Stolen Touches (Perfectly Imperfect, #5)

by Neva Altaj

“And do you have a set plan for everything?” “For most things, yes.” He looks into my eyes. “Would you like to apply for the wife position?”

“I have three more months of my residency left, and then I’ll leave, I promise. Don Ajello won’t ever find out.”

If only lol

Who the fuck still thinks arranged marriages are a good idea?

An entire subgenre lol

“What do you expect me to do all day long?” “You can do whatever you want.” “I want to work.” “Anything except for that.”

“You shooed away a whole restaurant full of people?” “You said you wouldn’t be comfortable with them staring at you.” He pulls my hand closer. “Now they won’t.”

🥰

“I do it because nothing sends a stronger message than a severed head delivered to your doorstep, Milene.” My jaw drops. I’ve been married off to a complete lunatic.

“He’s not from the Family, Milene. Therefore, he is not permitted to look at my wife unless I allow him to.”

“I’m not jealous.” I take a sip of coffee. “I just have an uncontrollable urge to kill any man who even looks at my wife.”

The mere idea of Milene wearing something that belonged to another man nearly sends me on a murdering rampage. The sight of her in my clothes, however, pleases me immensely.

Because I need it. Because every time she does, something happens inside my chest. Because it breathes air into my lungs and makes my heart race.

“We’re not taking in another cat, Milene,” I say and cut the call. “Oh, look at the ginger one!”

🤣🤣 folded so easily

I don’t like the idea of you alone with another man.” “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” “Probably. I still don’t want you alone with him.”

“How many people have you killed?” I whisper. “Personally.” His finger moves under my chin and raises my head. Our eyes lock. “Do you really want me to answer that question, cara?”

No, I don’t want to know. But not because I’m afraid it’ll make me like him less. It’s because I’m afraid I’ll like him the same, whatever the answer is.

If there wasn’t his continued insistence that I do not work, I wouldn’t harbor any lingering resentment to the marriage, arranged or not. “Shit,” I say as I’m taking the dress to the cash register. I think I’m falling for my husband.

The thing is—I don’t mind Salvatore’s OCD behavior or his need to know where I am. I don’t mind calling him, either, even more than every hour if that’s what it takes to quell his anxiety. In fact, I kind of . . . like it.

“One would have been more than enough.” Salvatore watches me for a moment, then bends forward and touches his nose to mine. “It’s all or nothing with me, Milene. You should have figured that out by now.”

I lower the phone and stare at it. No one ever dares to hang up on me, and yet, she does it all the time. It’s strange.

“If even a seed of an idea of hurting my wife formed in anyone’s head, I would smash said head open with my bare hands like it’s a fucking watermelon,” I spit out. “Next, I would take out their sick brain and squeeze it so hard the only thing left would be mush.” My mother smiles and heads toward the medicine locker, humming to herself.

Weird family 🤣

Several bullets whizz somewhere close to my head and hit the table further back in the room, sending it toppling to the concrete floor. Salvatore’s body starts to shake in my embrace. “Vita mia,” he whispers. “Please. Get down.”

🥺🥹

There’s a shitload of something inexplicable building up inside me, and it feels as though I’m going to explode like a fucking supernova.