“Hey,” I answer, trying to sound casual despite the late hour and my racing thoughts.
“What are you still doing up?” His voice is rough, tired, but warm. “It’s almost three in the morning there.”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I glance at the scattered papers, photos, and clippings. “How’s Miami?”
“Wrapping up. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”
I take a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the weathered photos and yellowed papers spread across Silvo’s desk.
“Silvo, I found something. About why the Morettis hate us so much.”
He pauses before answering. “Tell me.”
“It’s not just about territory or business. It’s personal. It’s about a woman.” I trace the edge of the old photograph with my fingertip. “Your great-grandfather, Salvatore, and Vincenzo Moretti were best friends. Like brothers. There are photos of them together, laughing, arms around each other.”
“That can’t be right,” Silvo says, his voice tight with disbelief.
“It is. And there was a woman, Maria. She was married to Vincenzo Moretti, but she left him for your grandfather.” I shuffle through the papers. “I found a diary entry that says ‘Maria chose Salvatore today. Vincenzo will never forgive this betrayal. Blood has been spilled.’”
The line goes silent for so long that I think we’ve been disconnected.
“Silvo?”
“I’m here.” His voice is rough. “Are you sure about this?”
“Her full name was Maria Rossetti Moretti. She left Vincenzo for Salvatore. Three generations later, we’re still paying for it.” I push my hair back from my face. “This doesn’t feel like a business rivalry, Silvo. This is a blood vendetta. The Morettis believe your family stole something precious from them.”
“So all of this—the attacks, the threats—it’s revenge for something that happened over seventy years ago?”
“Old wounds run deep in families like ours.” I look down at the wedding announcement in my hand. “And now I’m a De Luca too. Just another target in their revenge fantasy.”
“I’ll protect you, Carmela. Always.” Silvo’s voice deepens with conviction. “No one will touch what’s mine.”
Heat flares through me at his possessiveness. When did I start craving his protection instead of resenting it?
“I know.” I gather the documents, carefully returning them to the portfolio. “I just wish you were here.”
“Do you miss me, wife?” There’s a smile in his voice.
“Don’t let it go to your head.” But my body aches for him, the emptiness of our bed these past nights a constant reminder of his absence.
“Because I miss you,” he continues, his voice dropping lower. “I think about you every fucking minute I’m away.”
My breath catches. “Silvo...”
“Show me.” His tone shifts, commanding now. “Get on video. I want to see you.”
I hesitate, glancing at the office door. “I’m still in your office.”
“Then go to our bedroom. Now.”
The authority in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I gather my phone and hurry down the darkened hallway to our suite.
Once inside, I lock the door and switch to video. Silvo’s face appears on screen, tired but hungry, his jawline dark with stubble.
“There you are,” he says, eyes devouring me. “Take off your clothes.”
“Demanding even from Miami,” I tease, but my fingers are already working the buttons of my blouse.
