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“Touch her again,” Luca’s smooth, whiskey-like voice says above me, “and you die.”
“You better be ready, Luca Rossi,” I whisper to the empty room, “because all’s fair in love and war.”
The mafia world is ruled by men, and women are often perceived as less important and weak. It is imperative I make my position clear from the beginning if I want to be treated as equal. I’ve never had a problem with authority in my grandfather’s house.
There are at least a hundred other women in the club, most of them wearing tight short dresses. And who has the tightest and the shortest one? My wife. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it’s white, making her glow like a fucking lighthouse under the neon lights.
“So, imagine my surprise when I saw him storming out of the house last night, furious. I asked what was going on, and he said, and I quote, ‘She went to a fucking club,’ then got into his car and was gone in seconds.” Damian bursts out laughing and gets up from the table. “I never thought I’d live to see a day when my brother chased after a woman.”
“You came into my house uninvited,” I say. “I’m going to call you whatever the fuck I want.”
“Your ass is a fucking piece of art.” He bends his head until his eyes are level with mine. “And it’s only mine to look at, Isabella.”
“I’ve been in love with you for years. Years, Luca,” I say. “I lived for those short moments when you’d come for a meeting with my grandfather.
“I am so fucking in love with you, Isabella.” Then, I crash my lips to hers.
“You know, I’m okay with you trying to kill me,” Luca says, and he looks down at the table. “That’s business. You tried. Failed. I shoot you in the head, and we all go back to our merry lives.” He reaches for a corkscrew on the table, then steps closer to Lorenzo. “But no one disrespects my wife, Lorenzo,”
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you,”—he says as he crawls up over my body—“how utterly in love I am with your cunning mind.”
