The effect was immediate.
I took a steadying breath.
“Well? Who do we have to kill?” Betty insisted.
“I don’t know.” I took a sip of my slightly cooler coffee. The inky liquid was strong enough to put hair on a baby’s chest. “But I’m going to find out.”
“Ya can start your hunt at the pub tonight.” She bustled about, tidying as she went. “I’ll help.”
“I wasn’t going to the fecking pub,” I snapped.
Betty frowned. The wrinkles in her ashen grey face deepened. “Oh? And just what were ya plannin’ to feed your wife for dinner? I know ya haven’t been to the grocer’s in weeks.”
She had a point. I didn’t want Gabriella to go out alone, and the reasons for that were now two-fold. If what the Grimaldi prince said was true—and I had no reason to doubt him—there was an active threat that extended to my new wife. The thought of someone trying to hurt her darkened my mood to pitch.
That plus the fact that I didn’t want Gabriella to create a new rendezvous with anyone made the toxic mess inside me boil.
I tugged gently on the chain and considered her words.
“Fine.” I stabbed the power button for my computer monitor with my finger. The force nearly made the screen wobble over. “I’ll be at the Galway Arms around seven. Tell my wife.”
Betty nodded sagely and left, throwing over her shoulder before the door closed, “That’s life in the mob, lad, living with a target on your back.”
I fucking hated that she was right.
This was a mistake.
Instead of eliminating suspects from the list of possible threats, I struggled not to cut the throats of every man in the pub. The Galway Arms was riotous tonight. Every lad here seemed hellbent on flirting with my wife.
My beautiful little wife, who smiled.
For them.
Gabriella demolished her stew, wiping the little crock with a crust of brown bread. Sitting back, she laced her hands over her stomach.
“That was delicious,” she sighed happily, eyes fluttering closed.
“I’m glad you liked it,” Donny chirped, appearing suddenly at our booth. “Can I bring you anything else, missus?”
I gave him a stern glare, silently ordering him to tread carefully.
Gabriella shook her head. Squinting up at him, she grinned. “I’ll be dreaming of that bread.”
A skinny fecker, Donny wilted. “They’re dancin’ over there. Care for a jig?”
How dare he? How fucking dare he!
Did he not understand she was mine? I married her.
Then ask her to dance….
I slammed that tiny voice into dust. I didn’t dance.
You danced at your wedding.
“No,” I barked. “We’re leaving.”
Gabriella looked wistfully at the capering eejits but shook her head again. “I don’t think I can manage more than being rolled out of here. Thanks, though!”
