After fucking Sloane to near unconsciousness, I had slept soundly with my wife in my arms, her lush curves pushing against me. It felt right, finally having her slumbering next to me, her red hair surrounding me while roses lulled me to sleep. She belonged there, where I could keep her safe.
I awoke early to care for her scabbed finger. The cut was superficial—I didn’t want to permanently maim her—but I certainly wanted it to sting if she tried to take my ring off her finger. Sloane slept like the dead, light snores echoing in the room as I cleaned her wound, dressed it and made sure the tracking device was still embedded in the band.
Just because she finally agreed to stay last night, doesn’t mean she still won’t try to flee. I’m just not going to let her.
Before I left for the club, to look over incoming shipments and check on business as usual, even though the idea I had to leave my wife behind stirred something in my chest, I erased Danica’s information out of her phone and blocked it.
Knowing that wouldn’t keep the parasite away, I sent an incentive with Tony to her home the next morning. A few bundles of cash—according to my informants, Danica is hard up for money—and a few extra bags of pills, to force her to forget about my wife. Tony said she took it like the addict I knew she was.
I didn’t kill her, as much as Sloane accuse me of—not because I couldn’t. I would and gladly. Taking a woman’s life wasn’t nearly the drawback as one would think. I didn’t kill her because I just didn’t want to hurt Sloane.
But I need Danica away from Sloane. I’ll do whatever tactic, underhanded or not, that will work to keep the cretin away and allow me to finally have Sloane to myself. She’s a bad influence and she’s ruining my chances of this marriage working, by helping Sloane thwart this arrangement and fight me. Without her around, Sloane is more likely to finally give in—fully.
When I get to the office, it’s boring and dull, more paperwork and follow-ups on leads that are panning nowhere. It’s hard to focus on the mundane, because all I can think about is Sloane. It’s easy to remember her bent over my car, but it’s the way she promised to stay that’s taken hold of my heart.
I’ve never been such a goner for one woman before. I never thought I would be for her.
It takes considerable effort to zone in on the daily business life that keeps us looking legitimate to the police and the bullshit from the missing cargos. I know I need to find it, find the rat before Ace’s stuff comes in, but I am lost to the images of my wife, home in my bed to care.
It’s late in the day when I finally have a moment to return home. Zia Maria’s kind face hovers over the steaming homemade bread. The warm scents of fresh baked rosemary focaccia and strong black coffee float around me, washing away the chill of the late hour.
The scents remind me of the first night I arrived in this home. Right after the accident, after being cleared to travel to the states, Maria was here with homemade food.
Taking a piece of the hot bread, Maria bats my hand playfully. “I need to talk to you, Lex.”
“Uh-oh.” I smirk, sliding into the bar stool, grabbing a cup of coffee. It might be late, but Maria has a taste for the stuff at all hours of the day. Probably came from being the wife of the current Capo. “Did I forget to pick up my laundry?”
She swats at me like she always does when I sass her, plating a few things for me to pick on. Like a doting mother, she never lets me leave her kitchen without eating first.
“Watch that smart mouth of yours, piccolo, otherwise you’ll find yourself over my knee like a little boy again.”
I laugh, knowing my aunt has never laid a hand on me, as she flits from the stove and back. Like the rest of the home, this place is an imitation of our home country. The soft reds, oranges, and browns remind me of the Tuscan countryside, the colorful dishes and tiles a spark of life like the town centers where people would stop at various shops to pick up items for home.
Sometimes I miss the easy, simple conversation in my mother’s tongue, with people who I’ve known for years, who have seen me grow. I know Maria does too.
Nico grew up in Boston. He might be Italian by descent, but this country is his home. He doesn’t understand the yearning for our home—the home we left behind.
She places a plate of olive oil and spices in front of me, gesturing to it. “Eat,” she commands in Italian.
Relief swims through me, hearing those words again. She reminds me of my mother, her accent and tone something I fantasize about in my dreams. It always clogs my throat, wondering what life would be like if Mama was still alive. But then I get a glimpse of it, with Zia Maria.
I tear off a piece of bread, dipping it into the concoction. “What did you want to talk about, Zia?”
She chews, wiping her hands off on her dish rag. “About your new wife. Am I right to assume you two are finding your way, now?”
If by finding our way means fucking on a street in Boston, after she finally agreed to stay, then yes, we’re finding our way.
Not something I can tell my aunt.
“We’re learning.”
“Good,” she praises. She sips delicately from her coffee like a retired queen. “Then bring her into the family.”
“Ah, Zia.” I sigh, leaning back, Italian coating my words. “You’re asking too much too soon.”
“Too much, too soon?” She gives me a look. “I finally have a daughter-in-law and you don’t think I should be able to show her off to all my cousins?”
