Page 22 of Playing the Sicilian's Game of Revenge

She wouldn’t bristle at the way he said that. Wouldn’t think about the way he’d used that term when proposing. Fake proposing.

“Any other quibbles?” he asked, again with the feigned innocence.

“Not at present.” She even managed to smile.

If he was taken off guard, it was only a flash of a second before he settled into a distantly amused expression she refused to let affect her. “I have to admit, I expected you to have something to say about the wardrobe approval.”

She smiled over at him with all the fake sweetness she could muster. “But I’ve lived all my life for a man to tell me how to dress for an event.” She batted her eyelashes at him. Because she knew the first event—the gala—she’d wear something that would make him regret such an attempt at control.

Teo did not appreciate being ordered about. He could not fathom why he was following Saverina’s instructions to the letter.

It is all for the end result. Revenge.

Right. He straightened his jacket and walked to Saverina’s front door. He’d texted her, per her instructions. Imagine. It was the modern version of honking at a woman’s door and hoping she emerged.

The driver of his car stood at the passenger door, ready to open it for them. Another one of Saverina’s demands. Couldn’t be alone, even for a second.

Ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous, and maybe he was playing along because he needed her for the severest form of revenge, but that did not mean he had to be a lapdog. She wanted to believe she had something over him, that she had some power here.

She did not. This was his revenge. His plan. He would do it his way, and if he made any accommodations along the way, it was because he wasn’t a monster. He could be quite charitable. Always better to bend a little than break something.

Breaking things was the purview of Dante Marino, and Teo would not be like his biological father. He had been raised by Giuseppa LaRosa. He would always do her kindness and sense of fair play justice.

Fair play did not mean bowing and scraping to Saverina like she was in charge. It meant compromise. So he did not storm into her home. He did not bang down the door. But he also did not wait by the car as instructed.

He moved to wait by the door. Technically not alone, because the driver stood in view. But he would not be able to hear anything said should Teo and Saverina have a conversation before walking down to the drive.

He meandered up the walk, enjoying the gardens in the moonlight. The scent of flowers was earthy and exotic. The cool night settling in over the heat of the day a nice contrast. It was a pretty place. The kind of home he envisioned for himself once he and Saverina were married.

Because she would marry him, and she would play the dutiful wife. A Parisi-LaRosa union that would be a constant reminder to Dante and anyone who supported him that Dante lost at everything. Even revenge.

He heard the telltale creak of a door opening and turned to watch Saverina emerge. She stepped onto the little porch full of potted plants and flowers. The outdoor lights landed on her like a spotlight, and that’s exactly where she should be. Looking like that.

She turned to lock her door, not yet seeing him there just a few yards away down the walk. When she was done and faced him once more, she came up a little short as their eyes clashed.

He could hardly think beyond the sudden fire in his body.

The outfit she wore was a bright, violent red. The top did not connect to the bottom. It was just a band around her generous breasts, baring her entire midriff. The skirt was long and flowing, but the slit in the fabric went dangerously high on her thigh.

He could not think past the onslaught of memory. The way she tasted. The way she felt when she came apart around him. He enjoyed sex—who wouldn’t? But it had never become an insatiable hunger until her.

A thought that didn’t do to dwell on.

She kept her distance, but she smiled at him now. “Does this dress meet with your approval?” She pretended to look at her watch. “We have time for me to go in and change should it not.”

“Dress?” He laughed, irritated at how raw that laugh sounded. “That is hardly a dress.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is high-fashion, Teo. Would you rather I dress like a nun?”

“I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the gala,” he managed to say, despite the raging of his own body. Moonlight dappled her dark hair. Her eyes seemed to shine, an otherworldly glow out here among the flowers and stars.

He wanted his hands on her so badly he had to curl his fingers into a fist. Fight back the cloudy haze of lust and want like he was doing real physical battle.

“That’s what we intend, is it not? People to talk, wonder, and poke into things?” She fished around in her little purse.

“It is exactly what we intend.”

She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “And yet, you seem...tense. Is everything all right?”

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