Chapter 40
Imogen
“What’s keeping you awake?” Rico asks with concern from beside me in bed.
I tenderly stroke his unruly hair, loving the feel of it between my fingers. His eyes soften and he nestles closer to me.
“I’m just thinking,” I respond vaguely.
He arches a brow. “Of?”
My smile is wistful. “Of ma. I can’t help but miss her.” While I’m perfectly happy here and the past three weeks of married life to Rico has treated me exceptionally well my heart yearns for her.
But thinking of ma also comes with a heavy guilt that weighs down on my soul. Because I know she’ll never accept the man I chose to marry. She’ll never allow the man who killed her son to be part of her life.
And I know I’ve betrayed her. I can only hope that one day she’ll come to understand that loving Rico was never a choice, it was fate.
“Is that all that troubles you?”
I gnaw on my lower lip. He pulls it free and brushes the swollen flesh with his thumb. “I worry she’ll hate me.”
“For marrying me?”
“Yes,” I breathe and the truth burns. It boils in the pit of my stomach like acid. Knowing my pa chose the family over me was heart wrenching but to have ma hate me. . .
He wraps me in his arms then. Crushing me to his body. His lips repeatedly plant soft and tender kisses to the top of my head. And as soothing as it is I can’t escape this souring feeling.
“Do you regret marrying me? Falling in love with me?” I hear it ever so barely. The vulnerability and hurt in his tone.
I shift in his arms so he can see my face.
So his eyes can look in mine and tell I’m giving him the truth.
“I don’t regret falling in love with you.
Nor do I regret marrying you,” I assure him and place a chaste kiss on his open lips.
“Our story is very unconventional I’ll admit,” his lips twitch, “but I’ll never regret you. ”
“But it is a heavy burden to wear, loving me.”
I frame his face in my hands. Fiercely I tell him, “Loving you isn’t a burden. Please don’t ever think that.”
“It would be easier if I was someone else,” he points out weakly.
“It would make it easier for my ma to accept you, yes,” I clarify so he doesn’t misunderstand how I feel. “But loving you is as easy as breathing for me.”
He nods his head but I’m not entirely convinced he believes me.
When Rico is in his head, overthinking, over analyzing and questioning every word I’ve said I know it will take time before he comprehends what I mean is true.
And that’s okay. Because I’ll offer him all the clarity and assurance in the world that I love him with everything in me.
“How about you take me out for dinner. You know, you’ve kind of skipped the whole courting me aspect,” I tease in a light tone hoping to lift the mood.
“A date,” he clarifies.
I slap my hands down on his chest as I sit up in his lap. “Si,” I reply in his native tongue and his eyes shine. “A date. Don’t you think I deserve one?”
“You deserve the entire world, Imogen.” His voice is so tender and beautifully raw it flays me open.
I brush my lips over his as I demand huskily, “Then take me on a date.”
He relents easily. “Okay.”
One of the perks of being married to a Made Man whose Famiglia reigns the east coast is that reservations are not required. Not even by the most critically acclaimed chef in the country.
The waiting list for this restaurant has been backed for over six months. As soon as Rico said his name a table became available instantly.
I can only imagine the manager frantically rushing a couple out of their seats and apologizing profusely as fear chokes her.
I would almost feel sorry for said couple but I’m dying for a night of normalcy.
And Rico deserves a night not thinking of the famiglia.
For the past two weeks he’s been working tirelessly on finding a solution to end the Russians and the Irish Mob. So much so he’s forgotten to eat, sleep and neglect his routine.
I understand it’s his position. He’s the consigliere after all.
The sharp brain and analyst behind Constantine’s mass success.
But he’s also my husband. And while I know this hyper-fixation of his will be short lived once the issue at hand is resolved this is only a gentle reminder to him there are other priorities at hand.
His hand is splayed on my lower back. I chose a daring open back dress with a halter neckline. Its rich plum color makes my hair vibrant. And it’s a complimenting contrast to my paler complexion.
Rico is as dashing as always. Regal in his three piece suit and bow tie. In another life he would’ve made a believable Prince.
He leads me to a table in a quieter setting.
The overhead lighting is a warm glow of yellow and on the table it’s lit by candlelight.
Ever the gentlemen he pulls the chair out for me and tucks me in.
Unbuttoning his suit jacket he joins me on the opposite side.
He lays his hand out on the table and I slip mine in his. His muscles immediately relax.
“This place is beautiful,” I gush in awe.
