Page 40 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Oh.”

“Pretty hard to live with your heart removed, isn’t it, Doctor?” His eyes were so full of anger that the soft words frightened me more than if he were to yell.

I shrank away from my husband, fully aware he would hold me partially responsible for his man’s death. Now that I knew some of the Neretti soldiers, it was difficult to separate myself from the reality of the violence my brothers were involved with. When I was younger, I never had to deal with how families felt after they’d lost somebody to a mafia war. My father and brothers kept me sheltered from the darker side of the family business.

Sure, I’d watched people die. Mostly from natural causes after a long life lived well. There had been a couple of times I couldn’t save patients when I was in residency. I’d been wrecked for weeks when I finally had a chance to decompress.

But this.

My own blood had caused this.

My lunch threatened to make a second appearance, so I covered my mouth with my palm. I hastily rose from my chair, certain I’d need a toilet.

Dante tipped his head to the side, taking in my reaction. He lifted a finger and slowly shook it at me. “This is the reality of war, dear wife. Never think your brothers are any better than I am. We are all violent men, condemned for crimes too numerous to count.”

“Excuse me,” I forced out, spinning on my heel and hoping I could make it to my room before getting sick.

“Run away, piccola fantasma,” he called out tauntingly. “See how long you can hide from reality.”

I bolted, racing up the stairs and locking my bedroom door behind me. Bile burned the back of my throat, but I didn’t get sick. My tears dropped into the empty toilet until I slammed the lid and returned to my bed, kicking my sandals off and curling into a ball under the covers.

Violence was my family’s history, and even in the Neretti family, it would be my new family’s legacy. It was more than I could force myself to consider on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I escaped into unconsciousness, where reality couldn’t reach me.

I slept through dinner, only waking close to midnight. A new nightgown hung in the closet, and I stripped out of my dress and underthings, sighing when my breasts were freed from the confines of my bra. The underwire had dug into my armpit while I slept, leaving reddened skin behind. Slipping the nightgown on, I made quick use of the bathroom, washing my makeup off and brushing through my tangled hair before plaiting it into a French braid that hung down my back.

The house was quiet when I tiptoed out of my room, and Diego had no doubt left his post hours ago. I trailed my fingers along the wall until I reached the stairs, carefully working my way downstairs without breaking my neck.

Reluctant to risk waking somebody, I didn’t turn the kitchen light on when I bent to raid the refrigerator. My stomach rumbled loudly when I found the leftover cake inside. Perfect.

“Did you have a good nap?”

I gasped and whirled around to find my husband leaning against the counter, shadows hiding his face and most of his large body.

“You scared me,” I croaked, holding my hand against my chest as if I could slow my racing heart.

Dante shrugged. “For a Bratva princess, you sure spook easy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“I’m nobody’s princess anymore.” I closed the refrigerator, momentarily distracted from my hunger.

“You’re still a princess,” Dante’s voice was rough, flowing over me like a heavy blanket. “But now you’re mine.”

There was a crunch, and I watched him eat what looked like cannoli. “Midnight snack?”

“Something like that.” He nodded and looked at the pastry. “It doesn’t taste like my mother’s.”

I knew that was a dicey subject for him. “I really am sorry for your loss. I swear I hadn’t heard until you told me.”

“I know.” He took another bite, and I found myself unable to look away from his mouth as he slowly chewed.

“She was like a second mother to me all those years when I spent time here.” I waved around the kitchen. My voice came out strained. “She never reminded me about the alliance, you know. She just accepted me as another daughter.”

Dante’s throat worked, and I caught the raw emotion on his face. My eyes widened, ruining the moment. He slid that stoic mask back into place; the sadness replaced with heat as he crowded me against the kitchen island and leaned down, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. “Hungry?”

“Yes,” I breathed. Was I leaning toward him so our lips would touch again? Maybe.

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