by Bianca Cole
“Morning, angel,” Milo says, smiling easily in a way that sets my world on fire. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I shake my head, sitting up in bed. “You didn’t. I thought you were gone when I woke.”
His jaw clenches, and his eyes travel south, alerting me that I’m wearing nothing, and the duvet has fallen.
I clear my throat and cover myself up, which draws a growl of displeasure from my husband. “I’ve told you never to cover yourself up.”
I swallow hard as he approaches the bed. “I thought we could spend the day together,” he says.
Those words were the last words I expected to leave his mouth. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugs. “You’ve hardly seen any of the city. I thought I’d show you around.”
I keep my gaze trained on my hands, wishing I didn’t have to go anywhere. “Isn’t it dangerous after what happened yesterday?”
He kneels on the bed in front of me and grabs my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “No one can touch you if you are with me,” he says with so much self-confidence. “No one would dare.”
I tilt my head to the side. “How can you be certain of that?”
His jaw clenches, and he looks angry. “I don’t like being questioned, Aida. There’s no man alive stupid enough to try and take what is mine from me.” He shakes his head. “Not while I’m there, at least.” He gets off the bed, dropping the towel to the floor.
My stomach somersaults at the sight of him naked. I’ve seen him naked when we’ve fucked, but never been allowed to admire his body this close.
He turns, and his cock is as hard as a rock. “Like what you see?”
I feel the heat spreading up my chest and neck, which is ridiculous considering everything he did to me last night.
There’s not a part of my body he hasn’t seen from many different angles, and yet I feel vulnerable that he’s caught me staring at him the way he stares at me.
Our mutual attraction to one another has always been there. The problem is my attraction to Milo is deepening. I know that I’m at risk of being burned by a man so cruel he wouldn’t think twice about breaking my heart. I fear he would enjoy it.
22
Milo
By the time I get Aida out of the house, it’s almost lunchtime. My men are getting a head start on plans to strike back at Malachy for his attack on my wife ahead of tomorrow’s meeting. If his attack taught me anything, it’s that I’ve been spending too much time avoiding her.
Aida sits away from me in the back of the town car I asked James to bring around today. It’s better for runs into Boston than the Limousine, even if it’s not as comfortable.
My hands are itching to reach over for hers, but I keep them in my lap. It’s been clear since The Bahamas that my attraction to my wife is a dangerous problem.
Aida is already at risk of falling for me if she hasn’t fallen already. It’s the reason I kept a distance from her when we returned from the Caribbean. I still have a duty to ensure she falls pregnant with my child. I’ve tried to ensure she knows this is nothing but a business arrangement.
I clench my jaw as a voice in my head shouts liar. This trip into Boston was a mistake, but it’s a bit late now to change my mind. I have been feeling sensations around Aida that I’m not used to feeling. When Piero rang me and told me about the explosion, I thought only of Aida. I never think about anyone except for myself normally.
No matter how much I try to tell myself that it’s because I’m so vested in the deal with Fabio, her father, I know it’s not true. Aida has ignited something inside of me I never knew existed. The capacity to care for another human being.
“What would you like for lunch?” I ask her, breaking the awkward silence that has fallen between us since we got into the car.
She looks at me, and the suspicion in her eyes tells me she thinks it’s a trick question. “I thought you were always in control. Why does it matter what I want?”
I sigh heavily. “Aida, I may be in control, but if I ask you what you want for lunch, then I intend to give you the option to choose.”
She looks down at her hands which she fidgets with. “Are there any good Sicilian restaurants in Boston?”
I smile. “Of course, there are a few.” It’s good that I own the best one in the city. “I own the best one.”
Aida raises her eyebrows. “Do you like Sicilian food?”
I laugh. “Of course. I have Sicilian roots too, even if I was born in Boston.”
She nods. “Of course, I forget because of your accent.”
I do have an American accent, but my Italian is impeccable. My father taught me to speak Italian properly from a young age. “Sei più bella di un angelo,” I speak some as proof, telling her she’s more beautiful than an angel. It’s the truth. She is stunning, and I still can’t get over how lucky I was to land an arranged marriage to a girl as attractive as her.
She blushes, and it’s annoyingly adorable. “Grazie. Anche tu sei bellissimo.” She tucks a hair behind her ear.
Her voice is sincere when she calls me beautiful, even though it’s laughable. I’ve never been called beautiful. Handsome, yes, but beautiful is a benevolent word, and I’m anything but.
“What is the name of your restaurant?” she asks, changing the subject.
I smile, knowing she’ll like the name of the restaurant. “Palmero.”
A sad smile twists on her lips, and she sighs. “I miss Sicily so much. Have you been?”
My brow furrows. “Of course, I was there two months ago when I came to meet your father. We agreed on the deal for your hand in marriage in Palmero.”
She swallows. “Oh, I thought your trip to Sicily two months ago was made up when you told everyone at our wedding reception.”
