28. Davide

Stefania and Giorgia are extremely hungover the next morning.

The pair of them lounge on the couch wrapped in soft blankets complaining about how terrible they feel, and I might have some pity for them if they hadn't done it to themselves. Still, I'm a good husband, so I fetch them ibuprofen, make them pancakes, and graciously allow them to watch whatever horrible reality television they want all day long.

I have a smile on my face even though the girls are like two dried-out zombies. I keep thinking about what Stefania said to me before she fell asleep—and it causes emotions to flutter up to the surface. Real, actual emotions, the sort of feelings I never imagined I'd ever have, and I like them. They make me feel human again.

It's childish. She likes me. As if we're in grade school and she's got a crush. As if I haven't been fucking her into a gooey mess every night. But she said it out loud, she admitted to liking me, and it feels so fucking fantastic that I don't yell at anyone all day long, not even after my men fail to find any trace of the guns that were stolen, and not even when Emilio fucks up with one of the pallet jackets and crashes it into a bunch of boxes.

When I get home that evening, the girls are in better spirits, and I decide to show Giorgia to her lodgings.

"You have a fucking guest house?" Stefania looks at me like she's going to stab me in the throat, and I can't blame her. I should've mentioned this as an option when she first came to live here, except I wanted to keep her close for selfish reasons.

"Houses," I correct. "Did you really think people lived in all these? Come on, Giorgia. I'll give you a nice one."

For her part, Giorgia gushes over her accommodations. It's a nice place, I have to admit, although there are way too many walls and rooms for my liking. I'm itchy and uncomfortably as I give her a tour, and Stefania's grumpy the whole time, muttering about how this place could've been hers.

"Thanks for doing all this," my wife says while Giorgia takes a shower and gets herself settled. We're out front on the stoop sharing a glass of wine.

"I'm happy to do it. I think you needed this."

"I definitely needed a visit from home." She leans against my shoulder.

"No, I meant the wine. A little hair of the dog."

She laughs and takes another sip. "That too. But seriously. Did I tell you how Laura helped yesterday? Or was I too sloppy to mention it?"

"You don't get sloppy, dolcezza. You only get pleasantly buzzed."

She snorts and kisses my cheek. "What a prince. But seriously, Laura looks at me like she wants to rip out my throat with her teeth, except she helped when Matty tried to kick Giorgia out. You should've seen her, all the guys were terrified."

I sigh and rub my eyes. That's Laura, lots of bark and even more bite. Stefania's not wrong to think my youngest sister wants to murder her—it's probably not far from the truth. Everyone's nervous around her, and I can't blame them.

"She means well," I say very softly. "I know how she comes off, but she's got her reasons."

"You two seem close. At least the few times I've seen you together."

"Laura and I understand each other in a way that nobody else can," I say and leave it at that because while my story means something to Stefania, it's not my place to talk about Laura's issues. "It makes her protective of me, and she has trouble moderating herself sometimes."

"No kidding. She hates me, although she did something nice for me, so maybe she doesn't?"

"She doesn't," I confirm, mostly because I don't think she's capable of that level of feeling. "She'll come around eventually. I doubt she'll ever be your best friend, but she'll stop threatening your life."

"Can't wait for that." She sits up straighter and kisses the side of my chin. "Hey, uh, I've been meaning to ask you. About last night." Her cheeks turn red, and this time it's not from the alcohol. "I said something to you, right?"

"You said a lot of things." I tilt my head as if trying to remember. "You told me that I'm a magnificent lover with an enormous and incredible penis."

"Davide," she groans, covering her face with her hands.

"You said I make your body feel things you never dreamed about. You begged me to ravish you, and even offered to let me deflower your?—"

"Stop right there," she says, elbowing me in the side. "You prick. I was trying to have a nice moment, and you ruined it." She tries to get up and I catch her hand, dragging her back until she falls into my lap. I hold her down when she squirms.

"I'm teasing, baby," I say, covering her mouth with mine and burying it in a kiss. She tries to curse me out but I keep on kissing until she reluctantly returns it. When I'm satisfied she feels better, I break it off. "And you remember what I said back, don't you?"

"I remember," she says, her breath coming faster. "I just wanted to know if you meant it, or if you said it because I was drunk and it didn't mean anything. It's fine, you know, if you didn't. I won't hold you to anything."

"I meant it." I stroke her cheek with my thumb. "I like you too, dolcezza. I like you very, very much."

Except I'm using the wrong L-word.

"Yeah? You do?" Her pretty lips part and her tongue presses against her teeth. "God, this is so stupid. We're married, right? It shouldn't be like this."

"Why not? I feels good, doing this whole courtship dance."

She rolls her eyes. "Courtship? Like you're a prince?"

"Exactly. Why not have a little courtly romance in our lives? I like you, dolcezza, and I like where our relationship has been going. I want to keep exploring it with you. I want to keep being with you."

She chews her lip and nods slowly. "I want that too."

"Good." I kiss her again and this time she's not trying to call me unseemly names.

Giorgia finds us a while later. She sits down on the stoop and the three of us share more wine. I tell them about Chicago and ask Giorgia about her family. Stefania even tells a few funny stories about her brothers, mostly focusing on Carlo and his antics.

When it gets late, Giorgia excuses herself. "I'm going to skip getting blackout drunk again tonight, guys," she says, laughing lightly as she skips back inside. "You two be good!"

I walk with my wife back to our house. We're holding hands, and I feel good, completely at peace, like there's an ease I haven't felt before. At the door to our home, I kiss my wife and linger there with her.

"I wonder what it would have been like if we had met under other circumstances," I whisper, hands on her hips. I'm already undressing her in my mind, and I'm doing it very slowly. Good thing I'm a patient man and can wait until we're in the privacy of our home, because there are guards nearby, and I would have to kill them if they caught a glimpse of my wife's body.

"I think we would've had a better start. You know, less hating each other?"

"We probably wouldn't have had wild, angry sex though."

"Okay, solid point. Are you suggesting you're going to fuck me like I've been bad when we get inside, dear husband?"

I grip her hair, heart racing. "Darling wife, you have been bad. Dropping a houseguest on me out of nowhere?" I tsk at her, shaking my head. "You deserve a punishment."

"You're right, I really do." She gets on her toes and kisses me. "A really bad punishment." Her eyes light up. "A painful one even."

"You filthy, filthy girl." I growl and kiss her hungrily, possessively, and I'm pushing open the door when my phone rings.

Fucking technology. I'm too goddamn available. But this is my private line, and only important people have it, which means I can't ignore it when it rings, even if all I want to do is strip my wife down and spank her ass pink before fucking her into a sweaty, messy bliss.

"Go upstairs," I command, squeezing her ass hard. "I want you undressed. I want you on all fours. I want you touching yourself. I want you nice and wet when I arrive. Do you understand?"

"I'm already nice and wet," she says, licking her lips. "But I'm happy to oblige."

"Good girl." I slap her ass. "Go now."

She hurries away as I lift the phone to my ear.

"Yes?" I grunt, annoyed at the delay.

"Hello, nephew. It's been a long time."

I go very still. I can't move. I feel heat all around me. Fire licks at the bars of my cage, and my skin is melting and burning. Agony washes over me, and my hair's singed and stinking. Everything hurts and I'm scared, so fucking scared.

"Uncle Luciano," I say.