27. Victoria
27
VICTORIA
Dante’s telling me all about the fall of the Lombardi mob, but I can’t bring myself to pay much attention to the details. Not when he’s speaking to me in a low murmur over our candlelit pasta dinner in the corner of a cozy restaurant. He told me I deserved to go out on my birthday, to enjoy an incredible dinner and a bottle of good wine. My own mother didn’t even seem to remember what today is, but Dante knew.
I’m being romanced.
I’m being romanced by my husband and my stomach is twisting itself into a pretzel.
This might be the beginning of the end. There’s no threat, Dante doesn’t have to protect me anymore.
I know he promised me a week to make up my mind and we still have a few days, but we haven’t really discussed the deal we made. I know he needs me to make a decision about what I want when it comes to the future.
The reality is that I need to stay here if I want to finish either of my degrees. But I don’t know if Dante is staying in the States after the dust settles or heading back to Portofino. Or if he might be willing to go to Paris with me if I decide to transfer my credits.
And even if I do decide to go that route, I don’t know the first thing about the acceptance requirements for the schools in France or how many of my credits they’ll accept.
“Princess, are you listening?”
My eyes flick upward to latch onto Dante’s from across the table. A wave of nausea makes me drop my lashes in a vain effort to disguise my unease.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I got caught up in… Did you say we’re in the clear?”
Dante studies me for a few long seconds, clearly aware I’m not mentally here and that my mind is in utter chaos.
He’s in an all-black suit and nearly all of the other restaurant patrons have spent their meal eye-fucking my handsome husband. After our, er, romp, at the diner, I insisted on changing at our hotel. I happily exchanged my rust-stained sundress for a sleek maroon number that hugs my curves, knowing it would be impossible for Dante to keep his hands to himself.
He didn’t even try.
On the ride to the restaurant, he kept his palm on my upper thigh in a claiming grip. His fingers traced a swirling pattern dangerously close to my cunt, teasing me mercilessly with promises of everything he could do to me while driving.
My panties were soaked before we even parked, and I was frazzled as all hell on our walk to the table.
Now I’m a mess of lust, emotion, and bad ideas.
“Enzo decided the risk was minimal and reported them to the FBI,” Dante states. “The feds have already begun tearing down the organization and arresting the higher-ups.”
“Great,” I blurt out. As much as I would love to enjoy our date, I don’t want to be here. The other diners are appreciating the food and company they’re keeping, but I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I’ll never be able to look at Italian food again after he leaves me.
“And I spoke with your father.”
That snaps me out of my funk and I stare wide-eyed at my husband. “What? You— Why in the world would you reach out to my dad ?”
I mean, if ours was a normal relationship, Dante would know the man well. He might have even asked my father for permission to marry me—although probably not—but to my knowledge they’ve never even met. This is the last thing I was expecting him to say tonight.
If I had any energy to fight with him, I would.
“I was feeling him out,” he replies calmly. “And I wanted to know if he had any connections to universities in Paris.”
I curl my shoulders in a defeated slump. He’s already beginning to plan my future without his input, without him.
After he promised to give this week a real try.
Will I fall in line? That remains to be seen.
“I’m sure he does,” I manage to get out. “And if he doesn’t, he can buy some.”
Dante lifts his wine glass to his mouth, eyes still laser-focused on me. “Seems to be a trend for you people.”
My focus narrows on him. Ha ha. His disdain for the social elite would be funny if he wasn’t lumping me in with them and trying to get rid of me. I thought the whole marriage-trial would convince him to change his mind. He’s been fucking me every chance he gets, and I’ve been stupidly hoping it’d spark his own desire to stay married.
“And?” I press, wishing this conversation was already over.
“And he could,” Dante says, licking at his bottom lip to catch the last taste of his wine. “However, he didn’t ask me many questions about who I was. It was concerning.”
“It’s too late for him to do anything now, don’t you think?”
