Page 91 of Of Desire And Deception

“I think we’ve talked about it enough.” I stopped him before he could lecture me about kidnapping a fed again. “Tell me how to make her happy.”

“I give Mia tea and scones,” Niccolò offered. His wife murmured something in the background. “She says back rubs that don’t lead to anything more.”

“I can do that,” I said confidently.

“Olesya doesn’t think I’m all that romantic. I once offered to write her sonnets in the blood of my enemies.” Dante chuckled.

I perked up at his admission. “Now that sounds perfect.”

Dante groaned. “It was a joke. Don’t start writing poetry in blood.”

“Of course. A joke.” I nodded dutifully but tucked that bit of inspiration away for later. They hadn’t seen Remi’s eyes heat when she saw me draw blood. My wife was like me in her darker tastes.

The corners of Niccolò’s lips curled, and I caught the twinkle of understanding in his eyes. He understood where my mind had gone because he was similar in his love for all things sharp, though his obsession with blood was typically limited to eliminating enemies.

“Ah, fuck.” Dante sighed and ran a hand down his face. He’d been doing that a lot more lately. “I know what those looks mean. Do me a favor and burn whatever love notes you ink in blood so there’s no evidence, okay?”

I could agree with that much. “Deal.”

“Have you told Remi about her partner yet?” Dante asked, changing the subject.

I raised my brows. “When would I have had time to do that? She fucking ran. I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her in front of her boss. Something about him smells off.”

“Not everybody has the same standards of cleanliness,” he teased.

“Fuck off.” I picked a stray fuzz off my jeans. “I’ll tell her when I see her next.”

“She wouldn’t have run if she’d known,” Niccolò surmised. “This whole thing started because she thought we were somehow responsible for her partner’s death.”

“She may still think it’s our fault.” There was no guarantee that Remi would believe or accept the truth.

Dante tipped his glass in my direction. “If she does, she’s not as smart as she appeared. How many people have escaped your dungeon?”

“Only Remi.”

My older brother smiled wistfully. “Seems fitting, really. That the woman only outsmarted you because you fell in love.”

“I think marriage has muddled your mind,” I groused, leaning forward and grabbing a cannoli from the platter on the coffee table next to the laptop.

Dante laughed, his smile betraying his attachment to his wife. “I’d gladly let Olesya drive me completely insane.”

“Have I given you enough sage advice as the brother with the most marital experience?” Niccolò asked, a feminine hand appearing on his shoulder. “It’s late, and Mia can’t sleep without me beside her.”

“Go,” I told him. “Thanks.”

We said our goodbyes, and Dante shut the computer, swirling the last of his drink before tipping it to his lips. It wasn’t the same as having Niccolò in the room, but seeing him on video was better than nothing. It also prevented him from drawing his damn knife when he wanted to make a point. We were notorious for our brotherly antics with blades.

I spared Dante a glance, unable to express that tightness in my chest whenever I missed my twin. “You think he’ll come home soon?”

“I hope so,” he said sympathetically. His eyes crinkled at the corners mischievously. “If only so somebody else keeps you in line. I swear, you’re giving me grey hairs, Cos.”

“I think that’s what brothers are for.” My tone was dry, but I appreciated that he wanted to look out for me.

“Then I hope to return the favor one day.”

I puffed out a long breath. “If I had a grey hair for every time I had to clean up a mess, my hair would be white as snow.”

Dante tipped his head in acknowledgment. “So, what are you going to do now?”

---