Rocco had been quieter than usual, his eyes always burning with want. With the turmoil strong in his marriage, I noticed he started staring at my wife again. His eyes were glued to her, especially when she held Mia or Matteo.
My brother was madly in love with my life—not my wife.
Maybe it was age, or the fact that he was my brother, but if he kept it respectful, I said or did nothing in response. That was old strife. We’d hashed it out in the beginning, and he knew better than to cross me.
Taking a bite of crab, I finished chewing, washing it down with beer. Then I wiped my mouth, watching as she stabbed a small gnocchi. “He’s thinking of leaving her.”
“Oh—” The forked paused midway to her mouth. “I hope—I’m not in love with Rosaria, but there’s something about them that works when they do.”
“She fucking slashed him,” I said.
“He ate her food after,” Scarlett said, finishing her bite and taking a sip of wine. “Would you eat mine if I stabbed you?”
“As a peace offering?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“Ha.” I barked out a laugh and then took another drink of beer. “It would take a lot more than pasta.”
“That part was taken care of too. I mean—” She hesitated when I looked at her. “I heard that it was the best sex of her life. That’s what she told the girls.”
“Gossiping Glendas.” I shook my head.
“You don’t need to worry. I’ve had the best sex of my life—over and over—and I’ve never had to stab you. You’re in a competition with yourself, but if it ever gets that desperate, I’ll warn you ahead of time.”
She said it so nonchalantly, going in for more food, that I laughed so loud that it echoed.
This life was fucking twisting her up. As if stabbing your husband was a common occurrence—and then feeding him after smoothed over the offense.
We had some passionate fights too. I knew what could happen in the moment, but I doubted my wife ever thought about stabbing me, unless in passing thought. She probably thought about wringing my neck more. The problem there was that she couldn’t reach it unless she had a small ladder.
In Rosaria’s defense, though, Rocco had confessed to pushing her into it. It was a passionate fight, he’d said to me, and he’d dared her to draw his blood.
The memory of that time sobered me, thinking about what happened after, when I first got word that a monster had stolen my wife.
Scarlett’s hand came over mine. She squeezed, sending a jolt through my bloodstream. I let the thoughts go, refusing to allow the memory to consume me tonight. I wanted her to have fun.
It just went to reinforce the reason why Rocco wanted something different. He wanted this—what we had.
Rocco’s longing for something he always wanted but never had, in honor ofla famiglia,cost him.
His marriage had been arranged, the same as Luca’s. If it wouldn't have been for me being so headstrong, Luca would've had me married off too. He’d pushed. He even had girls calling the house. It was something Scarlett and I’d never really discussed.
As if the thought called her by name, she looked up from her dish. “What's that look?” She waved her fork around, gesturing to my face. “A shadow crossed your face. Something from the past.”
I told her the truth. “It's common,” I finished with. “A powerful family likes to marry power.”
“Of course,” she said, a sour note to her voice. “Your Sicilian aunt tried to fix you up after we were married!”
“Proved her wrong.” I pulled her closer. “Those hips helped carry two healthybambinosfor me.”
Her fork fell from her fingers, clinging against the plate. “Is that why you’ve been feeding me? You think I’m too skinny?”
“You don’t eat enough,” I said. “It worries me,Scarlatta.”
She went to open her mouth, to respond, but something stole her attention. She looked behind, like someone had come up from behind her and touched her on the shoulder. No one was there.
“What?”