I pinch my brow, afraid to look at my aunt. Not because she’s right, but because she’ll give me her best look and I’ll cave like the good nephew that I am.
Sloane will have to eventually meet the family. She’s to be the new Capo’s wife. She’ll have responsibilities, she’ll have a new role to learn. She’ll be a leader.
But I just got her to stay. I just got her to admit that she’s mine, completely. Whether it sticks is another cause of concern later. I don’t want to share her with the chaos of my family, not yet.
But taking one look at Maria, I know this is a losing battle. I may be the heir, but Maria is the queen. You don’t tell a queen no.
“What do you have in mind, Zia?”
She smiles, clapping her hands. “Bene. Sauce night.”
I groan, dropping my hands into my face. Not sauce night.
Leaning on the doorway, it’s hard not to get fucking turned on by my wife in our bedroom.
She’s done her makeup and hair, and she wears a pair of stretchy yoga pants and a tight tank that shows off every curve. As much as I want to taste every inch of her skin, it’s her words I wish for more.
The roses I had delivered are sitting on the table by the door, a spot of red so dark they match her lips. I like the look of them in this space, so much so, that I’ll send roses weekly.
Her vibrant green eyes look up from her laptop, scanning me hesitantly. She’s not the overconfident woman from the first night in the club nor the train wreck at her father’s celebration looking for something to ease the grief.
She’s a woman who knows she’s given me a piece of her soul and knows I’m never giving it back. She has every right to be wary.
“What are you working on?” I ask, pushing off the doorframe.
She closes the laptop, pouting. “Shopping.”
“With what money, menace?”
She hesitates, apparently just now realizing she isn’t on her father’s dime anymore. I take out the black card from my wallet, tossing it on to the bed before her.
She snorts, eyebrows high. “Really? You’re going to pay for my shopping habits?”
“It was in the contract.” I shrug. “Your sister made it abundantly clear to provide for you in all ways. But this is something I want to do.”
That’s the wrong thing to say as her face closes off.
Mentioning Ace is a hot topic for my wife. Noted.
“Why are you here?”
I raise a dark brow. “You mean in our home, in our bedroom that we share?” I can’t help but needle her. I want her fight, because then I gauge her mood.
I’m a sadist.
“You left early this morning,” she says coolly. “I figured you got what you wanted and left. Maybe there’s another person on the side you needed to see. Most men in this life have a side piece, don’t they?”
I smile but my vision tints red at the implication I would dare to break my oath to my wife. Most men do have a girlfriend in addition to a wife; usually because these marriages are arranged to help the family, not for love.
Nico taught me different. I learned differently from my father walking out on us. I would not be like him nor the others who couldn’t be loyal.
If I can’t be loyal to one woman, who would trust me to be loyal to the family?
Swiftly, I cross the room, hand collaring her elegant neck. She yelps, a bite of pain lacing through her as I lift her toward me, forcing her knees to hold her weight on the mattress.
She tries to claw my hand off, but I just hold her tighter, breathing in her intoxicating scent and wishing my cum still decorate her body.
“Let’s make one thing clear, little menace. I don’t fuck anyone but you. No one touches me but you. No one comes near my cock because it is yours. I made a fucking promise to you on our wedding day, and I intend on keeping it until death.”
I squeeze, feeling her pulse hum under my fingers. It’d be so easy to crush her neck, feel her life leave her.
I never would, though. Not to Sloane. She’s so much more than just a woman in my life.
She’s my goddamn wife. My wife.
“Do you understand?”
She gives a small nod, cheeks pink. I drop her back to the bed, only giving her a second to inhale before I grab her silken hair and tug her back.
“Say it, Sloane. Tell me you understand that there is only one pussy who gets my cock and that it’s yours. Tell me.”
“I understand.” She coughs, glaring at me even as a delicious red blooms from my marks. “Then how can you allow me to have another if you won’t?”
I drag my nose over her jaw, scenting her. “I don’t want that, Sloane. You want that. And I said I would give you anything you wanted, if you admitted to being mine.” I bite her jaw, teeth raking into her flesh. My cock jerks as she gasps. “I don’t want to share you, and no one will share me. But I’ll give you what you need to feel like you in this marriage. Even if that means letting you have another woman.”
I drop her, enjoying how she falls back, legs splayed. I want to desperately be there, feeling her body cradle mine as I bring her to climax over and over. To show her she doesn’t need anyone else but me.
It’s selfish really, but it’s how I feel.
Doesn’t change what I told her. Sloane has been denied, ignored too much under Ferguson’s watch. I won’t be like her father.
That’s a conversation for another time. First thing’s first. Sauce night.
“Have anything you don’t mind destroying?” I ask, rubbing my lip as the thought of seeing Sloane messy and unraveled takes me away.
She gives me an incredulous look, thrown off by the topic change. “What?”
I hold open my hand. “Come with me.”
