His face turns red with anger, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off with a sharp look.
“Well played,” I say, raising my glass to Carmela.
She meets my gaze, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
As the men begin to disperse, muttering to themselves about the unexpected turn of events, I stand and offer Carmela my arm.
“Shall we?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.
She takes my arm without hesitation, her skin warm against mine. As we walk out into the cool night air, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride and desire coursing through me. My wife, the woman I was forced to marry, has just proven herself to be a force to be reckoned with—and I’ve never wanted her more.
Tonight, I’m determined to show her exactly how much.
14
CARMELA
Silvo guides me out of the smoky room, the effects of the wine making my head swim. He steadies me with a firm hand on my elbow, and I find myself leaning into his touch. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’m starting to see him in a different light.
“You know, you weren’t half bad in there,” I say, gesturing vaguely behind us. “I mean, for a mafia man.”
Silvo chuckles, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “And you, my dear wife, were absolutely brilliant. I don’t think Hernandez knew what hit him.”
I can’t help but grin at the compliment, feeling a flush of pride. “Well, what can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
As we walk, I stumble again, and Silvo tightens his grip on my arm. “Easy there, tiger. I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
I wave him off, giggling. “Nonsense! I’m perfectly fine. I could drink you under the table any day.”
Silvo raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Is that a challenge, Mrs. De Luca?”
The sound of my new last name sends a shiver down my spine, and I find myself leaning closer to him. “Maybe it is, Mr. De Luca. What are you going to do about it?”
There’s a charged moment between us, the air thick with tension. Silvo’s gaze drops to my lips, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.
“I think,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, “that it’s time I take my wife home.”
My heart races at the implication. “Lead the way, husband.”
As we make our way to the car, I can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this arranged marriage might not be so bad after all. Or maybe that’s just the wine talking.
Silvo opens the door to the sleek black car waiting at the curb, and I slide into the plush leather seat, sighing as the cool interior envelops me.
He slips in beside me, thigh brushing against mine. I find myself hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat of his body seeping into my skin.
“You know,” I muse, “you’re not so bad, Silvo De Luca. I mean, for a husband I didn’t choose.”
Silvo chuckles. “And you, Carmela, are not so bad for a wife I didn’t choose.”
I giggle, the sound foreign to my own ears. “Look at us, bonding over our shared misery. How romantic.”
Silvo’s hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through my own. “Perhaps it’s not all misery, hmm? We could make the best of it.”
I turn to look at him, my vision slightly blurred. “And how do you propose we do that?”
His eyes darken, and he leans in closer. “I have a few ideas.”
My breath hitches, and I find myself leaning in too, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. “Oh?”
