Chapter 34
DANTE
C hristian is waiting for me in the shadows of the corridor that leads to the cloak room when I come down.
The rage I thought I’d gotten a lid on explodes. I take him by the throat and shove him against the wall. “You were supposed to be watching her for me,” I snarl.
He doesn’t try and stop me, just lets me fucking squeeze. And I swear in that moment I’m ready to do the unthinkable…
I shove away.
His hoarse breathing is satisfying.
My chest is heaving, and my vision is turning dark around the edges.
I’ve just been inside her. He made it happen. Then he came and watched.
I punch him. Either he didn’t see it coming, or he let me. His head snaps around, and blood arcs from his mouth. I shake out my hand. “I want to kill you.”
“I know.”
I round on him again. “You know? You fucking know? Is that all you have to say?”
He looks hurt.
The feelings kind, and it really fucking throws me.
“You know I used to hate needles,” he says.
I blink, trying to work out where the fuck this is going.
“I’ve come to crave them and the pain they bring.
Carmela is a lot like that. I used to want to end her for all the misery she brought you.
But you love her. And I love you, and I’ll always have your back.
Taking my retribution out on her pussy helped me manage my rage.
” He shrugs. “For the record. So you know. Being inside her feels fucking amazing.” His eyes skip over my shoulder and settle.
They hold a distinct air of possession. He turns back to me.
“But from the looks of it, you’ve already worked that out. ”
I turn. And there she is, Carmela, the woman who should have been mine and only mine. Her lips are parted in shock. She’s close enough to see the blood on Christian’s lips and the red mark around his throat.
Close enough to hear what he just said.
Knowing my brother, he realized she was there and decided to fuck with us both again.
“Next time, hit him harder.” She turns and stalks away.
I guess she was here for the whole show…
Christian chuckles.
My scowl shuts him up.
His eyes dare me to hit him again.
“Something happening here?”
The sound of Ettore’s voice wakes me up to the bigger picture and present danger. I share a brief warning look with Christian, smooth out my face, and turn to face my don. “I was just thinking it’s about time Helena and I left.”
“You’re heading back tonight, I hear.” His eyes linger on Christian before turning back to me.
One thing becomes apparent. I might want to strangle my brother, but no one else gets to threaten him.
“Yes.” I start walking, leaving my brother behind, guiding Ettore back into the reception room where the guests linger. Somehow, I keep it together, and as the well-wishers gather to see Helena and me off, a different discussion awaits me.
I slide into the back of the Bentley beside my wife, and we pull off.
“What a fabulous day. Thank you, Dante, for making my dreams come true.”
I smile, suffering her hand sliding over my chest for what I promise is the last time. The gates and Ettore’s security are up ahead. The driver is mine, but still, it’s better if I keep up appearances for now.
As we pull out of the driveway, her hand slides down to squeeze my cock through my pants. I peel her fingers off with a scowl.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” she says, confusion and hurt in her eyes.
I loosen my grip and put her hand away. “Let’s wait until we get home, hmm?”
Her return smile is cautious. Maybe she senses I want to snap a lot more than her wrist for the way she spoke to Carmela today. I fucking hate that she bears my name, even for the good of the cause.
“I didn’t know you’d be such a prude, Dante,” she says, recovering quickly. “Making me wait until our wedding night.”
My cell phone rings. Thank fuck. I answer it.
“Right behind you,” Leon says. “Tell your driver to pull over at the services.”
I give the driver my instructions.
“What’s happening?” Helena asks.
“Something’s come up,” I say. “It won’t take long. I will meet you at home.”
She protests. I shut her down. I take her hand and kiss the back, in what is hopefully a romantic gesture. It’s not. It’s merely preferable to kissing her lips.
Then I’m out of the car. The driver pulls away. Leon pulls in right behind him and picks me up.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“She put her hands on my junk. She’s lucky I didn’t break her wrist.”
He pulls back into the evening traffic. “That good, huh? Bet you’re glad I suggested this.”
“This?” He’s talking about picking me up. I’m thinking about being married. I’m thinking about Christian with Carmela. “Why was I the one who needed to marry her, again?”
He’s fighting a smirk. “I’m keeping a low profile, remember? And I was talking about faking a problem so you could ride over with me.”
“That, at least, was a good suggestion. One of us wouldn’t have survived the two-hour drive. And when I say one of us, I don’t mean me.”
He chuckles and cuts me a side glance. “So, you were upstairs a long time… and then Christian followed you up. Were my instructions about not doing stupid shit in some way confusing.”
“Not going there, buddy.” Murderous thoughts toward my brother are still front and center, even though I can’t blame him for falling for her. Assuming he has fallen for her, and she isn’t just a hot fuck to him.
Why does the thought of him using her and having no feelings piss me off? Shouldn’t that make me glad?
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Leon shakes his head and switches the radio on.
CARMELA
The wedding is over. It’s a relief when the final guest leaves.
Unfortunately, Peony has gotten overexcited and commences a screaming session that the long-suffering Lillete is clearly at an impasse on how to deal with.
Ettore is already in a foul mood with Helena for her rudeness to me.
Unbeknownst to me, while I was upstairs with Dante…
and Christian, he took her aside and had blunt words.
