The no-sex clause is the bigger issue. I can’t sleep with him on the regular because it’s too risky. I still remember how hot we were together, and it can’t happen. “The only time we will have sex is when we agree to start trying for a baby.”
He maneuvers us over to the quieter side of the patio, away from the other dancing couples. “If sex is off the table, that means exclusivity is too.”
“No fucking way. You will not embarrass me by fucking whores on the side.”
“Plenty of made men keep whores and mistresses. It isn’t that unusual.” His lips kick up at the corners, and I narrow my eyes.
“I hold a position of leadership, and you won’t disrespect me in front of my men. Just like no don would allow his wife to disrespect him.”
“I’ll be a don, and I have needs. Either you ride my cock or I’ll find someone who will.”
“No, you won’t, and this is nonnegotiable. If I can remain celibate, so can you.”
He barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. I can’t be the only bathroom hookup you indulged in while married. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too, and I loathe double standards. Either we fuck each other or we fuck other people. It’s really quite simple,” he says, snapping a pic of my face.
“What the fuck?” I reach for his cell, but he has slipped it back into his pocket already.
“Spank bank material.”
I am instantly enraged, and I’m tempted to slap him across the face, but I muzzle the urge because I won’t lower myself. “You’re disgusting. I hate you.”
He slants me with a smug look I instantly want to claw off his face. “You wish you did.”
I shuck out of his arms, working hard to leash my temper. No one has ever rattled me as much as this man. He follows me as I stride toward the table where my purse is. “We’re leaving,” I tell Renzo when I reach him. “Please inform the others.” Snatching my purse up, I remove my phone and thrust it in front of my fiancé’s face. “Add your number.”
For once, he complies without argument. He punches in his digits and hands the phone back to me. Our fingers brush in the exchange, and I want to punt kick myself between the legs as fiery tingles rip up and down my arm from his touch. Why can’t my body get the memo he’s the enemy?
If I didn’t think I’d go insane, I might imagine he’s his despicable older brother any time he touches me. Carlo’s touch always repelled me, and my skin would crawl like a thousand fire ants were marching across my flesh. That would surely cure me of this strange craving for Massimo’s touch. But imagining he’s Carlo would likely lead to me killing Massimo in a fit of rage or fracture my patched-up sanity and rip the cracks in my heart wide-open again. I would be of no use to anyone like that.
I send the picture of a mutilated Paulo to Massimo’s phone before dropping my cell in my bag. His cell pings, and he opens my message, staring at the photo with an impressive ambivalent expression. Grabbing a fistful of Massimo’s shirt, I drag him toward me. My eyes lower to his mouth for a fleeting second before lifting to his eyes. They are dark with lust, which is more than a little concerning, and I see the truth of his desire staring back at me. “I call the shots, Massimo. Never forget that.” I release him, giving him a little shove, as Nicolina and Dario come up alongside us. “Stop pissing me off unless you want to suffer the same fate as my last husband.”
With those parting words, I walk away to thank our hosts before getting the fuck out of here.
ChapterEight
Catarina
“Where is he?” I demand, slanting my gaze between the two armed men guarding the double doors of my stepfather’s dark, drab living room. My patience is in limited supply, and Saverio is really testing me.
“Don Salerno said to escort you here and he would join you shortly,” one of the men says.
Neither man is part of the group loyal to Renzo, who provide intel in our absence, ensuring we always know what is going down in Vegas.
“He is disrespecting Donna Conti,” Renzo says, his hand going to the gun at his hip. “And that won’t be tolerated. He needs to remember his place.” There is little love lost between Renzo and his former don because of the way Saverio has treated me in the past.
“It’s been fifteen minutes, and I’m a busy woman.” I stand and stalk toward the burly man with the cropped dark hair. “Tell Don Salerno if he isn’t here within the next five minutes I will be sending the video to Don Mazzone.” I glance at the Tag Heuer watch on my wrist. “You have four minutes and forty seconds. Go.”
The man takes off, returning in the nick of time with a mutinous-looking Saverio.
“You are lucky she lets you live.” Renzo levels a lethal look at his former don.
“And you are lucky I letyoulive,” Salerno barks, dropping his large form into the worn leather chair.
“You look like shit,” I tell him, pleased to see the steady stream of booze, narcotics, and women I ensure he is supplied with is working like a charm.
When I first moved here with my mother, after we had to flee New York, he took pride in his appearance. With the ugly slash across his face, he had his work cut out for him. But he kept himself fit and healthy even with an unhealthy drug habit. Now, he has completely let himself go. His belly bulges over the waistband of his pants, his hair is thinning, and the bad dye job does little to disguise the gray. Dry, pasty skin and bloodshot eyes attest to poor nutrition and bad sleeping habits. His lifestyle may kill him before I get the chance, which would be a shame as I have a cocktail of torture lined up for my stepfather.
“And you still look like a pain in my ass,” he says, snapping his fingers in the air.
