Page 48 of His Wife

“Of course.”

Her blonde hair cascades down the sides of her face as she pulls her fingers through it, her expression somber. “I heard something about a murder at Myth.”

“Murder?” I blurt, and Mira shushes me, glancing over her shoulder to the entryway.

“Keep quiet.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. “But…murder?”

“Yeah.” She shifts closer. “I couldn’t hear everything. All I got was something about a murder at Myth and that they’re using Mr. Del Rossa’s passing as an excuse to keep the club closed for a while.”

My gaze drifts from Mira to the fireplace, sparks of oranges and reds flickering, glinting with golden light as the flames consume the wood. “A murder at Myth. It seems unreal,” I mutter, deep in thought. “Is it one of the girls working there?”

“That's my guess,” she answers, shrugging one shoulder.

“Mirabella,” Maximo calls from the foyer.

“Dammit,” she sighs. “I forgot my brother’s back, too. It was so freeing being able to take a pee without having to explain where I’ve been for a total of five fucking minutes.”

I chuckle. “He’s just protective of you.”

“Yeah, well,” she gets up and straightens her white blouse, “his protection is suffocating. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

I watch as she walks out, her skinny jeans hugging every curve tightly and ankle boots giving her enough lift to make it seem like her slender legs went on for miles.

If what Mira heard is true, it would explain why Alexius was so distant and distracted before our trip. I’ve never been to Myth. It might as well be a million miles away, but I can’t help feeling this sense of dread. Worry. Like it’s closer to home than we think. Or maybe I’m just tired and need to get some rest. Hopefully, not too much will change now that we’re back home, surrounded by reality. Our time in Rome was perfect. I don’t want anything to ruin it—to ruin this good feeling swirling in my chest.

Whatever it is Alexius and I had found in Rome…I hope to God we’ll be able to keep it.

* * *

ALEXIUS

Nicoli closes my office door, and I glance at him while pouring two glasses of whiskey. His jet-black hair is shorter than it was the last time I saw him. “You got a haircut.”

“I did. I do still have my balls, though.”

I snort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You handed your balls over to your wife in Italy, didn’t you?”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

He tips his glass toward me. “I might be an asshole. But at least I’m not pussy-whipped.”

I lift a brow. “You sure about that?”

“Drink your whiskey and shut the fuck up.”

All I can do is snicker as I take a seat on the leather couch across from him, savoring the sting of the whiskey as it slides down my throat, settling in my stomach.

Nicoli smirks in my direction. “I must say, the diamond ring looks much better than the gold band she’s been wearing.”

“What can I say? I wasn’t feeling inspired when I got her the gold band.”

“And your wife inspired you in Rome?” His suggestive tone has me rolling my eyes. “Just how much did she inspire you?”

“If you’re looking for details about my sex life, you ain’t getting it.”

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