Page 113 of Till Death Do Us Part

I turned to him.

“If you get off on tripping lines, why haven’t you killed me or my old man yet?”

“The game is too much fun to quit playing now.”

They hit me. I hit back harder. Nonna Silvia had pegged them years ago when she’d quoted the verse,pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. I didn’t need to wound them mortally to kill them. Their pride was directly connected to their health.

Jack wasn’t lying when he told Roma his pride was nothing compared to Alfonso’s. Emanuele might be sick over Roma marrying me, but Alfonso was sick over losing herto me. It was more satisfying to watch him writhe and groan while his heart still beat, and he still took in air. If I ended it all, I couldn’t hurt him. It would be game over. This way, I could watch him suffer while I continued to win.

This wasn’t about business, but something much more personal.

“John,” Jack called again, his tone serious.

“I don’t have all night to chat, Jack.”

“She’s going to get sick of your shit, like everyone elsenotin your world. And when she has enough, of you or the games you’re playing with us, her old man included, she’s going to bolt. It’s just a matter of time.”

I walked off, not disagreeing. She might. But she could never outrun me—I was her jagged other half.

The rat who’d waited for Jack stood straighter when I moved closer to him. He’d been leaning against Jack’s car, the barrel of his bat pointed at the ground, his fist tight around the knob. I mentally labeled him a rat. While Jack had been busy with me, he’d called someone. Probably Alfonso.

He set the bat against the car, raised his hands, and smiled at me. It was afuck yousort of smile. I shot him clear through his hand. He looked down at it, at me, then passed out.

My finger was never so fucking happy.

Chapter40

Roma

The opening of Lo’s salon was big enough to have Chicago press there. Babbo hadn’t showed yet, but all my sisters were there, along with Elsa and Kerry. Felice stopped by an hour or two into it. It almost seemed like he showed his face on purpose. Like he knew the articles about the opening would include him.

Chicago mobster tied to the new “it” salon.

My name would be next to his. “The former Miss Illinois, Roma Maggio, who’s married to Felice ‘John’ Maggio, is Lolita Di Lazzaro’s sister.” I knew it ran much deeper than that, though, and probably so did the journalist. But I doubted the journalist would be brave enough to claim Felice was doing it to let the world know Lo’s salon was under his protection. And it went even deeper, or closer to the surface, depending on how one looked at it.

Felice wanted the world to know I belonged to him.

One look at him looking at me and it was no secret. The intensity in his eyes had moved up a notch, almost to insanity level, after Jack’s ploy to get me to lunch. Felice watched me like I was running away from him, and he was only giving me a head start, before he caught me with no trouble at all.

I lifted on my toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He nodded and touched his lips again. I kissed him harder and longer this time. He set his arm around my waist, pulling me close to his side as we mingled some. I didn’t want to stay long. I knew Babbo wouldn’t show his face if I was there.

I found Lo and told her I’d see her at the penthouse for the after party. It would be the first time my sisters ever visited me at our home.

Lo fluffed my hair and told me to make a grand exit, a huge smile on her face. Earlier, before the opening, she’d done my hair and makeup. She also did Elsa’s and Kerry’s. Free publicity from three of the most beautiful women in the city, she’d said.

Felice held my hand, looking out the window, as Celso drove us to the penthouse. Fredo sat next to him, not much to say as usual, but he kept fixing his suit.

We all rode in the private elevator, and after entering the penthouse, I checked in to make sure everything was set. Felice insisted on a catering company, which I suspected might be linked to his business.

“We just need the guests, Mrs. Maggio,” the owner said.

We were all good on the food and drinks then—the penthouse was spectacular enough to do the rest.

Felice grabbed me and held me tight, forcing me to look up at him. “Rilassarsi,” he whispered.

“I am relaxed,” I said.

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