He raps a knuckle on the arm of his chair. “No worries on that front, chief.”
“Find out if we really need to worry about Corrado. And if we do, I want to be the one to pull the trigger.”
“You really care about this new wife of yours, don’t you?”
“Maybe I’m just bloodthirsty. I haven’t killed anyone in a few days.”
He grins at me, shaking his head slowly. “No, you’re smitten. You keep talking about her.”
“Fuck off. She’s mywife.”
“And you have a thing for her. How pathetic.”
“Get out of my office, Enzo.”
He stands up with a groan, rubbing his lower back with one fist. “Just saying, you look like shit because you’re going down a rabbit hole. I don’t want to see you get lost on the way.”
“She’s my wife,” I say coldly, staring at him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”
He looks back, smile fading, and nods once. “Good. You fucking should.”
Then he walks off. I watch him go, frustrated by his bullshit. I’ve known Enzo a long time, and he’s the only person in the whole world that can get away with talking to me like that, but sometimes he pushes things too far.
I don’t know what his problem is with Fiorella, but I meant it when I said I’d do anything to keep her safe. No matter what it takes. For as long as I have to.
I’mtired by the time I get back home. The security system Davide helped install says Fiorella hasn’t tried to leave the house at all. Which is a good thing, but it makes me suspicious.
She’s not the type of woman to sit around at home.
But it’s quiet. The living room’s clean, and it looks like someone even straightened the kitchen. There are fresh dishes in the drying rack. I frown, scowling around , but I don’t know where she’s hiding.
I head upstairs and into my room. I stop dead the second I turn to the bed.
The mattress is stripped and tipped off to the side. The empty frame looks like a wooden skeleton. The sheets are thrown in the corner, rumpled dark blue balls.
My first reaction is anger.
Then I start laughing.
God damn, the cheek of that girl. It makes my heart race as I get changed. She’s going to keep pushing my buttons just because she can.
I find her in the guest room. The bed is back together like I never took it apart. She’s sitting with pillows behind her, reading on a Kindle.
“I see you’ve been busy.”
She looks up and smiles sweetly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Here’s the thing. You flipping my mattress and throwing a tantrum?—”
“It’s not a tantrum,” she says, expression darkening.
“—That’s just some prank. But I’m not playing around when I say you could end up with a hole in your head if you don’t start listening.”
“How does sleeping in your bed change anything? What difference does it make if I’m twenty feet away?”
My stomach twists at the thought of men storming into my house, guns drawn, intent on violence, and being unable to reach her in time.
“It matters.” I step toward her. “You heard your father. You felt those fingers around your throat. You know this isn’t a game.”
