28. Stephano

28

STEPHANO

That's it. I'm done. The evening has dragged on long enough, what with the ceremony, couple's photos, and dinner. The two waiters are taking orders for coffees and whiskeys, and it's barely nine o'clock, but Gigi looks exhausted. I need to get out of here with my wife . That's going to take some getting used to.

Gigi sits next to me, an unreadable expression on her face. She's been too quiet for my liking, but Tasha, like any woman who was groomed to be the perfect hostess, made sure there was no lapse in the conversation. She's exactly what Il Consiglio , and Matteo in particular, needs. It's been a pleasant evening, but we're done.

I reach for Gigi's hand, and she stills where she's been twisting her champagne glass round and round.

"Let's go home," I whisper in her ear. "It's early, but it's enough."

She meets my gaze and nods. "I need to get my things."

"Already done." Earlier, I roped in Matteo's housekeeper to pack Gigi's things while we were getting married.

"What?"

"Rosalia sorted it out. You're good to go."

"Are you always this controlling?" she mutters under her breath.

"Not controlling, angel. Organized." I stand, and she follows suit. "Thanks for the evening, Matteo, Tasha. We'll be around."

My brothers' eyes all lock with mine, and with a hitched brow and a scowl, I dare them to wolf whistle or something worse.

There's no wolf whistling, and Tasha and Carla are hugging Gigi fiercely, leaving me to run the gauntlet.

Matteo's first and pulls me close.

"Bring Gigi to see her sister in the morning," he says for my ears only. "Something's up with Carla, and I don't want any surprises."

Fuck. I have no clue what he observed in the time I've been away arranging things. And if Carla has gone and done the unthinkable, like giving their location away before we're ready?—

Next comes Dominic. "Congrats, brother, you do us proud." He slaps me on the back and sends me in Luca's direction, singing Another one bites the dust in sotto voce.

"Taking one for the team, as always," Luca says with a smirk. "Have fun."

And then, there's Benedict. The youngest. Observant and somewhat sly. "Enjoy wrapping up your unfinished business, bro," he says with a smirk.

There's too much fucking smirking all around.

"Your day will come, Benny," I say with a squeeze to his biceps.

If they think I'm going to go home with my bride and have an all-nighter between the sheets, they'll be sadly disappointed.

At last, we've extracted ourselves from the family and are in the elevator, going down to Matteo's private garage. Gigi still has her bouquet with her, clutching it as if it's a lifeline.

"You're supposed to toss it to the ladies," I say, wanting to cut through the tension in this box that seems to shrink with every floor we descend. She looks so goddamn beautiful. Some hair strands have slipped free and frame her face softly, and her lips…God, those lips, which I've tasted now, are plump and full and ready for the taking.

"There's no point, what with Tasha being married and Carla the only other woman there. Plus, they're too pretty to toss."

"I see."

The elevator opens onto the garage, and I guide her to the car with my hand on the small of her back. All I want is to settle it a bit lower, on the curve of her butt and hug her closer in a gentle embrace, but there are rules here. Rules I'm already planning to break.

My driver is waiting for us. I open the door and help Gigi in, then take hold of her safety belt. She can do it herself, but I want to get into her space and inhale her scent.

"How're your bruises doing?" I ask, leaning over her. Our faces are close, and I meet her gaze in the car's little interior light.

"They're much better. Almost gone, actually."

"And lower?" I ask close to her ear. With great satisfaction, I watch how her skin pops a spread of goose bumps, straight to her nipples.

She turns her face away from mine. "I think it's fine."

I bet she hasn't looked as the mere idea of going there is too much for her. I strap her in with care, as she might still hurt, and battle the urge to press a kiss to that perfect naked shoulder.

It's quiet in the car as we head out, and the drive isn't far, plus the traffic is light. I watch Gigi as she takes in the changing environs, from downtown high-rises to the more traditional redbrick rows. It's more historical, and hopefully, she'll feel at home. When the driver opens my garage and drives into the four-car space, she glances at me.

"I know. Not Matteo's place, but we're literally surrounded by Il Consiglio's staff." I don't need to tell her the neighboring buildings belong to us too, how some are offices and some apartments for staff. She'll read between the lines.

We take the stairs, and I reach for her hand. She doesn't pull away, and in those heels, I'm tempted to scoop her up in my arms, but don't. I've never minded, but maybe being on the fourth floor without an elevator isn't the brightest idea.

"It's spotless," she huffs as we reach the small foyer with the door to my apartment.

"We've updated the security. Lots of high tech you won't spot unless you're a professional."

Over the past few days, Dominic and I've been busy. My place is being watched now by an in-house team sitting in the basement, keeping my wife safe. We've secured the environment as best we can. The only variable is the road outside which we can't control.

