Page 44 of Of Murder and Matrimony

The thought of returning home early to Olesya’s questioning didn’t appeal, so I had my men take me downtown to the towering grey glass building which housed the official Neretti corporation. According to all the legal documents, we dealt in real estate acquisitions and sales, both commercial and private.

It wasn’t just a ruse, either. I had an MBA and could predict trends as well as the other experts. The afternoon passed quickly enough as I pored over spreadsheets and made notes about potential acquisitions, sending them off to the workers on the lower floors. We had some of the brightest, most ruthless agents working for Neretti Properties.

When I leaned back in my chair and closed my laptop, the sun was moving behind the city buildings, casting my office in an orangey glow that made the black walls look hellish—it seemed fitting.

I looked down at my watch and realized I’d already missed dinner. Olesya probably wouldn’t be happy since she seemed to want me around for the meal. I couldn’t say it would be the worst thing to sit across from her and make small talk. In fact, a distraction sounded good after the long day.

I picked up my phone and quickly searched for women’s boutiques. It couldn’t hurt to bring her something to soften her feelings toward me. Twenty minutes later, I walked through the doors of some high-end boutique to find the perfect dress for my wife. The owner had been happy to accommodate me when she heard the family name.

“Mr. Neretti,” the curvaceous fifty-something gushed, a grey curl falling free from her hairstyle and dropping across her forehead. “How can I help you tonight?”

“I need a dress,” I answered gruffly. Though I’d chosen some of Olesya’s wardrobe, I’d always sent others to pick up the items. When the patroness’ eyes widened, I added, “For my wife.”

“Of course.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Do you happen to know her size? If not, I’m sure we can make a close guess.”

“I know it,” I said curtly, pulling the measurements up on my phone. I kept them readily available.

“Perfect.” The woman looked and swiveled her head, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Any color preferences?”

“Purple,” I answered without thinking. It was Olesya’s favorite color, and therefore my favorite color on her because of how her eyes lit with happiness.

“And what’s the occasion?”

“The style doesn’t matter.” I shoved my hands in my suit pants pockets and arched a brow when the woman just stood there.

She snapped into motion, flitting around the store, selecting several purple dresses, and hanging them on a display rack. “Do you like any of these?”

I moved closer, inspecting each garment. The plum color was too dark. Neon purple was too bright. Two were lighter in color, and of those, one was made of a light, gauzy material. I pointed to it. “I’ll take that one.”

“Let me ring that up for you.” She took the black metal card I held out and swept to the register like she feared I might change my mind.

I signed the receipt without looking at the cost and thanked the proprietress, then took the box containing the dress and met Filippo at the door. Stefano stayed with the vehicle, and I tossed the package across the back seat before climbing in.

When I arrived home, the lights inside were turned down low. I wasn’t sure whether Olesya would be awake, but I needed her to be. Anxiety pounded a relentless rhythm against my temple. I carried the box upstairs and knocked softly on her door, not waiting for her to answer before entering.

“Dante.” She sat in her bed, reading in the moonlight.

“Get up,” I snapped at her, then thought better. “Please.”

She looked at me warily. “What’s going on?”

I set the box on the edge of the bed. “Open it.”

Olesya set her book down, and I glanced at the shirtless man on the cover. Interesting. She turned the covers down and knelt on the bed, removing the box lid and moving the tissue paper to reveal the dress.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she ran her fingertips over the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“Put it on for me,” I demanded softly, holding my hand out to help her stand. I could see the outline of her figure through her white silk nightgown. She placed her hand in mine but let go as soon as her feet steadily touched the floor.

“Turn around.”

“No.”

“Then I won’t put it on,” Olesya said stubbornly, hands planted on her hips. The movement made her nipples protrude from the thin fabric, and I licked my lips.

“Fine,” I breathed against her ear, making her shiver. I pulled her nightgown over her head, making her shriek as I left her bare.

“Dante!” She tried to cover herself. “What do you think you’re doing?”

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