Page 27 of Inescapable Ties
“Gingham or plaid?” I held up two shirts for him to examine.
“Neither,” he said simply, lips curving into a small smirk, “Plain.” He pointed to a black shirt nearly identical to the one he was wearing.
“Do you wear any color that isn’t black?” I asked him.
“Gray. Dark blue, sometimes.”
I groaned. “Emilio. If I have to be married to you, you’re expanding your wardrobe.”
“I think this is the first time you’ve acknowledged our marriage since the wedding day. Am I growing on you, Jaws?”
If I hadn’t heard it directly from other Mafia member’s mouths, there was no way I would ever think that Emilio could be “The Butcher.” His personality was too nonserious.
But here I was, helping him replace his bloodied shirts. I wondered how many men he had killed or injured to ruin that many tops.
I picked out shirts in varying shades–colors that would accentuate Emilio’s dark features and highlight his athletic build. Dismissing anything garish or overly embellished, I settled for clean lines and subtle patterns. The selection process was laborious but worthwhile - each piece I picked out elicited a satisfied nod from Emilio.
Once satisfied with my selections, we moved to the fitting rooms. Emilio tried on each shirt I had handpicked, and each time he stepped out to show me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how the clothes accentuated his figure.
But, the man could wear a paper bag and still look good.
“This should be enough for now,” he said, draping the mass amount of t-shirts and button ups we had picked over his arms.
I wanted to ask how long it normally took before he bloodied them, but I decided against it.
Instead, I indulged him in small talk as we made our way to the counter. While he settled the very expensive bill, I took in the sight of him - the way his muscles shifted under his shirt, the way his fingers effortlessly swiped his card. I wondered what his fingers could do - no, bad Luciana. I shook my head, silently reprimanding myself.
As we exited the shop, loaded down with bags, Emilio glanced towards me, a small smile on his face. “You have good style.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “You make a good mannequin.”
“Uh huh. Do you normally ogle mannequins that much?”
“I wish you were a mannequin. I could leave you in the men’s section of Neiman Marcus and not come back.”
He laughed, a deep and throaty sound that echoed around the high-vaulted spaces of the mall. “I’d make a damn good window display.”
“So modest,” I sighed. “C’mon. Let’s go get ice cream.”
Chapter fourteen
Luciana
Itwasthemorning,and the two of us were in our normal routine of getting Starbucks before Emilio left for work. We were stuck in an obnoxiously long drive through line. It seemed like everyone in NYC was having a rough morning and needed some coffee.
“We’re going to a charity dinner tomorrow,” Emilio said.
“I didn’t know the Mafia was charitable,” I responded.
My family and I had never attended a charity event. Although, to be fair, I had skipped all events and dinners when I turned fifteen.
“Do you think it’s only charity?” he looked at me and raised his eyebrow.
Of course. There had to be some shady dealings happening below the surface of what should be a good event.
“Whatever. As long as there’s good food for me to eat while you’re up to your nefarious business.”
“Nefarious?” he said, laughing at my choice of words. “You make it sound so sinister, Jaws.”
