Sofia's knowing laugh. "Your pupils are dilated. Your pulse is visible from here. You're terrified, but not just of him. You're terrified he'll find out whatever it is you're hiding. Perhaps I'll find out first."
The bathroom door opens, and my wife emerges looking pale but composed, Sofia following with that same satisfied smile.
Back in our bedroom, I finally tend to my bloodied knuckles at the bathroom sink. The water runs pink, then clear. Frances hovers in the doorway, still wearing that blue dress that's been driving me to distraction all evening.
"Come here," I say without looking up.
She approaches slowly, each step measured like she's walking through a minefield. I dry my hands carefully, then catch her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up to examine it in the light.
"Did Sofia upset you?" The question comes out gentle, but we both hear the threat underneath.
"She was… informative."
"Informative." I trace my thumb across her cheekbone, examining her face for signs of distress. "And what information did my dear sister share?"
She tries to look away, but I hold her steady, examining every detail. The way her lipstick has worn off, leaving her mouth naked and pink. The tiny scar at her temple she tries to hide with makeup. The way her pupils dilate further when I lean closer.
This is inconvenient. I've had hundreds of women—blondes, brunettes, redheads, all eager, all willing, all boring after a week. But this one, who flinches at her own name and handles crystal like she's afraid it'll break? She's making me curious. And curiosity has always been my weakness, right after beautiful women and expensive whiskey.
"Sofia said you kill people who touch your things," she whispers.
"True." I let my hand slide down to her throat, feeling her pulse hammer against my palm. "Does that frighten you?"
"Yes."
"But not enough to run?"
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my cock stirs at the unconscious gesture. "Where would I run? I'm your wife."
The words send heat through my veins. I back her against the bathroom counter, caging her with my body. My bloodied knuckles throb, but the pain only sharpens my focus on her.
"You are," I confirm, my voice dropping to something darker.
She stares at my bloodied knuckles, then up at my face. The dangerous intimacy between us thickens like smoke. Her body sways toward mine involuntarily, drawn by the same magnetic pull I feel.
"You split your hand open defending me from your own sister." Her voice carries wonder.
"I'd split more than that, piccola bugiarda." The Italian slips out unbidden. Little liar. Because she is lying, about something, and we both know it. "Sofia needs to learn that you're untouchable. They all do."
Her breath catches. "Why do you care so much? This is just a business arrangement."
I smile, slow and dangerous, still examining her face for every tell. "Is it? Then why are your pupils dilated? Why is your pulse racing? Why do you keep looking at my mouth?"
She doesn't answer, but her body tells me everything. The way she arches slightly, seeking more contact. The way her hands come up to rest on my chest, not pushing away, just touching.
"Next time someone questions you," I murmur against her ear, letting my bloodied knuckles ghost along her throat, "I won't stop at the wall."
The promise hangs between us, dark and absolute. She shivers, and I know it's not entirely from fear.
6 - Emma
The woman in the mirror isn’t me.
She wears silk that I could never afford in a lifetime of scrubbing floors, diamonds that would have kept Tommy safe. When I turn, the fabric whispers against skin that's learning to crave things it shouldn't: the heat of my husband's gaze, the weight of his hands, the dark promise in his voice when he calls me his.
"Perfect," Alessandro says from behind me, and I watch his reflection approach in the mirror, feel his hands settle possessively on my waist. His cologne wraps around me like invisible chains. "But you need more. So much more."
The family dinner where Sofia exposed my inadequacy was just last night, where Alessandro's fist through the wall made my body betray me with want. One day of him watching me wear the same wardrobe full of dresses, his eyes calculating something I'm afraid to understand.
