Page 41 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

The next morning I was up early, chatting with Sal in the kitchen, when Giacomo came in.

I surreptitiously watched his broad back as he stood at the espresso machine. We hadn’t spoken much after he yelled at me and ordered me to stay in my room.

“I don’t care whether you are happy here or not. You are nothing to me. An annoyance . . . .”

I told myself I didn’t care but the words hurt. No one had treated me so callously before. Yes, I realized how privileged that made me sound. But it was true.

Giacomo legitimately hated me—and I didn’t blame him. I’d been forced on him.

But did he think this was a picnic for me? My entire life had been disrupted! He was still in his family home, surrounded by friends. I was struggling to lie to my sisters, keep up with my online classes, and check in with my ill father.

My husband turned around with a demitasse cup cradled in his large hand. “When do you need your woman’s things?”

I blinked several times. “My what?”

“Pads. Tampons. For bleeding.”

What the hell? I couldn’t answer for a long beat, surprise freezing my tongue. First he wanted to know if I was a virgin. Now he was asking about my period. Had I lost all right to privacy after repeating marriage vows? “You’re asking about my period?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just answer the fucking question.”

“Giacomo,” Sal said sternly from the stove. He spoke too quickly for me to translate, but I could tell he was displeased with my husband.

Giacomo paid Sal no attention. He remained entirely focused on me. I resisted the urge to squirm like a bug pinned under his dark stare. It was far too intense.

“Emma,” he said. “Answer me.”

This was all so bizarre. But I wasn’t ashamed. Every person with a functioning uterus bled each month. “My period ended right before I left Toronto. I’m not due for another two weeks. But don’t worry—I have enough supplies.”

Giacomo exhaled heavily, clearly disappointed in my answer. “Cazzo,” he muttered, then downed his caffè in one shot.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. Would I ever understand this man?

He put his cup in the sink, then faced Sal. “Find somewhere else to be tonight.”

Find somewhere. . . . Whoa. Hold up. This wasn’t about supplies or stocking my favorite chocolate gelato in the fridge. This was aboutconception.

Virga’s mandate.

“Stop right there,” I said when Giacomo started to leave. “Whatever you think is happening tonight is not happening.”

He paused near the doorway, his shoulders slumping. I imagined he was heaving another annoyed sigh. “Sal,” he called. “The room, per favore.”

Sal gave me a quick nod before leaving the room. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and waited. I immediately missed having the buffer of a third person. Giacomo—and my reaction to Giacomo—made me anxious.

He came toward me, his lips flattened into a determined line. His biceps popped with each step, and his jeans clung to his thigh muscles. He was all hot-blooded Sicilian male. I’d never met a man so intense or intimidating—and that was saying something, considering my brothers-in-law.

Giacomo propped his hands on the marble island next to me and leaned in. “You will do as you are told, Emma. Whatever I say is happening tonight will happen. Capisce?”

I was growing tired of this same refrain. When would he learn that I had a mind of my own? “We are not having sex tonight.”

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