Page 59 of The Butcher's Wife
I’m painfully aware of her hooks in me when my next thought is a jealous stab toward Eduardo forsmellingher food. He already heard her moans drifting downstairs—the only reason he’s not a dead man is that she was sayingmyname.
I’ve never had to wrestle with jealousy like this before. When my ex-girlfriend Marla cheated on me after two years together, I was over it in a day. The trash took itself out. So what if she complained that I picked the Family over her? She knew what she was signing up for when we got together. I treated that woman to extravagant vacations and fancy jewelry, and made her come every night. If a woman can’t be loyal after all that, then that’s on her.
But Annetta? She already knows the Family comes first,and she’s been loyal, even when all she’s seen is the worst of me. The grumpy, asshole me when I’m sick and begging her mom for hot soup. The way-too-fucking-loud me when I’m drunk with her brothers. And now, she has a clear idea of the fucked-up shit I do with her dad. I haven’t treated her like a wife for a single moment since she’s been in my penthouse, and all she’s done in turn is treat me with kindness and home-cooked meals.
That’s not a woman you give up easily.
Mom was like that. No matter how much Dad yelled or how badly he beat us, she stayed. She was loyal to a fault, and all it got her was misery. But I’m not interested in carrying on Dad’s legacy. And I don’t want a woman to be with me because she thinks she doesn’t have other options.
I’m not fooling myself about Annetta. She already told me why she wants me—I can protect her, and her standards for husbands are in hell. She deserves more than the bare minimum of a man who doesn’t hit her and shows up to eat her food.
This morning was different. Her soft, peaceful contentment when I walked out of the bedroom? While she’s with me, the least I can do is make that happen for her every chance I get.
“So, tell me, Aceto,” I say once he’s done blabbering about his stupid yacht. “How’re thehousesdoing? Still got a bunch ofbuzz flies?”
Riccardo had been complaining about all the police at their warehouses, but I haven’t heard anything about it since. It’s rare for a situation like that to go away on its own, though wouldn’t that be peachy?
Aceto strokes his mustache and smiles, but the expression doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the first interesting thing tohappen tonight. “They’re doing real good. Got all thebuzz fliestaken care of.”
I make note to swing by for a little surprise inspection of Aceto’s warehouses in the next couple of weeks. Just long enough that he forgets about this conversation, and just short enough that he doesn’t change anything up. I know a lie when I see one. There’s no way hetook careof all the police buzzing around his warehouse without Turi hearing anything about it.
Goddamn, I hope it’s something good. I’ve been needing a little stress relief lately.
As Aceto brags about how great his drug distribution is going, I get a text. After that shit with Annetta getting freaked out by the house cleaner, I’ve been pulling out my phone for the slightest phantom vibrations.
I barely read the entire message before leaping up from the table.
“Dom?” Some of the politeness melts off of Aceto’s face, probably because he’s worried I won’t pay for my food. Fucking cheap fuck.
I pull out my wallet, throw a thousand dollars in cash on the table, and I’m gone.
On the drive home,I squeeze the steering wheel until it feels like it might fold under my grip, but I don’t speed, even now. I call up Turi.
“Dom.”
“How the fuck did a hitman get into the building?” I know I’m shouting, but I’m spiraling, stuck in this vehicle like a caged animal.
“He only got as far as the lobby.” Turi’s reaction to meyelling has always been to get quieter, and right now, it’s pissing me off more than usual.
“What if he had a bomb? Aren’t you and Marisol supposed to have alerts for killers entering the building? And what about Mauro? He was on street duty. I’m going tofuckingkill him.”
“Mauro called it in. He thought the guy looked funny.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
“Why don’t you check up on your wife? The guy’s getting delivered to my house within the hour. If he’s got something to say, we’ll know soon.”
I grit my teeth. “Fine.”
He doesn’t say a word, but I swear to God, I can hear the stupid smile on his face before he hangs up.
I jab at the penthouse elevator button and pace around the small metal box in tight circles as it creeps to the top floor.
When the doors open, the scent of warm, sweet bread curls around me like a housecat’s tail. Her bodyguard Eduardo is lounging on my living room couch.
“Go home,” I bark.
He jumps up and vanishes into the elevator as I turn the corner to the kitchen.
