by Cora Reilly
“No. I won’t. You are safe, but for it to stay that way, you need to stop hanging around on our street. It’s only stupid luck that none of Dante’s men have noticed you yet. And when they do, you’ll be in huge trouble. So do us both a favor and move on.”
“I can’t,” Frank said quietly. “Don’t you miss him? Don’t you want him back? Wouldn’t you do anything to have him back?”
“You should really leave. This doesn’t get us anywhere. I promise you are safe.”
Frank gripped my arm, stopping me from walking away. “Valentina—”
“Hands off,” a cool voice drawled from the shadows, and I let out a scream. Frank whirled around and tried to run away, but Enzo was there and pulled him into a headlock. Dante appeared beside me and grasped my arm in a steely grip.
He nodded toward the door to the warehouse. Enzo dragged Frank toward it, despite his struggling.
Dante glared at me. “So this is what you do when I’m not around? Meeting with other men?”
“No!” I protested, horrified that he would think that. “It’s not like you think.”
“He’s been lurking around the house twice now, Boss,” Enzo said, then grunted when Frank’s knee hit him in the groin.
“Explain,” Dante snarled. Enzo was still trying to stop Frank from kicking him. Frank was putting up a surprisingly good fight.
“It’s Frank,” I said quickly, self-preservation overriding my desire to protect Frank.
Dante’s grip on my arm loosened. “Antonio’s lover.”
That caught Enzo’s attention. He knew Antonio. The Outfit wasn’t that big of an organization that Made Men didn’t know each other.
Suddenly shots rang out from somewhere. Enzo cried out and clutched his arm, releasing Frank in the process. More shots rang out. One hit the wall two feet above my head. Dante pushed me to the ground and crouched in front of me, drew his own weapon, and fired into the direction where the shots were coming from. Enzo pulled his own gun, but his right hand was useless and it was obvious that he wasn’t used to shooting with his left hand. Frank was running as fast as his legs could carry him away from us toward the shadows. Dante pointed his gun at him. I jerked his hand away when he pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the ground, instead of Frank. “Valentina,” Dante snarled, taking aim again, but Frank had disappeared into the darkness. Dante glanced at Enzo, who was clutching his bleeding arm, muttering under his breath.
“What the fuck was that?” Dante asked, eyes blazing with fury as they held my own.
Shaking, I fought to calm myself before I could form a reply. “I don’t know! I thought he was alone. Frank doesn’t even know anyone who can shoot a gun.”
“You should have let me shoot him. Never interfere like that again.”
“He’s innocent. He doesn’t deserve death.”
“Bullshit. That guy laid a trap and you fucking walked into it,” Enzo muttered.
“What do you mean?” I asked carefully.
Dante shook his head. “Haven’t you wondered why he wanted to meet you? Maybe he’s been approached by the Russians and agreed to help them. They’d love to kill you.”
“Frank wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you sure?” No, I wasn’t. “The Bratva can be very convincing. Or maybe they offered him a substantial amount of money. Money makes sinners out of most saints.”
Enzo held up his phone. “Called reinforcement.”
“Come on,” Dante said, straightening up and holding out his hand for me. I took it and let him pull me to my feet, but my legs wobbled and I leaned on him for support for a couple of seconds. He let me do it, despite his anger, his hand strong and warm against my waist.
Clearing my throat, I finally straightened. “Do you really think it was a trap? I got the feeling Frank was lonely and wanted to talk to someone about Antonio.”
“Someone shot at us,” Dante said simply. I couldn’t argue with that. And Frank had definitely run in the direction of the shooters. Slowly I was starting to understand why Dante didn’t trust anyone.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, but Dante wasn’t looking my way. More of his men were running toward us from the direction of the casino. He barked orders at them and they spread out in the area to search for our attackers.
“Take Enzo to see our Doc,” Dante told another man, despite Enzo’s protests. Then Dante turned to me. “We’re going home now.”
I shivered at the anger in his voice. Dante urged me forward with a hand against my lower back. He didn’t talk as he led me toward the car, nor during the ride home. I kept glancing his way, trying to decide how much trouble I was in. “I’m really sorry.”
He ignored me, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. I turned back toward the passenger window. Dante parked the car in our garage and got out immediately. I followed him toward the house. Once inside, I headed straight for the bedroom, his fury practically burning my back as he walked behind me.
“I’m really sorry,” I tried again, then gasped when Dante threw the door shut and pressed me against it. I was sandwiched between his muscled body and the door, startled and confused but not scared. Dante was obviously careful not to hurt me.
“Why do you keep disobeying me, Valentina?” He shoved up my skirt and pulled my butt roughly against his groin, and his rock-hard erection. Wetness pooled between my legs. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to hide my excitement.
“That’s the wrong answer.” Dante pushed my panties—I wasn’t wearing tights, only garters—aside and slipped two fingers into me. Before I had time to articulate another answer, Dante replaced his fingers with his cock, slamming into me in one fierce stroke before he started to fuck me against the door. I was pretty sure he realized that was as far from a punishment as it could possibly get.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I quickly figured out that Dante fucking me against the door wasn’t his idea of punishment. That came in the days that followed. Dante treated me with even more coldness than before, and I barely got to see him because he was too busy looking for Frank and his accomplices. He didn’t seek me out at night anymore, and though I was too proud to admit it to him, my body longed for him to touch me again.
