I think she’s asleep again when she sits straight up, eyes blank and hands patting the bed, panicked. “Where’s my knife? My phone? I need…”
“Shh, Cora,” I stroke her hair, smoothing it as I kiss her forehead, her cheekbones, and her mouth. “You’re safe, I promise you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
For a moment I think she’s lucid, then the sadness in her eyes makes me see that she’s still swimming in the river of her dreams. “I’ll never be safe.”
Crawling in behind her, I put my arm over her waist, pulling her against me. “I swear on my life,Bellissima.I will keep you safe. Sleep now. I’ll keep watch, all right?”
The fear slowly melts away and she sags back down onto her pillow. “Okay…”
I watch the pale glow of the stars over our grapevines until I can fall asleep too.
Chapter Twelve
In which Dario has seen better prison tattoos.
Dario…
Waking up with an unfamiliar weight across my chest almost makes me bolt up and go for my gun until I realize it’s Cora. It seems that my bride is a cuddler, she’s sprawled over me, a leg wedged between mine. I’m not used to waking up with anyone, I prefer to be the one who leaves.
Putting my arm behind my head, I look down, watching her sleep. Waking up draped over me will likely embarrass her and then she’ll pull away from me for the rest of the day, so I'm going to enjoy the hell out of her now. The sheet’s slipped down and I run my hand along the smooth curve of her waist. A dark mark just above her hip bone on her back makes me pause.
“A tattoo?” I murmur, “Maybe a drunk sorority girl stunt? An image of her cat?” I enjoyed tattoos more than Giovanni did, but I never inked any skin that I couldn’t hide under a business suit.
Angling my head to look more closely, I’m questioning the artist’s skill. The tattoo is… the best description is blob-shaped, with a meandering outline and oddly colored ink inside it.
“I’ve seen better prison tattoos,” I mused as her eyes lazily flickered open, she rubbed her nose against my chest, and then as I predicted, she sat up abruptly, pulling the sheet away.
“Oh!” Cora scrambled backward a bit. “You.”
I can’t help laughing as she tries to smooth her hair, keeping her haughty little chin up. “Yeah, yesterday really happened,Bellissima.”My grin stretched as she flushed. ”Especially last night.”
“Yeah, my butt remembers, thank you very much,” she says, defensively backing toward the bathroom, glaring as I laugh harder.
After a moment, she opens the door, poking her head out. “There are clothes hanging in here but I don’t see my backpack. Where’s my stuff?”
“I’ll have someone bring it up,” I said, checking my phone, “we’re flying into Boston today, your days of backpacker chic are over. You have to look the part of a Toscano bride.”
This statement seems to make her frown harder, but I’m more concerned about a text from Lee, the contractor working on one of our Boston clubs. He picks up on the first ring.
“What happened?” I said, pacing naked in the bedroom.
“Boston police shut us down with a search warrant,” he said sourly, “they claim they got a tip that we were storing illegal weapons at the construction site.”
“How long is the work stoppage?” I’ll bet it’s that asshole commissioner who’s in the pocket of the Cox Irish Mafia, they've had a stranglehold on Boston for generations and they’re not happy about the competition.
“Five days,” he said apologetically.
“Fuck!” I look out at the vines, trying to cool my temper. Our Boston marketing team was already advertising for the club opening. “Find out what judge signed the search warrant, let Conti know. I’m flying in today.”
“Will do, boss.”
Lee’s not in thefamiglia, but he does good work, he’s discreet and he’s fine working for us as long as his crews are paid fairly.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I call our Consigliere in New York. “What judges do you have on our payroll in Boston?”
“Well, hello to you, too, Dario,” Paolo Conti said sourly.
“Apologies,” I sighed, “Buon pomeriggio,Paolo, how are you?”
