“But they hate me.”
“They hate your father as I do for sending my own up the river. Fifteen years, no parole. He’s fifty-eight with thirteen years left on his sentence. He’ll be seventy-one when he gets out. Not exactly an age where a man dreams of starting over.”
It’s a grim picture Faro paints. My shoulders curl inward under that old shame until he adds, “I am not blamingyoufor that, but expect that others may feel differently. Either way, New York is your home now, and you’ll be our Don’s wife. You’ll need to learn to hold your head high… even when they hate you.”
22
Carlo
Father's Consigliere calls me back when I’m nearly home close to midnight. “Are you certain you want this known?” Russo asks.
My blood starts to boil. He’s been a pain in my ass since Father’s heart attack last year, and he’s been critical of my plan to marry Francesca. His oldest daughter Margareta was killed in the Bratva attack at Alessio and Caterina’s wedding a couple of months ago, but he's got a second daughter who's old enough to be promised, and the Russos, while loyal, are nothing if not ambitious. If he wants to bemyConsigliere in the future, he’d better mind his tongue.
“I’m officially a married man, Russo. I want the world to know.”Including her brother and father,I think to myself. “Tell our media contacts, and, in the future, I expect you to answer my calls right away, and, when I give you an order, I expect it to be followed without question,capisci?”
“Understood, Capo,”he replies, crisply. Fuck it, I’ll name my hot-headed brother my Consigliere when Father’s ready to announce his retirement at this rate.
With Russo set to his task, I enter the penthouse in a foul mood, surprised to hear the fading strains of music. For six years, I’ve lived alone. Having her here all the time will be an adjustment but, when I find Francesca curled up in the deep brown leather armchair I prefer, I know it’s an adjustment I’ll gladly make.
No siren in a red dress tonight, her auburn curls are swept up in a messy bun without a smidgeon of makeup on her face. She’s missingher broken silver hair tie which is tucked in one of my bureau drawers. She’s dressed in blue jeans and a buttery yellow camisole. One of the straps is slipping off her shoulder. My cock twitches at the sight.
I smile, seeing her wedding band. Come hell or high water, she’s mine until the end of my days. I hope she’s still not angry about the marriage. If she’d be sensible, she’d see it’s in her best interest.
“Good evening,” I say, noting the large portable keyboard in her lap. Where did she get that?
“Did you come home to make sure I hadn’t jumped off the balcony after you trapped me in a city that hates me?” she mutters while scribbling in a notebook resting on the arm of the chair.
Still angry then. “Do I need to install locks on the terrace doors?” I don’t think she's serious, but it’s a grim solution some wives in our world choose.
“No, that’s not necessary,” she admits.
“Good. I regret that business prevented us from spending the day together, but it couldn’t be set aside on such short notice simply because you adjusted the schedule for our nuptials last night.”
“Iadjusted the schedule?” she snaps.
“I would’ve preferred to relish my triumph in bed with you all day.”
Her glare transforms into a nervous gulp. “I’m still very sore,” she says, flushing. “Are you going to… insist?”
All my protective instincts are stirred by her obvious distress at the thought. “I already told you I won't force you… not inthatway.” She gives me a strange look. She can be the devil to interpret at times, but I suppose that’s what makes her so much fun. “Are you finding your way around the place?”
“All but the forbidden room down that hallway. Is it your office?”
“It is,” I reply, her curiosity putting me on guard. The office is where I do much of my work. I'm careful about what's in there, but I keep it locked for extra security purposes. “Why would you say my city hates you?”
“Faro took me to a restaurant where everyone obviously did. The owner’s husband and son went to prison because of Da.”
I know the place well. I decide Faro and I will be having a little chat in the morning about where he takes my wife. “They hate your father, not you."
“That’s what Faro said, but he also warned me that some will confuse the two. You really didn’t think this through when you decided to have me, did you?”
I don’t like the possibility that she may have a point. Russo’s attitude may be shared by others who won’t express it to my face but might with a knife to the back. “You are my wife. No one will harm you.”
“Yes, I’m your wife that you bedded and wedded and then left to spend her entire day with another man.”
A possessive fire burns through my veins at her suggestive tone. “He's here to protect you when I’m not, but Faro wouldn’t dare touch you even if he wasn't married.”
“But you’re allowed to touch whoever you want, right? And since we consummated our marriage a bit early, isn’t it technically our Seconda Notte? Shouldn’t you be out finding another woman to fuck?”