His eyes stay on me. “Very beautiful.”
I can feel my cheeks heat. I smile shyly at him. “Have you eaten here before?” I open the menu and quickly scan over it. Everything seems delicious.
“No. Never had the reason to fine dine.”
“Not even with a business associate?”
“Most of my business associates are comprised, for lack of a better word.”
Right. The Grim Reaper. Collecting souls.
“Well,” I say as I set down the menu, “I’m glad to be your first.”
His mouth twitches as mirth lights his eyes. “And I’m glad to be your first.”
My eyes narrow. “I’ve done fine dining before.”
He leans in and I meet him halfway. The candlelight stops us from closing the distance. “To fuck you with one of my associates compromised.”
If I was red before I’m burning up now. I still can’t believe I did that. More so I can’t believe I don’t feel ashamed of it. “Rico,” I gasp. He winks before settling back in his seat.
The waiter arrives then all prim and proper. Rico orders a bottle of wine and some appetizers. With a brow raised he asks me, “Have you decided?”
“I’ll take the chicken florentine pasta.”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter comments. “And you, Mr. Maroni?”
“I’ll do the same, thank you.”
The waiter collects our menus and promises food will be out shortly.
I sip my glass of water enjoying the view of my husband. “Did you not want to try something else? I would’ve been more than happy to share.”
“When I cook at home you eat your entire plate with not a crumb to spare,” he says not in a teasing manner but rather affectionately. Which is true. Rico’s cooking is immaculate. And when food is that delicious I find it difficult to share. “Besides, there were too many options.“
“It was overwhelming.”
“Si.”
“Then next time I’ll choose for you.” Not knowing if I overstepped or would be regressing any type of progress he’s made I ask timidly, “If that’s okay with you.”
His eyes shine with appreciation. “I would like that.”
Over the candlelight, a warm glow casting over his face and his large hand in mine I still can’t quite grasp how this man notorious in nature to others is soft only for me.
“You’re staring,” he comments.
I nod my head unashamed. “You’re more beautiful than you’ll ever know, Rico.”
I didn’t think it was possible before but the man known for his nonchalance blushes. And it’s beautiful. How the splashes of red fair against his tanned complexion.
Casting his head down he turns his attention to my wedding ring. His thumb brushes over it, marveling at the sight. “You made me the happiest man alive when you agreed to marry me,” he confesses in a hushed tone.
“Did you really think I would say no?”
“I thought you would feel obligated or forced,” he admits quietly.
“Forced?” I repeat incredulously. “Rico, believe me, if I wouldn’t have wanted to marry you I would’ve said no. I ran away from home because I didn’t want to marry a man.” I remind him.
When his eyes meet mine they flay me open with their naked vulnerability. His lip tugs downward. “And you never were able to experience the life you risked running away from. I took that from you.”
“I could’ve easily killed you in your sleep numerous times,” I point out and he cracks a barely there smile. “But I never could. And while yes, you did take me, I did get to experience what I wanted.”
“And that is?”
“Falling in love with a man of my choosing. Marrying for love and not for duty. To not live a life of misery,” I tell him solemnly. My eyes implore for him to hear every word and believe me.
He swallows roughly and brings my hand up to his lips. His lips place a tender kiss to each of my knuckles before finally kissing my open palm. My heart soars as flutters swarm about in my stomach.
“I promise you a happy life, Imogen Maroni. If you are to ever feel misery because of me then I want you to kill me.”
A slow booming clap of hands can be heard from across the room. It’s followed by an ominous thud of footsteps.
Rico’s face immediately hardens. His eyes become one of the vast and unfathomable waters of the ocean. Unreadable. Untouchable.
This is the Made Man the world knows. The one the world fears.
Swiftly, he comes to a stand and ushers me to my feet. He pushes me behind him but keeps his hand firmly on my waist.
The slow clap comes to a stop. The quiet becomes so loud it’s almost deafening. Tension is as high as it is thick. And there’s a chill in the air. One that races down your spine and forebodes terrible things to come.
“And so the Grim Reaper’s heart grew three sizes.” The taunt comes from a thick Russian accent that’s deep and raspy. “Collecting hearts instead of souls now? Want mine, too?”
Rico cocks his head unnervingly to the side. “I’ll take your heart,” he says robotically. “And I’ll feed it to the dogs.”
The Russian gives a hearty laugh. I peer over Rico’s shoulder and we make eye contact.