhelmed by the situation to pay much attention, but now I could really savor every inch of Samuel. He was only in low-hanging silk pajama bottoms, and I kept checking out his six-pack and the sexy V.

I was still slightly sore from yesterday, but seeing Samuel, I wouldn’t have said no to a repeat performance. Our eyes met, and my cheeks heated at being caught ogling him. I couldn’t help but wonder if there would be an encore. Maybe Samuel had only done his duty last night and wouldn’t try to sleep with me again. Perhaps he’d pick a mistress to fulfill his bodily needs. Maybe he already had one. I wasn’t naive. It wasn’t uncommon for men in our world to have a mistress, especially if they were as good-looking and powerful as Samuel. I’d felt sexy last night. Samuel made me feel that way with his touch, but did that mean he would be faithful?

It would crush me if he were one of those men who cheated because they had plenty of opportunity.

I hated this train of thought and didn’t even want to consider it. I wheeled out of the bathroom and grabbed a cute blush sundress for the day, plus pointy flat pumps. I was already dressed when Samuel came out.

I took the elevator to the ground floor while Samuel headed down the stairs. The breakfast table had already been set for thetwo of us, and pastries, fruit, and yogurt parfaits had been set up in the center.

The moment Samuel and I had taken our places across from each other at one end of the table, a woman who I assumed was the cook came in. She was tall and curvy and in her late thirties or early forties, with kind eyes and curly brown hair in a ponytail.

“Good morning. What would you like for breakfast?” She spoke with a heavy Italian accent, so she probably hadn’t been in the States very long.

I glanced at the pastries and parfait. “We have a good selection,” I said in Italian because I missed speaking it.

Samuel, too, seemed unsure what she meant, and he too switched to Italian. “This is Azzurra. She comes highly recommended from my parents’ cook. What is for breakfast?”

I loved hearing Samuel talk in Italian. We’d mostly talked in English so far, but I decided I found his voice even sexier in Italian.

“I can prepare whatever you like. If you prefer American style, I can make egg dishes, waffles, pancakes.”

I grabbed a maritozzo, a traditional Italian sweet bun filled with cream. “I personally prefer a cornetto, brioche, or maritozzo for breakfast, and of course a cappuccino.”

Azzurra gave an approving nod. I hesitated. I didn’t want to be nosy, but I was curious. “Where are you from? I’m unfamiliar with your accent.”

“I was born in a very small village in the Maremma region.”

“Why did you come here?”

“My son wanted to move here to join the Outfit. I’m a widow and only have him, so I came along. It’s been two years.”

Samuel nodded. “He’s hardworking and brave.”

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