16. Sicily
SICILY
I downed my fourth shot, wiping the slight spill from the sparkle of my pink gown.
It would’ve been a good shot and a beautiful dress had they not been purchased for Milan’s fucking celebration gala.
His name was plastered everywhere, that or the title of Capo dei Capi was thrown around too many times too ceremoniously, and it only reminded me of the power he held everywhere, including where I was concerned.
This was supposed to celebrate him and his new ownership of literally everything, but I rolled my eyes as I noticed the detail of the long, open hall; black drapes, black tables, black everything lit by gold chandeliers that all settled into an elegance that fit Milan to a tee.
It was sophisticated, but I let my brain convince me it was the ugliest room I’d ever seen.
We hadn’t spoken in two weeks, not even in passing, though I was convinced he’d been in my room watching me sleep like a creep a few nights.
In my half-asleep state, I’d seen someone’s shadow and woken with the scent of him hanging on the sheets.
Other than that, he’d shut himself in his office, refusing to see daylight other than to speak to Adriano about business.
Even his most trusted friend had suffered his wrath, and though I felt awful that Adrian was having to constantly calm Milan’s shitty mood, I refused to get involved.
My dear husband was across the room speaking with Matteo and his father, Adriano by his side, and I couldn’t help but notice how his suit stretched over his body, fitting him like he’d been born to wear it, or how his hair was slightly too long at the back and tickling his neck.
It didn’t matter; I wouldn’t be touching it.
Or doing anything that involved being near him.
I couldn’t be who my stupid heart had hoped I could be that evening in the garage.
Milan couldn’t make an exception to his rigid mind, and I didn’t want him to, not after he’d sold my sister to the Gioffres like my father had me to him.
He wasn’t someone who cared, and I wasn’t someone to care for. We were better off alone and we always had been. That didn’t need to change just because he’d looked at me differently once.
I brought my fifth shot to my lips, but it didn’t make it there before someone’s small hand curled around it and lowered it to the table.
A woman with raven hair and blue eyes brighter than a gemstone smiled at me, shaking her head with an amused smile. Her skin was soft, pale but soft, and her slender body was framed by a dark blue that seemed to really work for her.
I was almost jealous of this stranger.
“I’ve watched you scowl at your husband and down those for thirty minutes.
” She chuckled, and all I could do was stare at her as she leaned against the table beside me, watching Milan too.
“I’d be doing the same if I weren’t pregnant.
Trust me, I get it, but it won’t make any difference to him if you’re an angry drunk or angry sober. ”
My eyebrows shot up. “You’re pregnant?”
She didn’t look pregnant, but what did I know about what pregnancy looked like? I’d slit my throat before I gave birth to Milan’s giant, six-foot, egotistical babies.
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh, but a small smile grazed her lips as her palm touched her still flat belly. “Still early, only three months, but I definitely know they’re there. The sickness has been a pain, and my husband still dragged me here.”
I scoffed. “Your husband sounds like a dickhead, but hey, maybe your kid could’ve come to my new, nonexistent school to unlearn their father’s dickheadedness.”
She gasped quietly. “You’re opening a school?” Her excitement flooded through me too before I remembered how Milan had reacted.
I shook my head. “Milan shut it down. He’s also a dickhead.”
“It’s almost like he’s your dickhead’s brother or something.” She laughed delicately. “Dickheadedness runs in the Lucca genes.”
I watched her eyes settle on the three men dressed head to toe in black. They were walking straight toward my husband like special agents, like this was Halloween and they were dressing up.
The Feras had a lot of nerve showing up somewhere that Milan could kick them out of instantly and with force, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t, that they knew that too, and that was a problem for their egos.
Brenno and Milan looked virtually the same, but the eldest Fera brother had a permanent darkness in his eyes that Milan only got when he was faced with his demons.
Or me.
I frowned, staring at this goddess who was far too good to be a fucking Fera’s wife. “You’re Brenno’s wife?”
She choked on nothing as she spluttered, “Oh, no. I would’ve killed myself by now if I was Brenno’s wife.” She stuck her hand between us, taking mine before I had a chance to decide if I even wanted to be her acquaintance. “I’m Bella, Cesare’s wife.”
