Page 60 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“No.”

Man of few words. And I thought Dante was the strong, silent type. “You might feel pressure or tugging, but if you feel pain, let me know.”

Cosimo huffed out what almost sounded like a laugh. “I think I’ll be fine. This is better than doing it myself without the anesthetic.”

“What?” I froze and turned my head to find Cosimo watching my reaction, his face expressionless. “You suture your own wounds?”

“If I can reach them,” he explained. “You’ve got a better bedside manner than Dr. Messina. And you’re easier on the eyes.”

I held the needle away from his skin as I laughed. “I can’t disagree with you there. But now that I’ve got this place, you can come to me, and I’ll patch you up when you need it.”

He nodded and turned his head away. “Yeah, maybe.”

I worked quickly, placing seven sutures along his wound and covering it with a new bandage when I was done. “All done. I’m sure you know how to care for sutures. Keep them clean and dry, and try not to do anything strenuous enough to tear them out. Come back in seven to ten days, and I’ll remove them for you.”

“Got it.” Cosimo slid off the exam table and checked out the bandage in a nearby mirror, grunting his approval before putting his clothes back on. “You should do it.”

“Sorry?” I tossed the trash and washed my hands again.

“The family dinner. I saw the notes you were writing,” he explained with a shrug.

My brows shot up. “You were reading my notes?”

“I’m very observant.” Cosimo tapped his temple. “Not much gets by me. Including the dinner. You should do it.”

“I will,” I assured him.

With a nod, the deadly Neretti enforcer stalked out of my clinic and back to spread terror among all who heard his name. That left me to work on a menu for the Sunday dinner I would hold in two days. My family hadn’t been very religious after my mother passed, but I remembered how much Antonella valued Sunday dinners when she was alive. I wanted to try my best to keep that tradition.

“Everything will be fine, piccola fantasma,” Dante purred in my ear when we returned to the house after Sunday morning mass. “You worry too much.”

“I want your family to like me,” I told him, tilting my head to the side so he could kiss my neck. His warm lips brushed over the sensitive skin beneath my ear, and I moaned quietly.

“Careful.” His teeth captured my earlobe, his tongue flicking over it before he released me. I whimpered at the loss of his touch. “If you keep making noises like that, the family will have to eat dinner without us because I’ll lock you in our room and fuck you until sundown. You can feast on my cock, and I’ll devour your pussy.”

One glance told me my husband was serious. I backed away a few steps. “No time for any of that, Dante.”

He grunted disapprovingly and adjusted the sizeable bulge in his black suit pants. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. My family doesn’t hate you. Things are just precarious right now.”

“They certainly weren’t thrilled about our wedding,” I pointed out, exchanging the heels I’d worn to mass for my white sandals. The flats would be much more comfortable while I ran around the kitchen.

“You can’t really blame them.” Dante straightened his tie. “None of us were happy about that. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

I smiled at his words. “Me either.”

“I promise my family will see that. They’ve had some time to adjust. You’ll see.”

“I hope so.” I smoothed the skirt of my knee-length lilac dress. “I’d better get downstairs and help Martina.”

“I’ll walk you.” Dante offered his arm, and I held onto his thick forearm as we headed down to the kitchen, where Martina was already at work. Dante kissed my forehead and stroked my hair. “You’ll be fine. I promise. Have fun.”

“Enjoy not having to slave away in the kitchen!” I called after him playfully as he walked away.

Martina chuckled. “The men are more trouble than they’re worth in the kitchen. We women know how to do it all right.”

“I don’t know much of anything,” I answered ruefully, looking at the counters covered with ingredients. It was like looking at a puzzle without the picture reference on the box.

Martina waved a tea towel at me. “Nonsense. You’ll do fine. The meat is already in the oven. We’ll make bread and pasta, pastries, and I made a cake last night.”

---