Either way, we were both dead.
I’d heard it time and time again, the men in this family revered women, rarely hurt them unless the charge was severe, but all those rumors were untrue.
Nazzareno had reached deep inside of my chest and tore my heart out. I was leaving Italy without one, a blood trail leading straight to his door.
FORTY-TWO
NAZZARENO
Blood dripped down my face,mixed with the juices of the steak that had been on my plate. I plucked a piece of rosemary from my forehead and looked around the table. Some of the men were swaying, their eyes blinking, trying to wake up. Aristide was sitting as still as a statue but drooling. Beni’s forehead was still on his plate.
My eyes met Rocco’s from across the table.
Perhaps he was not swaying, but the inside of my skull was. It was hard to tell.
I went to stand, but my body pulled in the opposite direction, and I had to set my palms against the table to stabilize my feet.
Carlottawaved a napkin at my face, speaking in hurried, panicked Italian. She was going on and on about not knowing what had happened.It wasnot my food that put you all to sleep!She made the sign of the cross, then kept fanning me.
I pushed past the weights and walked to the other side of the table, grabbing Beni by the hair and lifting his face. Juices dripped down his cheek too, and he had parmesan stuck to his mouth.
“Ha, ha,ha, too cold, too cold,” he sang drunkenly. He ran his tongue over his lips, then puckered them, making a suction motion, like he was a baby searching for more milk.
“Hah,” Dario said, shaking his head.
“Fuck.” Rocco shook his head hard and loosened his tie. “I cannot escape the clutches of whatever this is.”
One of my men came rushing into the room, Carlotta on his heels, and held up a bottle. I blinked at the small print, before I moved his hand back.
“Lion tranquilizers.” I had to go slow on thequilizerpart of the word. I was fucking slurring.
“I did not do this!” Carlotta waved her hands. “These were in the kitchen but are not mine!”
She was excited but being fucking careful not to accuse the most important person in this house—in my world.
No, the cook had not done this, but she knew who did.
We all did.
Mywife.
Ava Fausti.
I ordered Carlottato go home. She ran out.
Romeo laughed, raspy and low, and wiped sweat from his forehead. “I do believe we were had by a woman,fratelliandcugini.” He looked at me, then reached for his glass of wine. He knocked it over and picked up a knife instead. He raised it to me. “Your wife is cleverrrr,cugino.I like it.” A lazy grin came to his face. “I would spankmy wife for this.”
Rocco knocked the knife out of his hand before he tried to put it to his lips and drink it. Romeo looked at his hand and then at the table, then blinked.
Aristide’s eyes moved slowly to Rocco when Rocco’s phone went off. Rocco pulled it from his pocket and answered it. I could hear laughter on the other side. It sounded like Brando.
Romeo closed his eyes and laughed quietly, his shoulders shaking, like he was sitting next to his brother, and they were having a good laugh about all of this.
None of us took offense to it. We all fucked with each other when one of the wives did something that bested us. It showed how clever the woman was, even if her husband did not appreciate it.
His wife, his issue.
My wife, my fucking issue.
