Page 121 of Runaway in the Mafia
He pulled my hands and locked them with his above my head. His lips grazed my ear, and in the stillness of the room, he whispered three magical words. For my ears only. “I fucking love you.” Well, four. Then he lifted my leg and drove into me. He was thick and hard. He pulsed and throbbed. He was all mine. I pulled him in deeper and crawled my nails along his back. He was as much mine as I was his. There really wasn’t a better tradition we could uphold.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER.
VITALE
The hot stuffiness of the city itched along the nape of my neck. The sunshine-yellow wooden bench heated beneath me. The soles of my loafers burned on top of the sharply trimmed grass. In front of me, the driveway contested with a runway, spread out, outlined by palm trees and little round hedges in fluorescent green. Outside of the high parapet walls, Delhi awaited. Huge, congested, with a grey smog draped over it.
What I would have given to have a fresh breath of air. It definitely wasn’t Sicily, but for the second time we were here, I could have adapted to it. But I couldn’t say I was unhappy that my wife preferred her new home to her old. Regrettably, that had everything to do with her mother’s condescending attitude, rather than the weather forecast or environmental policies.
We’d met with the rest of the family a few hours ago. Her sister and brothers had been warm enough. Welcoming, even. Especially her sister. Her mother, not so much. Disapproval poured out of every pore in her body like a foul-smelling oil.I wouldn’t have cared either way. Didn’t care for her approval. Didn’t need it. But something snagged within my cold, dark chest when I saw my wife crumbling beneath the nastiness of her sharp words.
She’d warned me not to intervene. Threatened me with abstinence for a week. She’d put down ground rules. Two, to be exact. I wasn’t allowed to intervene with her mother, and I wasn’t allowed to make a public display. No kissing. No touching. Definitely no fucking.
I’d thought I’d have a problem with the latter, but not the former. After all, I’d found the strength to let her go rather than interfering between her and her father.
But one vicious glance from my mother-in-law at my wife and two snide remarks in ten minutes, and I found myself outside, my hands jiggling with anger as the Zippo flickered at the end of my cigar.
Fuck.
There was a third ground rule. No smoking.
Fuck it. I couldn’t do all of them.
She’d come a long way. My wife. She spoke my language as well as I did. Only better. Sexier. That made me fuck her against a wall. Every single time. She wasn’t a sole proprietor anymore. She had a fucking company with employees. I was damn proud of her, and she’d done all of that without my help. Well, except for the dirty Sicilian. That she’d learned from me. The point was, it took years off my life to rein in my homicidal thoughts when dimwits insulted my wife.
I puffed like who she called me. A lunatic. The hundred per cent nicotine sliding down my throat did nothing to soothe the acid in my lungs.
I guessed my subconscious knew me well. This was the exact reason I’d left my gun back in the hotel. But next time, if therewas one, I would bring it along with me. Armed and clipped on with a silencer.
My phone pinged in my pocket, and I already knew who it was before I pulled it out. There was only one person as worried about my wife as I was.
Come sta andando?
How could she be alright when her own mother was a fucking bitch? I punched the call button. It didn’t even ring before she picked it up. Mamma’s voice was laced with worry. “What’s happening?”
I stifled a sigh. Pinched my nose, and my shoulders hit the boiling heat of the bench. I didn’t even notice it anymore. “She’s a fucking bitch,” I muttered.
Mamma’s sigh was heartfelt. Heavy. “Where are you?”
I turned to catch the painted white cement walls behind me. “Outside.”
“You listened to her,” she said softly.
“She asked me not to intervene. So I won’t.”
“Of course you won’t.” Her faith in me made something tangible clog my throat. “You always do what’s best for her.” Two beats passed before she spoke again, her tone full of insinuation. “But maybe sometimes it’s best not to listen to her.”
I frowned. “What exactly are you telling me now?”
“You never listened to me about your papa. I needed protection. I just didn’t know it myself. Maybe you should listen to your instincts again?”
Well, fuck me. Was she saying what I thought she was saying?
“Be the man you are to her,figlio mio.Don’t do anything rash. But show them she’s not to be disrespected.”
The change in the wind’s direction and a familiar whiff of a scent drifted up my nostrils. I turned to find my wife watching me, leaning against a palm tree. My fucking gorgeous wife. How anyone could think of, let alone actually disrespect her, was beyond me. I scowled. She was fucking precious.
