SILVO
Ipour two glasses of Scotch from the crystal decanter and hand one to Marco. He takes a sip, his eyes scanning the opulent dining room he’s been in countless times before.
“Is marriage treating you well?”
I grunt, not particularly eager to discuss my arranged union with Carmela. Before I can respond, she enters the room, her emerald dress hugging every curve. Marco’’s appreciation is obvious.
“You must be Carmela,” he says, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. “Marco Rossi. Silvo’s told me all about you.”
Carmela raises an eyebrow at me. “Has he? Funny—he’s never mentioned you.”
Marco laughs. “Can’t have that. We’ll have to remedy it over dinner.”
I watch him work his charm, that easy smile and quick wit that’s always served him well. When Carmela actually laughs at something he says, jealousy twists in my gut. It’s irrational—Marco’s my best friend—but I can’t help it.
The staff enters with dinner—risotto ai funghi and osso buco. The rich aroma of slow-cooked veal fills the room.
“This looks amazing,” Marco says, picking up his fork.
Carmela closes her eyes briefly as she tastes the risotto. “It really is.”
I cut into the tender meat, the marrow melting on my tongue. “We have the best cook in the city,” I say, taking a sip of the robust Barolo.
“I can see why you locked this one down so fast,” Marco says with a wink at Carmela. “Beautifulandappreciates good food? Lucky bastard.”
Carmela’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, well. So many blessings to count.”
The bitterness in her voice cuts through me. I reach over and take her hand, feeling her tense under my touch. She still doesn’t want this—doesn’t want me—not really.
“We’re both lucky,” I say, holding her gaze. “I plan to make sure she knows it.”
Marco clears his throat. “So, Carmela—what do you do for fun? Besides tolerating my friend here.”
As she tells him about her love of painting and horseback riding, I lean back and sip my wine. Marco’s right about one thing—I’m a lucky bastard. Now I just need to convince my wife that I can make her happy. Winning over my fiery bride won’t be easy, though.
I take another drink, watching Carmela. She’s laughing again, her eyes bright with genuine amusement, and something possessive stirs in my chest. She gives him that warmth so freely, while I have to fight for every smile.
“Marco,” I interrupt. “Tell Carmela about your latest case. I’m sure she’d love to hear about corporate law.”
Marco’s smirk tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing. “Sure. Nothing more exciting than contract negotiations and intellectual property disputes.”
“Actually, I find the law interesting,” Carmela says, leaning forward. “Go ahead.”
As Marco explains his current case, I watch the candlelight play across her face, highlighting those sharp cheekbones and full lips. She’s stunning, and legally mine.
But is she really? Our marriage might be legitimate on paper, but her heart’s another matter entirely. She wants me physically, that much was obvious the night we met, but she keeps a wall around everything else. Every time I try to get closer, she pulls back.
When Marco finally wraps up, he leans back with that insufferable grin. “Enough about boring legal work. What I want to know is—why aren’t you two off on some exotic honeymoon?”
I notice Carmela stiffen beside me. “Honeymoons are usually for people who choose to get married and have time to plan for one.”
“Come on, Silvo. You’ve never been one to waste an opportunity. Surely you could turn a honeymoon to your advantage.”
“I have responsibilities. I can’t just disappear.”
“Ah yes, the weight of being a mafia boss.” Marco’s sarcasm is thick. “How could I forget?”
I lean forward, my voice dropping. “Careful, Marco. Friend or not, there are lines you don’t cross.”
