Surprisingly, my hostage keeper becomes a gentleman and opens the passenger door for me.
I keep my eyes on the ground as I sink into the cool leather. He slams the door shut and slides behind the wheel.
As he turns the key in the ignition, I smooth a hand over my dress and peer over at him. “Why are we going to L’ultima Cena?”
“You’ll see when we get there.” He shifts the car and drives through the gates.
I’m finally breaking free from this place.
Though my keeper is still beside me.
20
I haven’t setfoot into L’ultima Cena in years.
It was once my mother’s favorite restaurant. Their braciole was her favorite dish. That changed when I was eleven. During her birthday dinner, she made a comment about my father drinking too much. He stood from his chair and dumped his bowl of spaghetti over her head. After that, she refused to go back.
That was the day I lost the little respect I’d had for Nuncio Lastro.
It was also the day I decided I didn’t care if he died. Deep down, I hoped for it and knew there was a possibility it’d be at my hands.
Today is Gigi’s birthday brunch. I try to opt out of these events as often as I can.
I’ll volunteer to do the worst job if it gets me out of a social situation.
Birthday party or bury a body? Where’s the fucking shovel?
Family dinner or scrub brains off the floor? Pass me the gloves.
Usually, I get away with this. In our line of work, there’s always a job that needs to be done and someone who’d rather socialize than do it. But Antonio made it clear. Today, I had to attend and bring Liliya with me.
Attending a partyandspending quality time with my wife? Sounds like my personal hell.
Or that’s what I keep telling myself.
That plan has been unraveling from the start.
I was supposed to keep my distance from my wife, not care, and keep her locked up like a prisoner while I went about my daily business. Sure, I’d check on her every so often, but I had Maggie there for the day-to-day,make sure she doesn’t diebullshit.
Instead, I keep returning to the place I once wanted to burn to the ground. Whether it’s to stitch a man up, to force her to eat, or to stop her from running through the goddamn woods.
One of us men could’ve easily stitched Leo up. It’d have been sloppier work, but we would’ve managed.
I keep putting myself in situations to be near her.
Last night, I took it too far.
We shared a bed. Something I’d never done before.
Have I fucked women and made them come? Yes.
But I always leave after. No cuddling or spending the nights together. I normally tell them thanks and toss a few hundred on the bed.
As I lay in bed beside her, I regretted not giving her time to grab her own body wash. She smelled like my soap, but I wanted her to mark herself on my sheets. I dreamed of her. Another rarity for me.
My wife is getting under my skin.
She’s consuming me in every way.
