“None of my business, ah?” I pushed her even harder against the house, and she pushed back against my chest. “You. You aremyfucking business.”
“What I did before is none of your concern,Saverio,” she said, mocking Greta’s voice when she’d said my name.
My eyes narrowed and I felt a growl building in my chest. “There is no before me. There is no after me. You. You’reallme. Mia Macchiavello.” I pounded my chest like the fucking animal I was. “Don’t fucking test me. I have nothing to prove, but I will—however I have to. You belong to me. And I won’t allow any man to run behind what’s mine like she’s an animal in heat.”
I saw it coming but allowed it. Her hand connected with my cheek, and the slap echoed in the night.
“Run behindthat, you smug bastard,” she said. She was so mad she was trembling. “You hurt me, I’m going to strike back. So be careful of the words you use with me, Macchiavello. They might be free at first, but later they’ll cost you. I know my worth—in my own life and in yours. Remember that.”
“Always.”
It wasn’t in this woman’s nature to cower. No matter how big or psychotic. She’d never be the sacrificial lamb unless she was sacrificing for me.
Right now, though, she was setting boundaries.
So was I.
Even though we’d been in contact all those years, we never spent a lot of time together, much less lived together. We never had normal couple arguments or dates. We chose this marriage, but it was still fucking arranged. We had to go into it with fireproof terms because the world we existed in was made of barbed walls and bloodied ghosts, all wielding torches.
Our vows were made sacred because we demanded they be placed in a space that couldn’t be touched.
Uncle Tito had told me—or warned me—that the first two years of marriage would be the hardest, though. That didn’t stop me from wanting to throw her over my shoulder, take her to another church kicking and screaming, and marry her again. Just to show her that I could, and I would.
It meant that she was mine—in all ways. My ring was on her finger, and my name all over her body.
“But double standards are okay.”
I realized that I’d been staring at her but didn’t blink. Her eyes were hard on mine. The truth was clear in them, even if she didn’t say the exact words.
Whatever I had with Greta, while any man who dared to get close to her would answer to me.
It was like she heard the woman’s name in my thoughts. Her eyes became daggers, and her heart pumped even harder. Between us, it was attempting to nick mine in this battle. She went to shove me again, but this time I took her wrist, pinning it against the wall. I pinned the other one before she could use her free hand.
“Let me go,” she seethed, but she pressed her breasts against my chest.
A breath passed between us.
“Mia,” a voice called.
Neither one of us broke first—even when the voice called her name again.
“You are okay?”
Probably sensing the danger in the air, she shook her head.
“Fine,” she said. She looked toward Carlo. “Have you met my husband? Saverio Macchiavello.”
“Ahh…” The prop murderer didn’t know to respond.
My eyes stayed on her face while I allowed her wrists to slip through my hold. As usual, she gave me her back as she ran toward our casa. I heard my sister call her name. But my attention was elsewhere.
I stared at him until he finally turned and disappeared. I followed behind him, watching as he told his sister it was time to go. He had to walk past me in the darkness, my eyes on him the entire time.
An arm shot out of the darkness and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck when I went to follow. Any other man would have lost the arm. He was my father, though, and I respected him.
His blue eyes were nothing but dark pools, recognizing the gleam in mine. “A little marital advice. Don’t do something she—” he nodded in the direction of our casa “—won’t be able to sleep with at night.”
My old man knew the status of my conscience, but out of the vulnerable spot I had in my life—my wife—grew a strong one. It was hers, and what I did, she was either thankful for or suffered for.
