“What do you mean? Explain yourself,” her voice rose high, strangled. Paolo’s hand reached out and stroked her forearm. Even when it was his life on the line, he was the solid support my wife needed. It further cemented my decision.
“He thinks you’re The Gardener. He’s convinced Lanton Vani’s death was suspicious, and he’s sure you had something to do with it. So, he wants me to take care of it.”
Anita’s knees wobbled, and her fingers caught on the table’s edge. Fascination grew in me as she expunged the moment of weakness. Her back rolled up vertebrae by vertebrae, shoulders pulled taut. Emotions slid off her face, a cascade of shattered glass. The fragments of feeling wiped clean, except for the glittering in her eyes and the point of her nose as she stared me down.
“What do you mean to do, husband?” Anita asked.
I shivered at the word husband. My chest clenched with a hunger that wouldn’t abate. Not until she cried it in myears, husky. Paolo crossed his arms, eyes slitted with careful attention. He’d maneuvered Anita, so he was half shielding her.
“Paolo isn’t The Gardener, wife, you are. Besides, I wouldn’t dare harm a hair on the head of your beloved cousin. Who knows what special tea or biscuit you might prepare for me next?”
“Anita.” Paolo shot her a disbelieving look. “Tell me you didn’t?”
Her chin dropped to her chest for a moment before flying up, an argument poised on the point of her sharp tongue. She looked childish for a moment, caught doing something naughty.
“He deserved it,” she reasoned.
“We’re even now, aren’t we, wife?” I teased. The corners of her lips ticked up, taunting me, and it was almost flirtatious. Enough to make my heart rate surge. I held my arms out, flicking my jacket so they could see I was unarmed. I’d left my gun in the side door of my car.
“I’m on your side, Anita. I’m not going to do as my dad asks.” My promise made them both jerk with surprise.
“Why?” Paolo interjected, not relaxing from his protective stance. I would have to speak to him about becoming a permanent part of her protective detail.
“If nothing else, it would disturb my wife.” I let myself have my fill of her. She shuffled foot to foot with a heavy frown. Her teeth cut into her lower lip. My fingers ached to let down her hair again. “I care too much about her happiness to threaten it. Even if it means disobeying Matteo Orazio.”
Silence blanketed the room. Apart from a boisterous bird outside chattering in the trees. We all knew what that declaration meant. It was war. My death, or my dad’s. He’d drawn the line in the sand when his obsession threatened my wife. Now I had to erase it with blood. A smug smile grew over Paolo’s face, and he sank back into his chair, relaxing.
“I knew it,” he crowed. “I knew you’d be well matched.”
Anita’s hand smacked the back of his head, and she pointed a finger at him this time, a deadly warning.
“And when your dad sees you haven’t done as he asked? He has a reputation for a reason.” Anita cut a disbelieving snort. He wouldn’t allow this defiance to go unchallenged. Not even for his only son. I was teetering over the edge of treasonous behavior. Her face cracked, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “You would defy him?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, jerking my head in assent.
“For me,” she clarified. Her fidgeting fingers faltered, dropping limp by her side.
“Always,” I rasped.
Paolo stood, and the legs of the chair scraped against the floor. For the second time, he broke the spell, keeping Anita’s eyes pinned on mine.
“I suppose I need to keep out of sight until we decide what to do?” he inched toward the door. “I’ll be in the guest room. Whatever the plan is, let me know.”
I was about to protest; we had far too much to discuss. But Anita drifted toward me, forehead furrowed as if I was a puzzle she couldn’t decipher. She halted a mere step from me, and I ached for her to move forward. To show some sign, some glimmer of hope.
“This will change everything, won’t it?” she whispered.
I hummed in agreement. It already had. I was thinking about the future, of more blood on my hands and how much darker it would be this time. I was thinking of my mom and her choices, how they could change everything in an instant. Anita clicked her tongue, gaze landing on my tie. The knot had loosened in my haste to get Paolo out to safety. She stepped forward, her fingers nimble with the rumpled material.
“Your tie is a mess,” she admonished.
My lungs burned as she looped it around my neck. Her fingers tantalized with their soft brush. The soft puff of her breath kissed my chin. Anita’s dark eyes narrowed as she fixed the tie. She smoothed down my collar and ran her hands down my chest.
“There, that’s better.” Her hands splayed over my heated skin. My thin shirt was the only barrier between her touch. Tangible tension crackled between us. I breathed through it until my nostrils burned.
“Thank you, wife.”
“You said we were even if you did this. You want a clean slate?” She cocked her head, her hands tangled in my tie. “For Paolo.”