I unlock the door. It's still light out, and I want her to see this apartment with the fading pink of a spectacular sunset tinting the space.

I sweep the door open and turn to her. "Mrs. Scalera."

Before she can protest, I have her scooped up in my arms and walk her over the threshold. She's giggling and wraps her arms around my neck.

"You really don't have to." She laughs as I slide her back down to her feet.

"I'm rather a stickler for tradition." And routine. It sets a rhythm to life which makes living bearable, if predictable.

Gigi takes hesitant steps inside as I close the door. For the first time since the night when we joked about getting married, we're alone.

My heart is beating in my throat, waiting for her to respond to the space.

She comes to a stop, bouquet in hand, and takes in the tall windows and the views over the park. Her gaze travels the expanse of the open-concept first floor, the tiled kitchen with the functional island in midnight blue cabinetry, up to the double-volume ceiling and the industrial look I've got going with vent tunnels and whatnot showing.

"So, this is Stephano Scalera," she says as she homes in on the art covering most of the red-brick wall. "Wow." She walks closer, then steps back again. "You have some big names here…and several Banksy."

"They're only prints."

"But they're signed."

It's a bit of a mix, but I like it. The best way to view the collection is when taking the stairs to the loft.

"You surprise me," she says as I come to stand next to her. "I didn't know you loved art."

"My mom used to paint when she was young. And she loved to paint with us."

"Imagine that. I used to paint, too. Went to study at art school and all."

"You still paint?" We don't know much about each other except what we've revealed in snippets.

"I'm not very good," she says with a deprecating chuckle. "So I went over to art history and started my own business."

I don't buy into the part about her not being very good but say nothing. "You miss it, though?"

Funny thing is she's staring at an Italian landscape Mom painted, and I can see she loves it. I'm lucky to have this one thing of Mom's that reminds me of the person she was before she got married to Don Scalera.

"I've tried not to miss it, if that makes sense? It's so calming and quiet. I used to love it. The calm in the chaos." She points at Mom's painting. "This is Palermo's Porta Felice. Heavens. I know the exact spot where the artist stood to do this painting."

"My mom painted that one."

"Really? She had real talent."

"Yes. She gave it up, though. What with having six kids, her passion fell to the wayside and then she died." We haven't spoken much about our parents, but none were at the wedding today and she didn't question it. Maybe Tasha filled her in.

"I'm sorry. How?"

"In childbirth."

She reaches for me, but I've trapped my hands in my pockets to make sure I don't touch her. Now, her fingers rest on my arm, and they burn right through the layers of my tuxedo.

"That's terrible. You'd think that type of thing doesn't happen anymore."

"He was going to kill her, with his fists or in some other way. She wasn't supposed to have more children after having had us twins. Benedict was a fluke. I'm convinced Don Scalera did something that triggered our sister being stillborn, taking Mom with her."

Her eyes are wide as my words sink in. I sigh and fist my hands tighter in my pockets. This isn't the conversation I wanted to have tonight.

"Can I pour you a drink?" We have some things to discuss now that she's here and we're alone. I take off my jacket and bowtie and hook them over the barstool by the kitchen island.

"Okay. Yes, thank you."

I groan inwardly. We were going somewhere with that conversation, but I cut the connection off.

"But first…" Gigi holds up the flowers and heads to the kitchen where she takes a tall glass from the sink where I left it earlier. She fills it with water and dunks the bouquet's stem in, then puts it on the counter to make sure it's balanced. She turns to me, without her protective shield of flowers. "I want to get out of this dress."

I've leaned against the counter as she made herself at home and stare at her as she glides her hands over her hips and sides. She's nervous.

"Let me show you around on the first floor, and then we'll go up." I lead the way to the few other rooms on this level. "My office, washroom, and safe room."

Gigi peeks into each of them and gives a shudder when I open the steel door to the safe room.

"I'll show you how this works in the morning."

"Okay."

"This way." I nod in the direction of the staircase going up to the loft.

I wait for her to go first and follow, having the pleasure of watching her sweet curves sway in front of me, those perfect ankles and calves peeking out with each step she takes. Those heels… fuck . When she reaches the landing, she stops abruptly, blocking my way.

"Gigi." I put a hand on her hip to urge her forward so I can get off the stairs and stand abreast with her.

She steps to the side to make space for me. "There's only one bedroom?"

"Yes."

"This wasn't the plan, Steph."

No, this wasn't her plan. I made my terms clear. This is going to be a proper marriage. With no sex. No kissing. Until she begs for it. And beg, she will.

"When you're under my roof, you're not sleeping alone. Not until Franco has been dealt with and we're sure there're no repercussions."