“I married his only daughter, Victoria. I would expect that to be cause for an interrogation.”
“If it doesn’t have to do with his business, he’s not generally quick to ask questions.”
“I’m a bit disappointed.”
I scoff lightly. “Ah, well…welcome to the Waldorfs. Unless you have stocks and more money than sense, you’re not going to be invited to many family events. I hope you weren’t looking forward to holidays with my parents.”
“Not particularly. You spoke to your advisors this afternoon?”
I’m ready to flip this damn table.
“Yes.”
“And?”
I inhale sharply. He’s starting to piss me off. “Transfer students may enroll in January or September. I can bring up to sixty-four credits to most universities, but they’ll need to evaluate them before deciding whether to accept them.”
“We’re getting close to winter.” No shit, Sherlock. “You could probably make the January enrollment deadline. Christmas in Paris would be heaven.”
“Then go ahead and ship out,” I sass, twisting the cloth napkin in my lap.
My husband has the audacity to smirk at me. “I thought you’d want to spend the holiday with me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
One of his brows lifts to the ceiling. And he calls me a brat. “Do I need to remind you by bending you over a bathroom sink, princess? The coast is clear, we have nothing else to worry about when it comes to mobs or debts or anyone else coming for us?—”
“Then why leave at all?”
“Because I don’t trust the FBI to nail everyone. And, in turn, the feds might start asking questions about what went down in Lombardi’s last days. I haven’t been able to take care of that senator yet.”
Yet.
Fuck, is he still planning to assassinate a senator?
“I think you should leave it alone,” I advise. “Especially if law enforcement is snooping around.”
“But how would I know whether he’s planning to harm some other girl?”
I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t want anyone else to have to go through something as terrifying as that damn auction. The senator needs to be stopped.
“I don’t want you getting caught up in something else,” I confess. “How would you?—”
“The less you know, the better,” Dante cuts in. “Just in case. However, I’m not worried about it. You could call it one of my easier jobs.”
He’s insane.
And I’m in love with this man.
“Could you just turn him in?” I ask. “I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere near him.”
Dante rubs his thumb and index finger together on top of the table. “What if he came to me?”
My brows knit in a frown. “How would you do that?”
“I know his schedule for the next two weeks. It wouldn’t take much to arrange an accident.”
I exhale an unsteady breath. Dante is right. The less I know, the better.
“I’m not sure I could sleep at night if I gave you the green light. But I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep any easier knowing he’s walking around looking for his next victim.”
Dante smiles at me. “Such a sweet girl, princess. I’ll make sure it’s handled.”
“Discreetly,” I hedge. “No suicide missions.”
“Noted.”
“No,” I retort. “Not noted . Make sure it happens that way.”
“Yes, my love.”
Butterflies dance in my stomach at the endearment, but I refuse to lose sight of where this is likely leading. “What happens afterward?”
My husband points to the plate in front of me. “Take a bite and I’ll tell you.”
This man…
Raising my fork, I spin a few noodles around the tines and shove the pasta in my mouth, glowering at him the whole time.
Meanwhile, he keeps his haughty smirk in place as I stab at the rest of my meal.
“It appears that remaining here would be the best way to protect everything you’ve worked so hard for. I would hate to see some of your credits not transfer and, if you graduate?—”
“What do you mean, if ?”
Dante narrows his brown eyes. “You know what I mean, princess.” I bristle at the set down. I do know, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give him hell for his poor choice of words. “After you graduate, you can do whatever you’d like. However, I’d like to see if you can finish within a year.”
“Because?”
“Because I already have a property lined up for your bakery. I couldn’t pass it up.”
What the hell?
Dante fishes his phone from his suit jacket, tapping at the screen before turning it to face me.
A small shop tucked underneath what looks to be apartments or condos fills the display. A few metal chairs and small tables sit in front of it, but it’s definitely a bakery.
One with large windows to give onlookers a peek at the tempting pastries and cakes inside.
