Chapter 16 Giulio #2
“War would be an inconvenience,” I mutter, but then again, it would give me an opportunity to kill the arrogant man who thought he could kill my fucking wife.
“I agree, but the Family insignia on that man’s chest has to mean that someone wants to start one,” Dante says, lowering his tone as his eyes shoot over my shoulder again.
In response, I lower mine as well. “As far as I’m aware, Vito was the only one who required that kind of proof of loyalty.
As much as I hate to consider it”—and fuck, I really want to just go to Emilio Cesari, blow his brains out, and be done with this, but all avenues need to be looked at—“he could have been part of the old guard and not working under the new Cesari head’s orders. ”
Dante eyes me, his brows lowering to throw shadows over his eyes. “You’re acting mighty calm for a man who almost lost his wife today—I expected you to demand Cesari’s head immediately.”
“You seem to forget, mio fratello,” I say, deeper now, “that the word you just used sums it all up—I am acting.” What I would truly like to do is bring that bastard back to life and beat him to death myself.
Watch the light of life in his eyes die a slow and painful death as I use my fists, my knives, and even my favorite brass knuckles on his face, his torso, and limbs.
Any man who thinks they can put their hands on what belongs to me should be reminded just why that is a bad fucking idea.
Daisy. My wife. Fucking mine.
Anyone who dares to touch her will answer to me.
“I want to find out the truth,” I say through clenched, bared teeth. “I want the one responsible for today to bleed for their crimes. We won’t achieve that by making assumptions.”
Dante’s eyes meet mine, and after a brief moment, he nods his agreement. “Otello and Alonzo are taking care of the body,” he says, straightening up. “I should take her friend home. I’ll have a talk with her about keeping her lips sealed.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I tell him.
Dante’s attention shifts once more, and the soft murmurings of the women reach my ears, though they seem to have dropped their voices to the barest whispers.
“If I were you, I’d talk to your wife about her role in the family now.
I know you’re still getting used to each other, but it would be better if she knew about the potential danger she’s in. ”
I bare my teeth but don’t deny the truth of his words.
Instead, I turn and face the woman, leaning against the counter at his side.
Daisy’s brown hair slides off one shoulder as she waves her hand animatedly in front of her.
Her slender throat is bare and cleaned of blood, but the scoop neck of the shirt she changed into showcases the tops of her breasts.
It makes me want to strip it off of her and see what she looks like without any clothes at all.
Dante’s earlier words—from the conversation in the car before we got to them—comes back to me.
I didn’t think much about it when we signed the papers declaring us legally wed, but I saw her age.
She’s barely old enough to be on her own.
Now, here she is, wife to a man like me, and honestly, I don’t know that I could let her go, even if Don Luciani said I could.
I’ve started thinking of her as mine now.
I like having her in my space, watching her move as she talks animatedly, seeing the parade of expressions that cross her features.
“She’s so goddamn young, D,” I find myself saying.
“Younger than me. I almost regret forcing her into marriage.” I feel like a damn pervert, and yet, at the same time, I can’t help but be attracted to her.
Living with her for this last week has been both a boon and a punishment, to have and not touch something so beautiful.
Dante scoffs. “She’s twenty-three, G,” he says.
“She’s hardly jailbait. Besides, an eight-year age difference between partners isn’t unheard of, and I’d bet my entire bank account she’s got an iron will to rival yours.
She’s an adult. You both are—just do yourself a favor and take her to bed.
Cure your blue balls and make her come a few times, and everything will be right with the world. ”
I stiffen but know he’s right. Dante sighs, the sound a rush of air at my side.
“Deal with that—or better yet, take her out. You need to anyway. Show her off and stake your claim, make it clear to anyone watching—Cesari or otherwise—that she’s yours and you’re willing to protect her. It can’t hurt.”
“Are you suggesting that I date my wife?” I ask him.
Dante chuckles again. “Why not?”
“I don’t date.”
“You also don’t marry, and that’s not a damn screw on your ring finger, so it’s a bit late for that.” He claps me on the back. “Date your wife, G. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Death. Her death. Her body, broken beyond recognition.
Her eyes devoid of life, that same glassy emptiness as the man she killed in the alleyway.
As if he senses my thoughts, Dante’s hand constricts on my shoulder.
“If you care about her at all, you need to make a claim where everyone—especially Cesari—can see.”
I consider his words. Plenty of our brethren have done the same with wives. Marriage. Claiming. Kids. That’s the way of it. To stake a claim is to ensure protection. Then, Dante’s words slam into me. I snap my head to the side and glare at him.
“Who said anything about caring for the girl?”
Both of his brows shoot toward his hairline. As quickly as the surprise reaches his face, it bleeds right out, leaving nothing but a smirk and a glint I don’t care for in his eyes. Pushing away from the counter, Dante turns toward me and leans closer until his mouth is right next to my ear.
“If you didn’t care,” he says, “then why did you panic when she left this morning? Why did you end the meeting early? Because her tracking came back online?”
“Because the client was annoying me with pedantic bullshit,” I argue. “Regardless, she was in danger. If I hadn’t ended it, then I wouldn’t have been nearby when she called.”
Dante chuckles, and the sound makes me want to punch him.
“She wasn’t in danger when you left that meeting,” he reminds me.
“But sure, brother,” he says, “if you want to believe you don’t care for the girl, then you just keep believing that.
” He pats my cheek in the way only a condescending little brother can.
A growl rises up my throat, but Dante merely laughs and backs off before whistling to capture the women’s attention. Their heads swivel in our direction as Dante crosses around the kitchen island. “Daisy, it’s time for your friend to go home.”
Daisy stands up and offers Dante a smile. “Are you going to take her?”
Dante nods as he slows to a stop in front of her. I watch the two of them, feeling a pit open up in my gut as Dante cups her cheek and smiles back at her. “I am,” he says. “And don’t worry about what happened today. Giulio will take care of it all.”
As if she’s been waiting for that reassurance all day, Daisy’s shoulders sag, and she nods. “Thanks, you don’t know what that means to us. Just… seriously… thanks.”
Dante kisses her forehead, and my growl stutters and stops in my throat. My hands clench into fists, and the urge to dive over the kitchen island and deck him becomes nearly impossible to resist. The fucker knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s pissing me off.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, sorellina,” he says. “You’re part of us now. We take care of our own.”
Part of us. Yes, she is. Daisy is part of us now. Part of me.
“She’s my wife; there is no getting away.”