each time is the real mystery.
“Fine. I understand it’s none of my business. I just wanted to say thank you for making sure whoever came after me wouldn’t do it again.”
His features soften, the sternness dropping away a touch—not completely, but enough for me to be able to notice the change. Sliding the plate of pretzels between us, he says, “I will always protect you. Whether that means in the moment, or hunting down a threat. You never have to worry about either scenarios. You’re my wife.”
I nod, silent, offering him a sweet smile filled with gratitude. Most Mafia men lean towards protecting their famiglias, but there’s a few who couldn’t care less what happens to their wives. Even worse are the mobsters who hurt their famiglias themselves. I grew up surrounded by Mafia so I’ve seen it happen. The sad part is that no one will step in to stop it. They take minding their business seriously when it comes to the syndicate’s members. Having Max to protect and reassure me sends a flutter of feelings bursting through my body. This is the first time since we married a few weeks ago that I feel like this is beginning to evolve into a real marriage.
“I’m hungry,” I finally say after I’ve eaten most of his pretzels. “Want me to cook us something?”
“You can cook?” Hie eyes widen.
“Don’t sound so shocked,” I laugh. “You’ve met my mom and Nonna. They’d be scandalized to know you believe I can’t cook. Careful or they’ll be inviting us over several times a week to make sure they show you I can indeed cook and quite well.”
“In my defense, it’s only been briefly, the few occasions I was face-to-face with them. Now, I’m highly intrigued about what other skills you may be hiding away in that ravishing body of yours. Care to share, lovely?”
I roll my eyes, a smile planted on my lips. “How do you think I eat when you’re not here? We don’t have a chef that I know of.” I send him a teasing wink.
“I presumed takeout, but now I’m suspecting that’s incorrect. I wouldn’t mind a chef, but I’d have to watch them prepare everything, and I don’t possess the patience for such things.”
“I cook and bake all the time. In fact, I love this kitchen.”
“It’s always appeared just as tidy around here as when I’ve left it,” he murmurs, still not completely buying my culinary confession. He watches me as I move around, pulling various items to set on the counter next to the stove.
“I clean up after myself. I made the mess, so I’m not going to leave it for anyone else.”
“You seemed so…”
“What?”
“Pampered.” He shrugs.
With a scoff, I shake my head. “I work hard for my salary. I enjoy having a housekeeper and an assistant at work. Doesn’t mean I’m lazy or can’t take care of myself. I made a pot of fudge the other day, but I ate it all before anyone noticed.”
He smirks, obviously not shocked at the prospect of me eating all of my delicious treat myself. “Touché, darling. You certainly knew how to hold your own in the shower.”
“What can I say, I enjoy big cock.”
He sputters his tea across the breakfast counter, the un-Max move making me snicker at his expense. If only he’d been this at ease when we’d initially met, maybe things could’ve been different for us. I have a feeling that Max has a hard shell around him, but once you find a crack, his loyalty and protectiveness shines through. At least, I hope so.
He killed all the other girls in the damn frame,
for a queen that he never realized had fangs.
– MGK
My mobile vibrates so I pull it free from the pocket inside my jacket. I’m in one of my typical suits I wear while I’m handling business at the warehouse. It’s time to collect another round of payments, and so far I haven’t had the satisfaction of killing anyone short on cash. Perhaps a few of these blokes are finally getting it through their knob heads they’ll die if they steal from Joker’s crew. Damn tossers.
“Yeah?” I answer, not one to offer any pleasantries. I saw the number on my screen and I could do without speaking to the testy fuck.
Dante Vendettis’ timbre sounds part beast on the other end of the line as he grumbles, “It’s done. Consider us even for you taking out the Vittorio bloodline. The Castelano famiglia is no more. The Chicago Syndicate