Page 57 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Rafael confirmed it. He texted me while they were waiting in line for pastries, saying she seemed jumpy and nervous.

By that point I was already halfway to downtown Palermo. From then on I drove like a madman, convinced she was trying to escape me.

But the panic quickly became confusion when Rafael trailed her to a tabacchi shop. Why sneak out to go there? She didn’t smoke. Stamps or lottery tickets? I doubted it.

Then it hit me as soon as I saw her lingering near the SIM cards. She was trying to call someone without being traced. Who? Her family? Had she changed her mind about seeing this through?

Too fucking bad. I had no choice in this marriage. So until I figured out a way around Virga, Emma would stay here in Palermo, married to me.

In the passenger seat, she opened the pastry box and pulled out a cornetto. “Would you like something? I bought all kinds.”

“What I would like is for you to explain yourself.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said around a bite of flaky pastry. “You told me I could explore Palermo.”

“We both know you weren’t exploring this morning. You went to find a burner phone. Tell me why.”

She sighed heavily and dusted the crumbs from her hands. “Because I don’t want Virga tracing my calls and texts.”

“What makes you think he is?”

“I don’t, but it seems probable. He had my phone for a long time. Who knows what he’s capable of?”

Smart girl. No one in our world was to be trusted. Even me. But if Virga was tracking her phone, maybe there was a way to use it to lure him out.

I slid her a glance. “Who do you need to call?”

“None of your business.”

“Everything about you is my business, wife.”

“Stop calling me that. This is not a real marriage and you have no right to control where I go and who I talk to.”

I couldn’t take it. She was wrong on so many levels and I needed to set her straight.

Jerking the wheel, I angled the car to the curb and came to an abrupt halt. Emma slammed her hand on the dashboard and clutched the pastry box. I threw the car in park and shifted to glare at her. “I will control whatever the fuck I want when it comes to you, bambina. Where you go, who you talk to. When you eat, when you sleep. This is a real marriage until I say it isn’t.”

“Do you hear yourself? You sound like a narcissistic sociopath.”

“Keep calling me names and I’ll lock you in your bedroom.”

Her mouth dropped open, as if the precariousness of her situation had just dawned on her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Oh, I would. She had no idea how much the idea of her locked away, tied to a bed and waiting for me to pleasure her, appealed to me. After last night all I could think about was tasting her pussy again.

Dropping my voice, I moved close enough that I could see the dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. “You belong to me, Emma Buscetta. Your mouth, your tits, your pussy—all of it. Mine to lick and fuck and finger. So you’d better obey me.”

“I’m not a dog.”

I smirked at her, not bothering to hide my amusement. “Dai, bambina. You were howling for me last night.”

“Stop.” Looking away, she shifted in her seat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

So innocent. So adorable. But she’d stood up to me, which meant she might be stronger than I credited her for.

Good. She’d need strength to endure the next three months.

I restarted the car and put it in drive. As we pulled into traffic, I said, “We can help each other or I can be your worst enemy, Emma. It’s up to you.”

---