Cesare seemed tamer than his brother. His dark wavy hair matched his, but his face was softer, more inquisitive perhaps. He still looked like he’d murder me if he had the chance, but he was kinder about it.
My heart lurched as I watched Milan and Adriano visibly sink into their skins as the Feras began to talk. Milan was uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that Adriano had his fingers firmly wrapped around his wrist.
Milan’s discomfort melted into me as if I was there, talking to these men in the flesh. I wanted to save him, to fix it, even though it wasn’t my place to care.
“Why are you here, Bella?” I asked firmly in a sudden flush of defensiveness and protectiveness over my husband, or rather, the boy that had somehow had his brothers taken.
She shuffled uncomfortably on her heels, closing her eyes as she said, “I’m sure it’s not just about the contract. I know Cesare misses Milan dearly and—”
“What contract?”
Her gentle pupils flamed with an emotion I didn’t like.
A lump bulged in my throat as I repeated on a shaky breath, “What contract, Bella?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was about to say was silenced by a gasp and then a loud, piercing scream. My head spun to the sound, but my eyes caught onto the sight before I could understand what I was seeing.
Blood. So much blood.
MILAN
I required my wife.
I could not speak adequately without my wife.
My chest hurt without my wife.
Sicily was a necessary factor of my well-being, but I could not express this to her. I could not speak that need aloud to anyone. She did not feel the same way; she was getting drunk on shots of tequila and glaring at me.
She was problematic and chaotic, and her idea of the school had caused me significant internal malfunction, yet I was incredibly apologetic and would even assist her in her pursuit to fix the world with schools, women, tennis, and even painting sex if she so desired.
I wanted to gaze upon her, but I could not. Instead, I had to focus my attention on the nonsense Tommaso Bonafede was spouting beside his son about opening new casinos in Vegas, or rather, on the silent son who was attempting not to look over at Elena Ferrari.
My brain repeatedly informed me not to think about his appendage that my wife had painted an obscene amount of times in her studio, but it was an optimal distraction from giving in to the spell that Sicily had seemingly cast over me.
She was aesthetically flawless tonight, and I was here, staring at Matteo Bonafede instead of touching her soft skin and sparkly dress. That was unacceptable but essential, and it was beneficial that Adriano was beside me, holding onto my wrist to stop my hands from subconsciously wringing.
He was grounding, but he was not who I required at that moment.
Before Tommaso could launch into another tirade about money and gambling, I noticed Elena slipping into the bathroom in the corner of my eye and interrupted, saying, “Matteo, some of our men are exceptionally, unacceptably inebriated. Please tend to them in the bathroom.”
Matteo narrowed his gaze on me, his brows furrowing before an understanding smirk twitched at his lips, but Tommaso grabbed his shoulders as he turned to leave, restraining him. “My son is not a fucking servant.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He is Matteo Bonafede, the only Made Man to have taken the oath before the age of fourteen, and a good friend of his drunken comrades.”
“It’s fine, Pa.” Matteo nodded, shrugging out of the Don’s grip. “We can’t have them stumbling home, hm?”
The moment Matteo left the conversation, he created a gap, a space that was instantly filled with three wide bodies that I did not want anywhere near my wife again.
My brothers.
They were each dressed for the occasion—even Ezio, who was no longer the small baby he had left my care as.
He looked just as much a man as his older siblings, his almost blond waves slicked back like Cesare’s, his body as broad as Brenno’s, but he still held a youthful softness in his eyes that I hoped would never be extinguished.
Adriano’s expression of frowning brows and a slightly parted mouth was correct given that the Feras were not invited and were breaching my territory, but I squeezed his elbow and nodded toward my wife. “Would you please ensure that my wife does not drown herself in tequila?”
“But—” he began to say, but I held up a hand.
“Now, Adrian.”
He did not have any choice but to obey, and once he had, I turned back to my brothers, my hands clenching and unclenching into fists that were trying not to pummel Brenno’s smirking face. “Why are you here, Brenno?”
He raised his brows, his eyes falling onto my wife and the woman beside her who I did not recognize. “Bella likes Sicily.”
My hand slid to my gun. “Your wife?” I growled.
“Mine,” Cesare spat. I had never heard Cesare express such possessiveness, but it was clear that the woman was important to him. The words sank in as he glared at me, and my eyes dropped to his finger where a gold band rested.