* * *
One afternoon, about one week after my messed-up meeting with Frank, I encountered Rocco Scuderi in the lobby of our house. “Valentina, good to see you,” he said on his way to the front door.
I smiled, although I was surprised. Scuderi always treated me with politeness and respect, but I didn’t have a personal relationship with him like I had with his wife, or with Aria.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” he said.
“Of course.” It was unusual for a Consigliere to approach the wife of his Boss and ask her for a favor, but he was also my uncle, so maybe that changed things.
“You know my daughter Gianna is supposed to marry Matteo Vitiello, but she’s still a bit hesitant about the marriage.”
From what I’d heard, hesitant didn’t even begin to cover Gianna’s feelings about her wedding to Matteo, but I nodded anyway.
“I thought maybe you could talk to her?”
I’d never been very close to Gianna, so the request surprised me. “Wouldn’t it be better if Aria talked to Gianna? After all, she’s married to another Vitiello.”
“Gianna won’t listen to her sister. I think someone who isn’t immediate family might have a better chance to get through to her.” I was Gianna’s cousin, but of course he had a point.
“I can try, of course, but I can’t promise that she’ll listen to what I have to say.”
“Try is all you can do,” he said, looking almost resigned.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like me to address?”
“Maybe you can tell her that marriage doesn’t mean she’ll be trapped in a golden cage? I mean, look at you, you’re even allowed to work.”
I did, but I was the huge exception. Gianna would know that as well. And even if Dante started pushing hi
s men to let their wives work, that wouldn’t help Gianna. She’d be living under the Vitiellos’ rule in New York. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
“Why don’t you and your family come to dinner tomorrow?”
“That’s a great idea. That way Gianna won’t get suspicious and you can breach the subject casually.” We set up a time before he inclined his head in thanks once more and walked out.
I closed the door and headed toward the kitchen. Zita was preparing dinner—cannelloni filled with ricotta from the looks of it—when I stepped in. Gaby was ironing Dante’s shirts in a corner of the kitchen, far enough from the cooking that there was no risk of the fabric absorbing the smell.
“Zita, I invited the Scuderis for dinner tomorrow.”
Zita pursed her lips. “A bit more time to prepare would have been nice. I need to go grocery shopping, figure out a menu and then cook everything.”
“I know, but you won’t be cooking.”
Zita’s lips parted but no words came out. Gaby had stopped ironing to stare at me as well.
“I’m going to take care of everything. I used to cook frequently in my first marriage, and I want to prepare dinner for our guests.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? They expect a certain standard.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you going to cook?” Zita asked skeptically.
I smiled. “That’s a surprise. Now I’ll let you get back to your work.” With a wink toward Gaby, who was openly gawking, I left the kitchen and headed for Dante’s office and knocked.
“Come in.”
I slipped inside. Dante was busy cleaning his guns. They were arranged on a towel on his desk. “I invited Rocco Scuderi and his family for dinner for tomorrow night. I hope that’s all right with you?”
He barely spared me a look. He was obviously still angry with me. “I assume this is so you can talk with his daughter Gianna?”
“He asked you first, didn’t he?”
“I’m your husband. Rocco wanted to make sure it was okay to approach you.”
Sometimes their unwritten rules and traditions drove me up the wall. “Of course.”
“Don’t forget to tell Zita and Gaby, so they can prepare everything for our guests.” He rubbed a spot of grease at the barrel of his gun.
“I already did. But I will cook dinner myself.”
That made him raise his eyes, surprise flickering across his face. “You can cook?”
“Yes. I used to cook often in my first marriage,” I said, and that was obviously the wrong thing to say because Dante’s expression darkened again. “You haven’t found Frank yet?”
“No. We haven’t. He’s probably gone into hiding if he has any sense.”
Hovering next to the door, I nodded. Though I could tell the discussion was over for Dante, I hated how strained things had become between us. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but then I lost my nerve and left without another word.
* * *
I hadn’t realized how much I missed cooking until I stood behind the stove again. Zita was a constant presence at my back, hawk-eyes watching my every move, but I was confident in what I was doing. I had cooked every part of today’s meal countless times. Vitello Tonnato for starters, followed by Saltimbocca with homemade gnocchi and a green salad, and at last, Tiramisu. As I worked in silence beside Gaby and Zita, I could occasionally glimpse the hint of approval in the older woman’s expression. I mixed everything for the sauce that accompanied the cooked veal for the starter before turning to Zita. “Would you try it? I’d like to know if it’s good.”
I knew it was how it was supposed to be, but I wanted to show Zita that I appreciated her input. She stopped chopping the endive for the salad and walked over to me, wiping her hands on her apron. I took a step back as she dipped a spoon into the tuna sauce. She nodded slowly before leveling her brown eyes on me. “Good.” I knew then that things would turn out okay between us. I smiled and chanced a quick glance at the clock. “I have to change. I can’t welcome our guests in stained clothes.”
