Page 73 of Righteous Deceit

“You may be her boss.” I speak very clearly, making certain the threat in my words can be heard loud and clear. “And I know you’re her brother, so I read well enough that you’re scared and angry, but let me be as transparent as possible. When you speak to my wife, you do it with fucking respect, and you sure as shit don’t raise your fucking voice in her face.”

He opens his mouth to speak.

“I know who you are,” I cut him off. “I know where I stand in the hierarchy ofthisfamily, but in these four walls,in our home, you are nothing but my brother-in-law, and you disrespected my wife in a way that will never happen again. You have questions for Sia, and it’s up to her to decide whether she wants to answer themwhenshe is ready.”

There is murder in his eyes—white-hot fucking rage—but underneath that burning fire of hate sits respect. Enough that his fists loosen, and he steps back.

“You can see Sia is safe. I’m taking care of her. You can leave us to it.”

Salvatore’s eyes flick to his sister, waiting for her to confirm my claims. She does so with a quick nod. He looks back at me. “Call me tomorrow, Alessia.”

“I will,” she says softly, walking back toward her bedroom.

Salvatore turns on his heel and moves toward the front door without another word. He pauses at the threshold, where Narciso remains, holding the door open. “One small insignificant detail, these four walls”—he gestures around the room—“are mine. I own this fucking house, soyourhome, Diego, is fucking mine. Best you remember that next time you feel like disrespecting me.”

He slams the door behind him, and I wait for the locks to slide into place before turning back toward the bedroom. Sia leans against the doorframe, watching me quietly.

“Tomorrow, when you’re feeling up to it, we’re going to sit down and find a new place to live. When we’re here in Chicago, I’m not suckling from your brother’s teat.”

“When we’re in Chicago?” she asks.

“I discussed it with Lorenzo to make sure it was doable before I brought it up, but Bianchi and Caruso are comfortable with us splitting our time between Chicago and New York. If that is what you want. You’re obviously free to remain here permanently if you prefer.”

“I like New York,” she says.

“How are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “My wrists and feet are a bit sore, but I’m fine, all things considered.”

I swallow thickly. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you in time. I could hear you yelling my name, but I couldn’t get there fast enough. This is my fault, Sia. Salvatore’s right, the danger…”

“No,” she bites out, standing straight and shaking her head definitively. “Don’t you dare. I have been a part of that hunt for over ten years. Nothing like what happened tonight has ever remotely happened. It’s safe. I’ll speak to CJ to see what happened with their operations. Someone hacked either their scheduling systems or my personal emails. But the three men who we…”

“Killed,” I answer for her.

“Yes, killed.” She sighs. “Are not part of The Quest. Diego, you know it’s safe. You wouldn’t be a part of it if it weren’t. Don’t let one small incident ruin something that means something to me.To us,” she whispers.

I rub a hand along my jaw. “I’ll rub your wrists and bandage up your feet. Go lie down.”

She does as she’s told as I move into her en suite. I hit the sink first, scrubbing my hands and cleaning the dried blood from my skin. I hate washing away their death, wishing I could have their blood splatter tattooed onto my hands so I could relive the moment their eyes went blank forever through my lifetime. Hands clean, I rifle through her medicine cabinet to grab what I need.

When I return to her bedroom, she’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, running a large comb through her hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head tips to the side.

“Had I not turned off my phone, my software would’ve alerted me to their presence in the city.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

My brows pull in confusion.

“I wanted tonight, Diego. Even if I knew that those men were in my city, I would never have imagined they would have targeted me. I would have still invited you to hunt.”

That declaration shocks me enough that I don’t say anything further. Sitting on the side of her bed, I take one of her hands, and she lets me. My thumb brushes over the red bruises cuffed across her wrist. My nostrils flare, and she ducks her head to meet my eyes. “It’s a bruise. It’ll fade, then be gone and forever forgotten.”

“I’ll never forget.” Squirting a dollop of Arnica cream on the inside of her wrist, I begin a slow and gentle massage against the bruising.

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