Page 107 of Of Murder and Matrimony

At my wife’s side.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I awoke feeling like the entire world was muffled. Wait, that was the covers. I must have pulled them over my head during the night.

Last night. Everything came rushing back, but with gaps where it seemed like certain memories were just out of reach. Voices murmured around me, and I wanted to tell them to shut up until I realized they were familiar.

“You get the fuck off her hand now,” Dante growled low. “If you were any other man, I’d slaughter you where you sit for touching her.”

“I understand,” came Diego’s cautious reply. “If it helps, I didn’t touch her first. She was exhausted and afraid and wouldn’t sleep until her hand was in mine.”

“She should have never needed your comfort.” Regret laced my husband’s words.

Diego hummed. “But she did, and I will always give it when she asks. If you’d seen her last night, covered in your father’s blood—fuck. I want to bring him back and kill him all over again.”

“Thank you for going to her.”

“Always.” Diego’s simple reply sounded like an oath.

“You know, Don Vero thinks I should promote you for your loyalty,” Dante mentioned, his pacing feet echoing in the room.

I wanted to protest, but an argument was no way to start the reunion with my husband. I opened my eyes, noting the natural light on the other side of the comforter. It must have been morning.

“With all due respect, Don Neretti, I would rather remain in my current position,” Diego answered carefully.

Dante chuckled. “I told my grandfather I’d have to deal with an angry wife if I tried to take you off Olesya’s detail.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Diego’s voice deepened with humor. “She’s a quick study with the knife. Probably has something to do with her knowledge of the human body. It looked like she barely missed the major artery when she stabbed Ettore.”

Unable to listen to them talk about me any longer, I pushed the covers off me. “It was a good half-inch away. He was never in danger of bleeding out because I missed.”

“I wondered how long you were going to eavesdrop.” Diego’s chest rumbled with laughter. He still wore his suit from last night, but it was rumpled from sitting in the chair while I slept.

“What?” I rubbed my eyes.

“Your breathing changed,” Dante supplied. He looked even worse than Diego, with dark circles under his eyes and blood staining his skin, but not his suit. His hair was sticking out in all directions like he’d been running his hands through the dark locks.

“Hi,” I whispered, my eyes locking with his.

“Good morning, piccola fantasma.” He gave me a tired grin and sat on the edge of the bed, his palm resting on my hip reassuringly. “I’m sorry you had a rough night, but the sun is rising a little brighter this morning.”

He expressed so much in what he didn’t say, and my throat clogged with tears. I reached down, stroking the back of his hand, his eyes following the movement.

Diego cleared his throat, standing from his chair and leaning down like he might give me a peck on the top of my head.

“I’ll slice off your lips and make you sew them to your asshole,” Dante snarled.

“Sorry, sir.” Diego pulled away abruptly, shooting his boss an apologetic look. He offered me his fist instead, and I bumped my knuckles against his.

“Thank you, Diego,” I whispered, the first tear rolling down my cheek. He’d been my salvation when my husband couldn’t be, and I would be forever grateful for it.

“Anytime, Mrs. Neretti.” He offered me a lopsided grin. “Better wipe those tears before your husband sees.”

I laughed with my guard—my friend—as Dante looked at us like we were crazy. Diego left us, flipping the lock on the bedroom door before closing it softly.

“I missed you.” I squeezed Dante’s hand.

“I missed you, too.” His voice roughened, and his jaw ticked with emotion.

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