Page 38 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Romeo shook his head and continued through the door that led to the offices. “Better for everybody to go home. We’re having an issue with the power.”

His wry tone indicated he’d fabricated the electrical issues. “I see.”

Instead of entering his office, my brother made a beeline for the back door. “Cosimo is waiting outside.”

If the family enforcer was on site, whatever was going on was something Romeo couldn’t handle on his own. Several of my father’s men stood sentry around the small parking lot, and I spotted Filippo among them.

Cosimo approached, clad in a black suit instead of his torn jeans. I straightened, sensing I wouldn’t like the news.

“You said Zolotov sent a message?” I prompted.

Cosimo nodded, his face unreadable. “You could say that.”

When I followed him around the dumpsters, any remorse I might have felt about how I’d treated Olesya vanished, replaced with loathing and a desire to spill the blood of any Russian I could get my hands on when I saw what awaited.

Adrik was pissed I’d married his little sister. Positively murderous.

Chapter Twelve

I didn’t see Dante until Sunday afternoon. He’d sent Martina to my room with a modest dress acceptable for church, but I’d refused to wear it or attend mass with the family. Since my angry husband didn’t storm into my room to spank me and force me to go with him, I figured he didn’t think it was worth the effort.

At first, I’d gloated to myself, passing my morning with a long bubble bath and one of the romance novels Martina kept sneaking to me. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do. I was glad that not much got to me after years in the medical field, or I may not have been able to look the housekeeper in the eye after learning the kinds of things she liked to read.

I’d certainly never tell her that, against Dante’s express instruction, I’d gotten myself off to some of the scenes in those books. To my dismay, my husband’s face often replaced that of the male characters in the stories, and I’d whispered his name at least once. Was it worth hating myself for finding Dante attractive? Probably not.

A rap of knuckles on my door pulled me from the current literary distraction, and I slipped a scrap of paper into my book as I called out, “Yes?”

“Mrs. Neretti,” Diego’s muffled voice returned through the wood. “Mr. Neretti requests your presence at lunch.”

“Requests or demands?”

There was a pause. “Maybe consider it a mandatory meeting. He’d also like you to wear the dress he gave you.”

“Fine,” I sighed, setting the book on the small table beside me. “How long do I have?”

“About an hour,” he responded.

“Thanks, Diego.”

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Neretti.”

I’d given up trying to get him to call me by my first name. He also hadn’t thought calling me your highness was amusing, though I’d caught him smiling at that one. My guard was an enigma, but I was determined to solve that puzzle. Diego was always balancing between polite and stern, but something else was hiding under the surface. Not an attraction. He always remained professional, but sometimes I thought he wanted to apologize for his employer’s actions.

In the week I’d known him, I’d discovered he had a younger sister who was in college and a single mother at home. His father had worked for the Neretti family but was killed almost a decade prior when the Italians and Irish were still at odds. Diego never talked much about what he did for fun in the hours he wasn’t at my side or lurking in the shadows. He didn’t speak much in general.

Glancing at the clock, I noted it was just after noon. I had until one to get myself downstairs. It was one of the few times I might see other people, so I decided to make myself presentable. My hair was still twisted on top of my head in a damp bun, so I pulled the elastic from my locks and tossed it into the drawer in the bathroom, exchanging it for a brush and the hair dryer. I dried my hair until it was perfectly straight and shiny, then glanced at the bags of makeup Dante gave me.

I used a little mascara and blush, then swept a gloss across my lips. My blonde brows were almost invisible, so I penciled them in until I looked like myself again. Not that I wasn’t myself without those items. Sometimes it was nice to feel put together.

The pale lavender cap-sleeve dress awaited me in the closet. Dante might be as obsessed with the color as I was, given he’d given me another purple lingerie set. I got dressed and slid my feet into the flat white sandals, which I’d decided were one of the most comfortable pairs of shoes I’d had in years.

I checked my reflection in the mirror and tried to convince myself I still hated Dante, even when the soft linen hugged my curves and flowed gently from my waist to my knees. It was difficult to resist thinking about my husband bending me over in the dress, pulling it above my waist, and spanking me. Not that I liked that. Fuck, who was I kidding? It had hurt but also made me so close to coming that I would have begged for the world. Dante’s form of punishment wasn’t that bad. Except for the orgasm denial.

There, I could be mad at him again.

Diego still stood across the hall when I emerged from my room, following close at my heels until I reached the dining room, where he promptly abandoned me and headed to the kitchen to eat with the rest of the men.

“Olesya.” Dante approached, looking amazing in his tailored black suit. He took my arm and led me to a seat, pressing on my shoulder to prompt me to sit, then pushing me up to the table. “I’m glad you decided to join me.”

---