I shake my head. “No, it seemed appropriate to use that trip since I missed a charity event while in Sicily with your father.” I run a hand through my hair, surprised at how easy conversation can be between us when we’re not fighting.
I noticed it on our honeymoon and again now. A warning sign I should heed.
I press the intercom and speak to James. “Can we head straight for Palmero, please?”
James responds. “Yes, sir.”
I glance at Aida to find she’s watching me intently. “What are you looking at, angel?”
She shrugs. “You.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? Do you want me to fuck you in the back of the town car?” I smirk callously. “Believe me. I would.”
She shudders and shakes her head. “No, I just...” She trails off, not finishing her sentence, and I’m glad. I don’t want to know what was going to come out of her mouth.
“What is your favorite Sicilian dish?” I ask.
She looks a little discouraged but smiles. “That’s easy. It has to be Arancini. I hope you serve it?”
I nod. “Of course, what kind of Sicilian restaurant would we be without it?”
“A terrible one,” she replies, looking thoughtful. “What’s your favorite?”
“I do love Arancini, but you can’t beat a fresh Pasta Alla Norma.”
She nods in agreement. “Well, we know what we are getting then. Arancini followed by Pasta Alla Norma. That’s one of my favorites too.”
I nod in agreement as an oddly comfortable silence falls between us. Weirdly the comfortable silence between us only makes me uncomfortable.
Today is not going as I hoped. I can’t get out of my head. Aida is under my skin, and I don’t know how to get her out since fucking and dominating her isn’t working. It’s a problem I don’t know how to deal with.
“That was delicious,” Aida says, smiling up at me in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.
I smile back, trying not to let her know how shaken up I am by the feelings rising inside of me whenever she’s close.
Controlling every situation is my forte, yet I feel so out of control when I spend time with Aida.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, a
ngel.” I wave Guiseppe over. “Delicious food, Guiseppe. Can I get some Cannoli to go, please?”
Aida’s face lights up. “I love Cannoli too,” she says once he leaves to fetch the order.
“Good. I hope the food was to your liking?”
She nods. “It’s nice to know I can still enjoy a small piece of my home.” There’s a mournfulness in her eyes, and seeing it makes my chest ache.
What the fuck is happening to me?
“I miss Sicily so much,” she says.
I shrug. “It’s nice there for sure, but it’s more like a holiday destination than a home.”
She shakes her head. “That’s because you’ve never lived there. If you had, you’d feel different.”
“I don’t know, but you’ve hardly seen what Boston has to offer yet. Once you do, you may like it here more.” I can’t understand why I so desperately want to make her feel at home.
“What are you going to show me today?”
The last time I spent any time in Boston without it being for work was so long ago I can hardly remember. When my mother was alive, I loved it when she took me to the public gardens and told me all about the history.
My mother missed Sicily too. I remember her telling me about it, but she used to say that you have to love the home you’ve been given. Despite my father’s inexcusable treatment of her, she somehow had this unwavering positivity. It was infectious, but once she died, it felt like all hope was extinguished from the world with her.
I wasn’t allowed to grieve as anytime my father caught me crying, he’d beat me. I often wished he’d beat me hard enough to send me to live with my mother. At that age, I couldn’t understand death, but everyone told me she was in a better place. I wondered why she’d left me in a worse place with my father without taking me with her.
“Milo?” Aida asks, placing her hand over mine on the table.
I shake my head. “Sorry, I thought we’d visit the public gardens. They’re beautiful in the summer.” I force a smile at Aida. “I guess it’s the natural beauty you are missing from the islands, so I thought that would be a good place to start.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
I stand and offer her my hand, which she takes. Just like when we were in the Bahamas, it would be easy for anyone to believe that we were a normal and happily married couple. If only people knew the truth.
James is waiting with the car outside, and I open the door for Aida. “Where would you like to go now, sir?”
“Boston Common and Public Garden.”
James nods before lowering the privacy screen as he always does. Aida takes my hand as I sit next to her in the back of the car.
I look down at our entwined hands and feel a mix of panic and happiness. I want to give in to these odd feelings I have for my wife, but I know how dangerous caring for anyone is. Especially when you’re the head of one of the most dangerous organized crime groups in North America. Aida is safer as my slave and whore who I take what I want from when I want. Aida is a person I can’t have by my side, as she could be my downfall.
Aida looks like a little kid in a candy store as she walks through the gardens, finding joy in everything she sees. Being in the gardens makes my chest constrict because of the memories with my mother. Memories that are almost impossible to ignore and somehow seeing Aida’s positivity only reminds me of her more.
I struggle to understand how she remains positive after her father sold her to me as part of a business deal.
I never could understand how my mom remained positive after all my father put her through. Aida glances back at me, and her smile wavers. “Are you okay?”
I set my hands on the railing of the bridge. A bridge I came to as a child to feed the ducks with my mother. “It’s been a long time since I last came here.” I’m surprised to hear myself talking at all, especially admitting that out loud to her.