“The owner wanted to sell quickly. He’s going to New Zealand to be with his grandchildren. I bought it sight unseen, so we run the risk that it’s a shithole. Although, if it is, I have the means to make him regret misleading me about the state of the property.”
I glance up from his phone, not believing what my eyes and ears are telling me. “You bought this?”
“ We bought it,” he replies. “Isn’t that what married couples do? Share shit?”
“No,” I retort. “My generation doesn’t typically share our finances.”
Dante rolls his eyes. “Well, we do. And it’s yours.”
I look back down at the building. It’s magnificent. Quaint and weathered, clearly an established part of the community. How long has it been there? Is it the sort of place Parisians frequent for a morning coffee and croissant? Will they resent the fact an American has purchased their neighborhood patisserie?
I need to brush up on my French. If I can hide my accent, they won’t have to know where I’m from. And I need to decide on a name. Something catchy without being too trendy. Old school, but memorable.
How quickly can I finish at Graham if I commit full-time to my culinary courses? The bakery can’t just sit there, empty and alone, for a full year.
“Do you like it?”
Damn.
I haven’t even thanked him yet and my mind is already going a million miles an hour.
But I can’t help but be a bit skeptical.
“Is this a goodbye gift?” I ask suspiciously. “I can’t run this place alone.”
“You’d have Ellie. But if you still want me, if you’re still in this with me… Well, I’m not leaving.”
A broken exhale leaves my lips and a weight falls off my shoulders. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
I shove my chair back, the loud scrape against the hardwood floors drawing the curious attention of the other guests, but I don’t care.
I round the table and wedge myself onto Dante’s lap, plopping my ass down and slamming my lips into his.
A few aw’s and chuckles circle around us, but it’s to be expected, right? This is a very fancy restaurant and I’m sure engagements and happy announcements happen here all the time.
Dante chuckles as his arm wraps around my waist to hold me in place. “You like it, princess?”
“God, I love it,” I whisper against his mouth. “I love you. Thank you so much.”
“Anything for you.”
I pull back slightly, feeling tears burn at my eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. I promised you Paris. So, I’m giving you a small piece that’s all yours.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
He shakes his head at me. “You deserve far more than a bakery and me, princess. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with both.”
“I’ll take ‘em,” I reply with a watery smile. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Your life,” he says evenly. “The whole thing is mine.”
I nod my head in agreement. How could I refuse an offer like that?
My husband leans forward, brushing his lips against mine as he says, “I want you on your knees tonight, princess. Do you think you can take all of me however I want to give myself to you? Nice or rough? Or maybe both, if you’re a very good girl.”
My thighs press together and I contemplate all the ways I could drive this man wild. Especially in the dress I’m wearing tonight. I give him five minutes before he rips the Prada creation to pieces.
“Whatever you want, husband,” I promise, breathing in his patchouli and smoke scent, wishing we could leave right now. “Can we get the rest of our meal to go?”
“That doesn’t sound like a proper date, wife.”
Fuck proper.
“You’re not a conventional kind of guy,” I muse. “I highly doubt this sort of date was really at the top of your list of marital activities.”
“It wasn’t,” he agrees without hesitation. “At the top of my list was something more along the lines of eating your sweet cunt for the appetizer course.”
Fuck me.
A furious blush spreads over my cheeks and I am absolutely hot and bothered.
In the best way.
“I’d really like to try that kind of date instead of this one,” I admit, threading my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I can eat later.”
“You might need the energy,” he chides. “However, I’m not about to argue with my beautiful wife when she’s asking me to fuck her into the morning. I’m not that stupid.”
I steal another kiss from him, coaxing my tongue between his lips and wrenching an animalistic growl of need from my husband.
He just promised me a life together, easing all of my worries. With him, I feel brave and beautiful, ready to accomplish anything.
I mean, I better.
The man just bought me a damn bakery in Paris.
I am a spoiled princess, but I don’t care, so long as I’m his .