“I’m well,” he said. He had to be grinning, I could hear it. I’m going to have his car towed the next time I’m in Manhattan. Towed into the Atlantic Ocean. “I got the message about the search warrant. It was signed by Judge Cambell, he's got his head shoved so far up Lachlan Cox's ass they'll need to surgically remove it. I’ll call our friends in the police department and have them shut down that five-day wait.”
“Thank you.” Maybe I wouldn’t get his car towed. “I’m heading there today with my lovely new bride.”
“I don’t want to know how you pulled off getting the daughter of Senator Thorne to marry you, but that was genius,” our Consigliere said approvingly.
“Again, thank you,” I stepped out on the balcony attached to my suite, stretching, and enjoying the warm Italian sunshine. “I’m looking forward to introducing myself to my new father-in-law. Do you think he’ll let me call him Papa?”
This surprised him into a short laugh, an accomplishment on its own. His picture is next to the word “dour” in the dictionary. “Best of luck.”
A wolf whistle sounds from below and I see three of my men, clapping. Oh, right. I should put some pants on. I flip them off as I head back in, catching Cora coming out of the bathroom, dressed and looking beautiful.
“Clothes,” she blurts, looking away. “You need those.”
I’m struck by the difference between boarding the jet this time. I’m escorting my wife with my hand on the small of her back, versus yesterday when I had to carry her on thrown over my shoulder.
What a difference twenty-four hours can make.I might be gloating.
Strapping her in, I lean closer, waiting for her to complain about “looming.”
“You’re looming,” she protests and I smother a grin. “Also, I can fasten my own seatbelt.”
“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t make sure my bride was comfortable?” I smiled innocently.
“Hmm…” she’s eyeing me suspiciously, “thank you.”
Leaning closer as we take off, I whisper, “We are fucking in the back bedroom before we reach Boston. Plan on it.”
“You just… you suck,” she tries to give a credible sneer.
“Only if it’s your pussy,” I said, kissing her cheek and enjoying her fuming.
My new wife is going to be so much fun.
Cora…
The closer we get to Boston, the more I want to lock myself in the cockpit and convince the pilot to take us back to Naples. I know Dario thinks he knows everything. Abouteverything. He is ridiculously confident.
My father is pure evil, I don’t know how to impress this upon him.
As if he’s reading my mind, Dario sits next to me again, lounging elegantly. “Tell me more about your family,Bellissima.When did you find out what a complete bastard your father was?”
“You have the loveliest ways of starting a conversation, did you know that?” I ask him.
He waves a careless hand, and for the first time, I notice he’s wearing a wedding ring, too. When did he put that on? I don’t think I put it on his hand during the ceremony, but admittedly, I don’t remember much of it. I’m assuming my brain’s burying the whole experience somewhere deep until I’m prepared to handle it.
Because there is no way I am married to Dario Toscano, Mafia man and, as has been proven, a complete lunatic. That I agreed to this deeply ill-advised plan. That I’m about to put myself in the path of my father, who wants me married off to Santos or dead. When did my soul leave my body last night? Because that is the only explanation.
“Bellissima?”
“Oh, sorry.” He gazes at me with an expression of thirty-five percent interest and maybe sixty-five percent lust, and I get the feeling this might be a short conversation unless I distract him with how truly horrible my father is. “Hmm, Senator Carlton Thorne. We come from old money, there are plenty of rumors that my great, great grandfather was involved in all kinds of nasty business to build the fortune. No one speaks of such unpleasant things now, of course.” He’s watching me intently, his forefinger rubbing across his upper lip. I wonder if it was one of the fingers that was inside me last night.
For god’s sake,I lecture myself,will you stop thinking about that?
“Of course, we do not speak of it,” he agreed, winking.
“I’m sure your family is still toasting mayhem and acts of violence at the Christmas party every year?” I asked.
“Well, notpublicly,”he shrugged, unoffended at my feeble jab.