“Really, why is that?” Aida asks, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes.
I remember her telling me about her mother’s murder. Aida was only eleven years old, but her mother didn’t die because of something Aida did. The guilt I’ve carried around over my mother’s death has almost killed me. I think it’s why I’m so dead inside.
If I hadn’t broken that vase that day, maybe she’d be alive today. I know it’s probably not true. My father beat my mother most nights for something, and he likely would have beaten her that night as well. It still doesn’t make it any easier.
Aida looks at me patiently and expectantly. All I feel in that moment is a rush of pure adoration for my wife. It’s impossible to contain as it floods through me.
“My mother liked to bring me here for picnics and to feed the ducks.” I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I haven’t been here since she died.”
Aida sets a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to console me. All it does is make me panic as I know I shouldn’t open up to her or care about her. If you care about people, it can only result in hurt.
I turn away from her in an attempt to put space between us. Aida takes my hand firmly, pulling me back to her. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”
An invitation to open up my heart to the woman who has gotten so deeply under my skin. My head and heart are at war with one another. Our relationship can only end in heartbreak for one or both of us, and yet I still turn to meet her gaze.
23
Aida
I take Milo’s hand, stopping him from walking away. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”
His ice-blue eyes hold sadness at the mention of his mother. The careful, emotionless mask he always holds in place is gone, and a vulnerable man stares back. A man that is broken and scarred.
He shakes his head, looking down at our entwined hands. “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about her since she died.”
My brow furrows as that’s a long time. “How did your mother die?” I ask, wondering why he wouldn’t speak about it to anyone in that amount of time.
His jaw clenches, and nostrils flare slightly. “My father beat her, and she couldn’t recover from her injuries.”
My eyes widen in shock. “I’m so sorry–”
“Don’t,” he growls.
I jump at the sudden change in the tone of his voice. “Don’t what?”
He lets go of my hand. His defensive mask slides back into place. “I don’t need anyone’s pity. It’s the reason I don’t talk about my mother.” He clenches his fists by his side and looks into the water below.
It’s crazy the way he changes so suddenly, but he’s finally allowed me a glimpse into why he’s so defensive. The reason why he’s determined to keep me out–fear.
“Milo, I don’t want to keep fighting you,” I say, hoping that maybe this could be the moment our relationship could blossom into something stronger than I ever believed. “When my father sent me across the Atlantic to meet you, I never expected to feel such a—”
“Stop, Aida.” He shakes his head, and there’s nothing in his eyes when I meet his gaze. “Don’t embarrass yourself. There’s nothing more between us than you being my wife who will provide me with an heir.”
Pain clutches around my throat and chest. It’s so profound it feels like it infects my blood, making every part of my body hurt.
Milo feels what I feel. I know he does. He’s too scared to admit it.
“I told you what your position was, and you should have listened.” He shakes his head, his fists clenched. “If you’re stupid enough to fall for me after the way I’ve treated you, then it’s your fault.”
It hurts as bad as I expected. What little hope I had that Milo had the guts to admit his feelings to me has been extinguished. My stomach churns as I turn away from him to hide the tears flooding down my cheeks. I always knew that my feelings for him were dangerous.
A man as broken as him can’t love or at least doesn’t want to. For the first time, I don’t see him as a twisted and cruel man that wants to hurt me. I see him as that seve
n-year-old boy too scared to love again after his father took his mother from him.
All I know is I can’t take this any longer. I won’t let Milo break my heart over and over again. Milo has closed himself off from love, and I won’t wait around for him to open up his heart to me.
Ever since our moment together in the gardens in Boston, Milo has been avoiding me. The moment where it felt like everything shifted between us, if only for a few seconds. When he stared at me and held my hand, the look in his eyes was one of pure adoration.
His coldness had melted away entirely for a brief time. He revealed the real man behind the monster, but he retreated behind his mask at a flick of a switch.
It’s been a week since that day, and he hasn’t touched me since.
Every day he leaves early in the morning and doesn’t come to bed until late at night. I’m going out of my mind with boredom. This house is a prison, and I’ve got nothing to do. The past three days, I’ve turned my attention to escape plans, and I’m sure I have the ideal one.
Today, I’m getting myself out of this hell. I don’t know what I’ll do once I’m out, but it can’t be too hard to find a plane to Sicily. At least, I hope it’s not. I’m out of touch with how the world works. My father has a private jet, and it’s the only way I’ve ever traveled.
The longing to be back in Palmero is too strong to deny anymore. Milo is insufferable. Every time I think that maybe there could be hope for something real between us, he pulls away. His heart is frozen over, and I don’t have the heat to thaw it.
My plan to get out of this house is genius. The guards work on rotations, and I’ve been so bored the past few days I’ve studied them. The guard on the front door leaves to switch with the guard at the back at eleven o’clock every morning.
