Chapter 10
Even on my days off, I shower and walk into my closet on autopilot without even considering I could stay in my boxers all day. As I grab a fresh pair of jeans from my closet, black silk pajamas catch my eye. Bishop got me those one Christmas as a joke after he figured out I sleep naked.
I remember he said ladies love a man in pajama bottoms. I grab the pants and sling them on, adjust my dick, and turn.
In the mirror, the pants clearly show the outline of my half-hard cock.
I think my wife will like that. She may hate what comes out of my mouth, but she sure likes what my mouth can do for her pussy, and I bet she thought about my cock and how it’s gonna feel inside her.
I was her age once.
Insatiable.
She must be insatiable.
Unless, of course, she’s fucking her cousin.
Shaking my head, I sit on the bench in the closet and lean my elbows on my knees, close my eyes for a second, and calm my shit so I don’t start dialing Blake and asking for a hitman when I can take care of this problem all on my own.
My phone rings, and I pick up without reading the name on the screen. It’s six ten in the morning, and only one person calls me that early.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey,” Blake says, voice still gruff. I picture him sitting in Grandpa’s old chair before the view of the city. That’s what Blake does at this time. Sits and thinks on that chair. “I have the summary of your surveillance footage.”
“Have you watched it?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Blake.”
“Anytime. Call me if you need something.”
“I might.” I might call in a hit, and my brother knows the people who can get it done, because I sure as fuck can’t ask Benny’s daddy to pop his nephew.
I groan. This cousin thing is more complicated than I’d like. When I married her, Blake warned me the kind of people I’d have to deal with for the rest of my life because I’m marrying into a Mafia family. I have to take great care with how I’ll solve this problem.
Sliding my phone into my pocket, I leave my room and head for hers across the hallway. I press my ear against the cold wood, hoping to hear something.
Trying the lock, I twist and enter on quiet feet. Standing by the bed, I watch her sleep. She’s hugging the large pillow, her long hair fanning out and falling over it, one pink pajama strap slipping off the shoulder. Face delicate and serene, she looks peaceful, innocent, defenseless.
When I tire of standing, I sit on the chair in the corner right by the window and open the blinds a little. Not enough to rouse her from sleep, but enough so the sun, when it rises fully, can light up her face.
Oddly, I feel at peace here watching her sleep.
Oddly, I don’t want to view the security video Blake sent me.
I want to sit in the room with her and do nothing, and I don’t care if emails are waiting and my secretary won’t have a morning brief before she starts her day.