“We’ll take care of the rest,” Gaby assured me.
“Thanks,” I said as I hurried upstairs, feeling better than I had in a while.
* * *
The Scuderis arrived forty minutes later. My aunt Ludevica stood in the front with her husband Rocco, who had a hand on nine-year-old Fabiano’s shoulder. I greeted his parents before I turned to him. “You’ve gotten so tall.”
He beamed up at me, straightening his shoulders even more. His father gave him a look that made the smile slip right off his face. Why did Made Men have to be so strict to their sons? My father had always coddled me, but my brother had never heard a word of praise from him. I ushered them inside as it had started snowing again. I couldn’t wait for winter to be over. The darkness and cold made it even harder to be upbeat about my marriage.
“Girls, greet the wife of the Capo,” Ludevica said sternly.
“I’m still their cousin. They don’t have to treat me any different now that I’m married to Dante.” I hugged Gianna, who looked gorgeous with her red hair that twinkled with stray snowflakes, then her younger sister Lily, who was getting more lovely by the day as well.
Dante chose that moment to join us. He shook hands with Rocco, then patted Fabiano’s shoulder with one of his kinder smiles before he kissed the hands of Ludevica, Gianna and Lily. The latter blushed furiously while Gianna looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Dante walked ahead with Fabiano and Rocco. I hung back with the women of the family as we made our way to the dining room table.
During dinner, one topic wasn’t mentioned: Gianna’s wedding to Matteo. It should have been the focus of attention under normal circumstances, seeing that it was less than six months away, but I had a feeling the Scuderis were desperate to avoid a scene. After I’d received my fair share of praise for the first two courses, I rose and turned to Gianna, who was staring down at the table with a frown. “Will you help me with dessert, Gianna?”
Her head shot up, suspicion written plainly across her face, but she knew that manners dictated she must agree. She rose from her chair, sent a scathing look toward her mother, and then followed me through the door to our left. “Mother asked you to talk sense into me, didn’t she?” she muttered as we headed toward the kitchen.
“No, it was your father.”
“Wow. Shouldn’t you have lied to me? That’s what most people do.”
I shrugged. “I think it’s easier if you know the truth.”
We stepped into the kitchen. Zita was cutting the Tiramisu into squares and setting them on plates while Gaby decorated them with fruit. “We’ll take over from here,” I told them. They seemed to understand. With a small bow toward Gianna, they slipped away toward their staff room. I grabbed the spatula and heaved another piece of Tiramisu on a plate, then motioned at Gianna to spread raspberries, strawberries, slices of mango and star fruit around it. “So talk,” Gianna said.
“I know you don’t want to marry Matteo.”
Gianna snorted. “I’d rather chop my fingers off and eat them.”
I gave her a look. “All women in our world face the same problem as you do. Very few are lucky enough to choose their husband. An arranged marriage doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.”
“Why? Because love can grow over time?” Gianna said in what I assumed was an imitation of her mother’s voice.
“Yes, that’s an option.”
Gianna glared. “Come on. I’m not blind. Don’t tell me there’s love between you and Dante. You act like fucking strangers.” She snapped her mouth shut. “That was rude.”
It was, but I couldn’t blame her for speaking her mind, and the truth. “We haven’t been married for very long.”
“Shouldn’t two months be enough to know if you can stand someone or not? I knew after my first encounter with Matteo that I didn’t like that arrogant asshole.”
I put down the spatula and leaned against the counter. “What about Aria and Luca? She seems happy with her arranged marriage.”
“Aria is a pushover. If it had been me who had to marry Luca, either he or I would be dead by now. And Matteo is just as bad.”
“Aria made the best out of a situation she couldn’t escape. That’s all we can do.”
“No, it’s not. She could have escaped, if she’d been braver.”
I paused. Was she saying what I think she was saying? “Nobody escapes the mob.”
Gianna shrugged. “Maybe nobody’s really tried.”
“Oh, there have been enough people who tried, but eventually your past always catches up with you.”
“I know,” she said softly, then she pointed at the plates. “Shouldn’t we serve dessert now?”
“Yes, you’re right.” We loaded our arms with plates and returned to the dining room. Gianna’s parents cast hopeful glances my way. Dante eyed Gianna, then met my gaze. He seemed to know what the Scuderis didn’t: nobody could get through to Gianna. Her words about Dante and me kept bothering me the rest of the evening. It made me realize just how far my marriage with Dante was from the relationship I longed for.
That evening I decided to help Gaby and Zita wash the dishes, desperate to keep busy. We were almost done when Dante walked in, eyes taking in the scene before him without emotion. I was up to my elbows in dishwater. “You can go home,” he told Zita and Gaby, who didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly took their leave. I withdrew my arms from the wash water and took the dishtowel Dante held out to me. “Thank you.”
“You are a great cook.”
I chanced a glance at him, wondering if he’d come here to tell me that. “I’m glad you enjoyed dinner.”
He nodded. I blew a strand of hair out of my face, then stretched my tired muscles. Dante’s eyes scanned my body. I became acutely aware of how close we were and how long it had been since we’d had sex. Had he changed his mind?
“I take it your conversation with Gianna didn’t go well.”