I loathe my husband with every fiber of my being, but I appreciate him for that.
“I’ll help Lillete,” I offer.
Ettore announces he’s going over to his club and waves me to go ahead. He takes Jero and Peter with him and orders Christian to remain in the house. I feel much like the sacrificial lamb being locked up with a wolf.
I can’t think about Christian, or Dante for that matter, right now.
If I do, I might have the breakdown that has been waiting on the wings for the last year.
But putting aside that violent scene between the two brothers, the one where Christian blithely announced— amid a carefully curated deluge—that Dante loves me, is a challenge.
One that Peony wins as she tosses the cushions from the couch onto the floor. She stomps on them with her small feet and screeches like a banshee.
Christian grimaces as Peony searches for a higher decibel. He’s standing in the doorway beside Brigida, who is wringing her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” Lillete apologizes over the screaming child, trying to return some of the cushions to the couch in a hopeless attempt to restore order.
“No need to apologize,” I say, helping her with the cushions. I’m almost grateful for the tantrum that would send my husband away and give me a distraction.
“Maybe she would like hot milk and a cookie?” Brigida offers.
“I’m sure you must be tired after such a long day,” Lillete begins, but Peony has finally stopped screaming at the mention of a cookie.
“I will get them ready right away,” Brigida says, leaving the room before Lillete can build up an argument.
“Why don’t we go on up to bed?” Lillete says coaxingly. “You could get ready for sleep while we wait for the milk and cookie.”
Peony nods. Her cheeks are pink and tear-stained.
It doesn’t take an expert to work out that she’s exhausted, perhaps even missing her mother…
although personally, I find that a stretch.
She even goes so far as to return the cushion held in her small, angry fist to the couch. “I want Uncle Christian to carry me.”
“Huh?” Christian shakes his head slowly. “What the f-udge do I know about carrying a kid?”
“Well, you are her uncle now,” I point out with more sadistic joy than I thought myself capable of.
A look of horror passes over his face.
At least I’m not the only one suffering in the wake of Dante’s decision to marry her bitch mother… God, what if he hates me? “We don’t want her to start crying again, do we?” I add tartly.
He scowls at me like this is my fault and stalks over to the child. “Fine. How do I…” He directs his glare between me, Lillete, and the mini tyrant. “They don’t pay me enough for this sh-ut up, Christian,” he mutters before he scoops Peony into his arms.
The child softens instantly.
“Lead the way,” he says to Lillete.
“I’ll check on her cookie,” I say. This awkward version of Christian is surprisingly endearing. I’m still furious with him and don’t appreciate the warm feeling one bit.
Lillete sends me a grateful smile and directs Christian up the stairs.
I watch them go, unable to fully crush the flutter in my chest at the image of Christian carrying a little girl, even one that has been possessed by the devil.
He’s so young. I guess we both are. My only thoughts toward children so far have been how to prevent them with the monstrous man I call my husband.
It strikes me unexpectedly that Christian would be a good father.
I mean, he’s crazy and definitely unhinged.
There have been plenty of times when I’ve hated him.
Only he’s not so bad, is he, in the scheme of things—he definitely has a playful, if annoying, side that I can easily imagine children warming to.
Whenever I’ve needed him—really needed him—he’s been there.
And while he is younger than me, it’s only by a month, and in many ways, he’s experienced things and done things that I can’t even imagine.
I feel a tightening in my womb at the thought of carrying his child—or Dante’s.
“For the record. So you know. Being inside her feels fucking amazing.”
Not exactly poetry, but Christian’s words, nevertheless, stirred strong emotions in me. The truth is out there now. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t regret Christian; even now, even after the hurt and conflict it caused.
I’m infatuated with two men, one of whom married another woman today, and the other probably pulls thugs’ fingernails for fun, and has a sadistic sense of humor.
When I enter the kitchen, Brigida is finishing up a small tray with a plate containing a cookie and a glass of hot milk. “I’ll take it up,” I say. “Why don’t you head off for the night?”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Gallo?” she asks.
I flinch. When will that name ever not hurt?
“I am, Brigida.” I pause at the door and turn back. “And please, just Carmela whenever my husband is not here.”
Her expression is full of sensitivity. It reminds me of the story she once told me. I’m still waiting for my liberation. “Yes, Carmela. My apologies, I forgot… It has been a long day. And thank you, I will head to bed. But do call me if you need anything more.”
“I will.”
I carry the tray upstairs. My footsteps slow as I notice Christian waiting at the top. His eyes are on mine, and there is so much heat in that look, it’s a wonder I don’t combust.
I drag my gaze away and shift to walk past him. His arm shoots out, blocking my way—the plate and glass of milk rattle. Looking up is a bad idea, but my body has other ideas, and foolishly I do.
He leans in close, his lips inches from mine like he might kiss me. I’m tingling all over, and recklessness is pounding through my veins. “You looked hot when my brother was inside you. I can’t wait to watch him fuck you again.”
I don’t breathe.
He straightens up and heads down the stairs.
I turn and watch him leave.
The front door opening and closing on him jolts me from the daze.
He’s gone.
Maybe he doesn’t trust himself with me unattended in the house. I know I don’t.