Page 42 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I’d been awake for hours already, but at least it hadn’t been due to flashbacks of the crime scene where my mother died. No, my wife plagued me. Images of her taking my cock down her throat jolted me from my slumber with a raging erection that wouldn’t fucking go away until I showered and took the horny bastard in hand to get some relief.

So wasn’t it just my cursed luck that the apparition from my dreams showed herself in the kitchen before I could finish the treccine on my plate? Olesya was a vision even when she dressed casually. Sure, the light blue jeans were designer, but they looked poured onto her body, making her slim legs look even longer. She wore a lilac cardigan, which fell off one shoulder to reveal the thin straps of a loose, white silk tank top. My mouth watered, but it wasn’t from the pastry. I wanted to sink my teeth into the bare skin of my wife’s shoulder, lick her flesh, taste her.

My cock hardened in my suit pants, and I shifted uncomfortably just as Olesya’s eyes found mine. She offered me a knowing smile, lifting a brow and inclining her head.

“Good morning, Dante.”

Fuck, her voice was like sin in the morning, throaty and a touch deeper from disuse. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her to my bed so I could hear what her moans and screams sounded like before breakfast. Shaking my head, I set those thoughts aside. They wouldn’t help me in the day ahead. Instead, I settled for politeness. “Good morning.”

“Sit, sit!” Martina shooed Olesya to the table, pulling out the chair closest to mine and practically shoving her into it. “Your frittata is nearly ready.”

My wife selected a pastry from the platter on the table, and my throat constricted as I watched her perfectly straight, white teeth sink into the sweet. I’d never had so little control over my cock. It throbbed painfully against the fabric of my pants, weeping for the woman sitting next to me. I closed my eyes, unable to watch Olesya do something as simple as eating breakfast.

“Here you are.” Martina set a plate with frittata in front of Olesya, and I busied myself checking for messages on my phone. Of course, nobody had anything to say to me when I needed the distraction.

“What is your schedule today?” Olesya asked between bites.

I responded with an indistinct grunt, hoping she’d take the hint and leave me alone. No such luck.

“Sorry, I don’t speak grump,” she said.

I lifted my gaze from my phone to find those clear blue eyes watching me expectantly. “I’ve got meetings out of the house, so I’ll probably be gone all day.”

She nodded, sipping on the coffee Martina made her. “Will you be home for dinner?”

“I don’t know.” Why the hell did she care? We hardly ate meals together. Restless, I shoved my chair back and stood abruptly. “I need to get going.”

Olesya stared at the area of my body in front of her face, eyes widened at the evidence of her effect on me. She met my eyes, the corner of her mouth tilting upward with amusement. “I see.”

I licked my thumb and ran it over a dusting of sugar on her plump bottom lip. Her lips parted as I brought my thumb to my mouth and sucked the sweetness from the tip. “Try to stay out of trouble today, hm, piccola fantasma?”

She squeaked something that sounded like agreement, and I strode from the room, smirking. I enjoyed playing with my wife too much.

When I heard my father’s voice booming from his office, I took off in the opposite direction, texting Stefano as I climbed the stairs and grabbed my wallet from my room before heading out of the house. My men waited in a black SUV out front, and I climbed into the back.

“Where to, boss?” Stefano asked from the driver’s seat.

“Niccolò’s place,” I answered, looking out the window. The sky was clear, the sun shining brightly already. It would be warm, and I preferred to spend the majority of my time inside, where there was air conditioning.

With traffic, the ride to my brother’s house took nearly half an hour, but eventually, we passed through the gate and into the private community. Manicured trees lined the long drive, and lush bushes and flowers accented the front of the house. Niccolò bought Mia the spacious greystone as a Christmas gift last year, so she didn’t have to live in a condo forever. It looked warm and inviting.

Stefano parked in front of the house, and I climbed out of the vehicle, striding to the front door and knocking out a quick rhythm the men inside would recognize. There was a shuffling inside, and Bruno, one of my brother's men, opened the door.

“Mr. Neretti,” he greeted, puffing out his barrel chest and stepping aside. The man wasn’t exceptionally tall, but his width was imposing.

I nodded and slid past him. “Bruno. Where’s my brother?”

“He’ll be inside in a minute,” Mia said as she appeared from the direction of the kitchen. She looked beautiful, as always, in a casual linen outfit. My sister-in-law didn’t see the need to impress others, and with her dark hair braided and face devoid of makeup, I could see the circles of stress and fatigue that still darkened the area beneath her eyes. She offered me a smile. “Come and sit. I just made bread.”

It would be rude to turn down the offer of her baking, so I followed behind, settling at the breakfast table as my brother came in from the back deck area.

“You’re here early,” Niccolò said, refilling the mug he held with coffee. “Want one?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” I replied, watching him closely. He was moving around better, but he’d lost some of his muscle definition, and his cheeks sunk in slightly, making his face appear harsh. I hadn’t seen him that thin since he was a teenager.

“Cream and sugar?” Mia asked.

“Black is fine.”

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