Page 106 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
Not far from the fig tree Arietta insists grows fairies.
I lean against the stone wall, fold my arms tightly across my chest, and press my back against the wall, grounding myself in the texture of the stone.
I’m here, hiding like a child who has just discovered the monster she spent her whole life denying might, in fact, be real.
My brother’s voice echoes somewhere deep in my memory—Gianna, don’t be soft. Softness gets broken.
I never told him softness is not the same as weakness.
And maybe now I never will.
Slow footsteps come up to greet me.
It’s my husband, his face looking like he’s actually seeing me.
His sleeves are rolled to reveal his tattoos.
He is not wearing his ring, which means he knew he might have to kill someone today.
That absence does something to me.
He stops a few paces away, his eyes locked on mine like he’s reading the weather behind them. "I was looking for you," he says.
I laugh, sharp and short and not even close to kind. "You were avoiding me."
He doesn’t argue.
He just stands there, eyes tired, jaw flexing with something unspoken.
My fists clench where they rest at my sides.
I want to hit him.
I want him to hit back.
I want to burn down everything between us just to see if the ashes will settle into something clean.
"I know what’s been happening," I say quietly.
I wait for him to ask the question.
The one I don’t know how to answer.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he closes the distance between us in three steps and stops only when we are chest to chest.
His eyes are unreadable, but the silence between us pulses.
He lifts his hand like he’s going to touch my cheek, but he stops just before he does.
He hovers there, breath grazing my mouth.
The wind lifts the edge of my shirt.
"Do you believe it?" he asks.
I don’t know how to answer.
