Page 46 of The Butcher's Wife
I take Dom’s hand, more for my own comfort than anything—like I might have another way to probe his emotions if his face doesn’t expose his thoughts, or like the softness of my hand will remind him to treat me gently. We stop dead in the center of the sidewalk, and I lock eyes with him, nodding once.
I catch a look of amusement, of all things, which shouldn’t be a surprise coming from Dom, but it is.
He turns to continue our walk.
“Dad thinks they mixed us up?—”
“They did.”
I glance sharply at him.
Dom squeezes my hand. “It was Mikey. He mixed you up with Serafina, and the Chiarellis know. They wouldn’t pay him until he finished the job.”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “How much?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been enough, not to take away my perfect sister. I wish…
“You should’ve let me watch.”
One of his eyebrows ticks up, all the amusement wiped clean from his face. “That’s not the kind of thing you need to see.”
I imagine it anyway—Mikey’s blood, dark and thick as it pools underneath his body. His eyes turning dull as consciousness slips away, a small comfort for my loss.
“That’s not the kind of thing you get to decide,” I say, even as my stomach churns at the mental image I’ve created.
Dom takes my shoulder in his good hand and peers at me, his gaze so kind and gentle it cuts into my chest. His palm is molten hot even through the layers of our coats. “You’re young. Burning away what’s left of your innocence isn’t going to bring your sister back.”
It’s a miracle I’m able to hold back my tears when I finally look him in the eyes. “There’s nothing left to burn.”
He looks sad as he scrapes his thumb along my jaw. “I’m not going to let them touch you, okay? I’ll take care of this.”
My mouth quivers. “Let them have me. I’m nothing. I’m not Serafina—I’ll never be her. Not as good as her. I’m her rotten fucking shadow. Giulia and Marco Chiarelli are going to take me, and it’s just a matter of time.”
“Don’t say that shit,reginetta. You have me. I told you I’d protect you, and I will.”
Reginetta. Little queen.
The nickname pisses me off.
“You,” I spit, slamming my hands against his chest. “You call me a queen, but you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. You didn’t pick up my call tonight. You said you would protect me, but youlied.”
Everyone lies—especially husbands.
Instead of backing down, he grins, capturing my hand with his bloody one. “What a pair we make then, eh? You promised me an innocent wife, and what I got was a killer.”
“You’re one to talk,Butcher.”
That gets the reaction I want. He inhales sharply at the nickname, a wide, dangerous grin spreading across his face. The rough calluses of his hand scratch against mine, his fingers so thick that it fries my brain for a moment.
“What reason have you given me to trust you?” I ask harshly. “When you were throwing a tantrum at our wedding? Or when you’ve been avoiding me and rejecting me in our home? I’m not the only liar here. The difference is, you lie to yourself. I’m willing to be your wife, and you’re too much of a coward to look at me.”
Dom lets out a cruel laugh. I hope his injuries are killing him.
“You don’t fucking want me,” he says. “You just think if you flash me a pair of tits, I’ll let you lead me around by my balls. That if you feed me and suck my cock, I’ll be your little lapdog.” He leans down until we’re eye-to-eye. “That shit’s not gonna work with me.”
I grab his shirt, and although we both know I couldn’t keep him anywhere he didn’t want to be, he lets me hold him in place, and, for a moment, I think I could.
