Chapter 9 #3
All the pieces of the jigsaw Elio had spent over twenty years creating were now ready to be put into place.
When Elio went to bed in ten days’ time, every business and asset the Espositos used to launder their money through would belong to him. They wouldn’t know it, but the Espositos would belong to him.
They would be finished.
The hairdryer had stopped. He closed his eyes again and swallowed, trying to unblock his choked throat.
He’d sworn vengeance. Promised his surviving family vengeance.
Valeria Esposito was a dead woman walking.
She’d known from the outset that her husband had set Elio’s father up. She didn’t deserve to live.
Her children, though…
They’d enjoyed a life of luxury that had been paid for with his family’s blood, then willingly stepped into the shadows. They’d embraced the life. Rico was the only one who’d turned his back on it. His life would be spared. The others would only lose theirs if they refused to cooperate.
He pictured the beautiful, smart, hot-tempered woman moving around on the other side of the door, and his heart made a twisting motion.
Only two weeks of marriage, and he was already getting used to sharing his life with her.
Not that used to was in any way adequate for the ride that was his marriage.
By day, she was barely civil to him. In the bedroom, though, she melted for him, and he pictured how, every night, she climbed primly into bed and held herself so still until he climbed on top of her and demanded his goodnight kiss.
It was like she held her hunger for him in check until the moment their lips fused.
When he’d idly mentioned the other night, slumped on her after sex, his nose nuzzling the arch of her neck, her fingers softly stroking his hair, that she was welcome to take the lead and seduce him any time she wanted it, she’d whipped her hands off him and told him hell would freeze over first before pushing at his shoulders and telling him to get off her.
Her feelings for him, he strongly suspected, were as complicated as his were for her.
He also suspected that his wife was the only Esposito even remotely prepared for the retribution that was coming for them.
Valeria had complete trust in Mattia’s judgement and so was happy to believe Elio’s marriage to Siena was the extent of the Ranieris vengeance.
Mattia was too intent on proving himself a worthy successor to his father to dare question his own judgement.
Tommaso was too loved-up with his wife to think with the brain in his head, and Rico’s angel had just announced she was pregnant, so his mind was elsewhere too.
Only Siena had kept her focus and her wits about her and was smart enough not to trust him. When this was all over, he’d be tempted to ask her to join him. Be more than his wife. Be a part of his team. He just had to wait to see how things played out.
For now, though, they were due to dine at a restaurant with Siena’s family to celebrate her birthday.
He could think of nothing he’d rather do less.
His wife and his mother. Forever linked. One taking her first breath in this world as the other took her last.
Elio had loved both his parents, but it was his mother he’d worshipped.
As hard as nails when she’d needed to be, to her children, she’d been soft and loving.
It had been her side of the bed that Elio and his siblings had fought most mornings to get beneath the sheets of for early morning cuddles.
He remembered deciding at the age of eight that he was too old to do that anymore.
It was a decision he regretted to this day, just as he regretted his decision to stop holding her hand in public out of embarrassment at what his friends would think if they saw them.
The only continuity of affection he’d allowed until her death had been the bedtime routine.
Every night, she would put Elvira to bed, then come into the room Elio shared with Bruno, and take it in turns to snuggle up in their beds with them to read a story.
Then she would tuck them in and kiss their foreheads, telling them that she loved them.
At the bedroom door, she would always, always look back to blow them a kiss each and wish them sweet dreams.
Elio hadn’t had a sweet dream since her death. He knew Bruno and Elvira hadn’t either.
Leaving the bathroom, he caught his wife’s soft blue stare. The constriction in his throat returned.
She was so damned beautiful. Beautiful enough to turn anyone’s head.
The wraparound emerald silk dress she was wearing only enhanced what nature had blessed her with and showcased her spectacular curves.
Taking in every inch of her, from the glossy, tumbling blonde hair right down to the silver stilettoes on her feet, his chest suddenly expanded and filled with an emotion that felt nothing like the desire and loathing that was all he allowed himself to feel for her.
Despising this unexpected burst of weakness for her, he abruptly turned away and shut himself in the dressing room.