Page 56 of His Wife

Iopen my office door and stand aside so Mira can walk in. She’s been nagging me about the extra security around her and Leandra since we finished breakfast.

“I just want to take your wife out for lunch without four bags of muscle staring over our shoulder at the goddamn food on our plates.”

“They’re giving you more than enough space. They can wait outside the restaurant.” My footsteps are muted as I saunter across the carpet to grab my phone from my desk. “You won’t even know they’re there.”

“No. Alexius, you’ve had these guys follow us around for weeks. I just want two hours. Two goddamn hours without having them constantly staring at us. People think we’re mafia wives with the muscle you’re packing around us.”

I lift a brow with silent sarcasm, and she scoffs.

“Okay, bad choice of words. But I’m not a wife, so that’s only half badly chosen words.”

I sigh, again standing to the side so she can walk out of my office. “I don’t see how having them standing outside the restaurant would affect the privacy of your lunch.”

“Are you kidding me? Knowing they’re there is enough to suck the fun out of it.”

“I’m not budging, Mirabella,” I say, trying to sound stern while stifling a laugh. She always goes into this hyperactive mode whenever she doesn’t get her way. “Your protection is more important than a two-hour lunch date.”

“Alexius!” Mira stops and stomps her heel against the tiles. “We’re cooped up in this house all the damn time, and the days we are allowed to leave, you have an army of men following us. Do you know how awkward it is when there are men watching you like hawks while you decide whether you’ll need tampons for heavy or light flow?”

“Jesus, Mira. TMI. Goddammit.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” She places her hand on her hips and purses her red lips. “Point proven.”

I shake my head. It’s not so much the idea of Leandra and tampons as it is having Mira and tampons in the same thought that creeps me the fuck out. But still. “My answer is still no.”

“You’re smothering her, Alexius.” Her voice pitches higher than usual as she stares at me in earnest. “And you need to stop. As much as she’s your wife, she’s still this normal person who wants normal things, and trust me, being followed around by bodyguards all the damn time is not normal. Not for her.”

Unease crawls across my skin. I’ve sensed that Leandra hasn’t been herself lately. She’s been distracted. On edge. And quiet. Too quiet. I’ve been unable to figure it out, figure her out mainly because I’m hoping I’m wrong, that I’m the one on edge with us trying to catch a killer. But maybe Mirabella’s insistence on having some privacy is a sign that my instincts might be right. They’ve grown close, and it only makes sense that Leandra confides in Mira if something bothers her. But still, the idea of them unprotected, even for just two hours, doesn’t sit well with me. “Mira, I don’t—”

“Do you really want your men around while your wife tries on lingerie that she’ll be wearing for you tonight?” She nudges her chin in the air, a simple act of defiance, and I narrow my eyes at the cunning little beast.

“Well played.”

“Thank you. Now, can your wife and I please go out to lunch without being guarded like cattle?”

“Fine.” I sigh. “But you’re taking the Audi so I can track you at all times.”

“Oh, my God,” she moans, rolling her eyes and making a dramatic show of her disapproval.

I merely shrug, unfazed and hoping she’ll continue into a tantrum that would force me to change my mind. “It’s either that or being guarded like cattle. Your choice.”

“Okay, fine. Good God, you’re a pain in the ass. I don’t know how she puts up with your shit. It’s those blue eyes, I tell you. Fucking panty-melters.” Mira brushes past me, swaying her hips, her shoulders squared with confidence from her little victory.

“Two hours,” I call out after her, but she ignores me—something she knows how to do really fucking well. I’ll need to keep my eye on her with Leandra and make sure her attitude doesn’t rub off on my wife.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my jacket pocket, Isaia’s name flashing on the screen. “Yeah?” I answer while making my way down the hall.

“Alexius.”

It’s the sound of his voice, his tone, that has me stopping dead in my tracks. “Isaia, what’s wrong?”

* * *

The tires screech as Nicoli speeds around the corner, his red LaFerrari demanding the attention of everyone around. He slams on the brakes, skidding to a stop outside the entrance of the apartment building, and we’re both out of the car the second he kills the engine.

“This is not fucking happening.” Nicoli flicks his cigarette, then nods to the security standing by the double glass doors before rushing inside. I’m right behind him when Maximo pulls up with his Hummer, gets out, slams the door shut, and runs inside the building with us.

“Tell me this is some sick fucking joke.”

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