I spin my wedding band around my finger. “And her day in Saint Tropez?”
“She spent the morning at the beach club reading a book. Then she wanted to come back to the yacht.”
“No interactions with anyone?”
He shakes his head, and irritation claws beneath my skin. Over the past three days, I’ve gone back over her call logs, text messages, and all of her online activity. There’s not a single indication of what she might be hiding. The fact that she’d rather die than admit it doesn’t bode well for our future.
I’ve seen grown men sob like babies with guns to their heads. But my wife? She comes all over my cock. Go fucking figure.
If she were anyone else, I would have put her in the ground a long time ago. But to my eternal frustration, the thought of her gone forever presses against my ribs and crushes the air from my lungs. There’s no question that I despise her. But I want to despise her from close range.
It’s a weakness I can’t afford. Especially right now.
In two days, we’ll be back in the thick of it when we arrive in Seattle. There will be other men like Carlo Pagnotto who think they can test me when it comes to her. On principle, I’ll have tomurder every last one of them. I have Abella to thank for that headache.
Carlo was marked for death regardless, and he knew it. But I wanted to toy with him a little—bat him around like a cat with a mouse before the kill. I wanted him to wonder if every drink or cigar might be his last. Biding my time meant he’d have to think about all the ways he might suffer. But the motherfucker Uno reversed me.
Bleeding out on my floor within minutes is not what I’d consider a painful death. So I guess he got one over on me in the end. The asshole is probably laughing at me from hell.
“Need anything else, boss?” Nicky asks.
I tap my pen against a pad of paper, considering what other mundane questions I could ask him about Abella. Then I shake myself out of it.
“No. That’s it for now.”
He takes his leave, and my phone buzzes against the desk. When I see a message from Ares, I know my mood isn’t likely to improve anytime soon. He’s made it his life’s mission to keep this rivalry between our families alive. Ironic, considering I’m the gatekeeper to the one thing he wants most.
I open the text and glare at his message.
Hope the honeymoon is treating you well, old friend. We’re all dying to know the verdict. Did you break Abella in, or did your brother have that honor?
I type out a reply, followed by six middle finger emojis.
Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth, or you’ll need a referral to an oral surgeon.
When he doesn’t respond, I send another text.
P.S. Fuck you and your mother.
A few seconds later, he replies.What did my mother ever do?
She should have swallowed.
25
ABELLA
After spending the last few days alone with my thoughts, regret eats away at my sanity. I should have just unburdened myself. It’s the only fair thing to do. Angelo deserves the truth, and he should hear it directly from me. But the thought of coming clean feels like a death sentence of its own.
I pace along the deck, caught between agony and indecision. Either way, I lose, and I’m not ready for that yet.
“Are you ready to go into the city?” Nicky appears at the top of the landing, shooting me a curious glance.
We’re docked in Marseille today, and Angelo has assigned a fleet of guards to accompany me while I explore. But I’m tired of spending this honeymoon by myself, and I’ll lose my mind if I have to sit on another beach and pretend everything is fine.
“No,” I tell him. “I want to talk to my husband.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He shifts, tension creeping into his shoulders. “Maybe you should wait.”
