Candi’s involvement is nowhere near as far reaching as any of us thought. How much is Donno responsible for, compared to her? Considering the length of time he’s been with my family, it’s got to be a lot. His history with us means he has a metric fuck ton of information to feed to our enemies.
Why did it have to be him? My gut clenches. I can’t believe he’s a spy. A traitor.
He deserves to die for his sins. He will die for his sins.Even if the Brunos are blackmailing him in some way, he should have come to me first so I could have helped. His betrayal is inexcusable.
Candi, on the other hand, could still be useful. She’s much more low level than I realized, but it doesn’t make her less of a playing card.
My wife, it turns out, might be good for me after all.
Maybe it’s time to bring her into the fold.
16
CANDI
As we’re finishing a leisurelylate morning breakfast (complete with baghrir, of course) that the staff set up for us in the villa’s bird- and greenery-filled courtyard, Armani sets his coffee cup aside and gives me an appraising glance. Catching his eye, I drag a finger across the honey on my plate and then lick it off slowly, just to see the lust flare in his eyes.
“Good breakfast?” he murmurs.
“So good. I’m thinking we should bring the chef home with us.”
“I’ll certainly offer him the option,” Armani says.
“Make sure it’s an offer he can’t refuse,” I joke.
My husband stops short of laughing, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.
Smiling back, I toast him with my teacup and drain the last of the cooling mint tea.
“How’s the foot?”
I shrug. “As good as can be expected. You checked it earlier, didn’t you?”
“No pain?” he presses.
“Why? You planning to take me on an adventure today?” I tease. “Because if so, I’m sure I can hobble along, I just can’t put too much pressure on it. So maybe no hiking. Well, or swimming.”
He smirks. “You’ll be off your feet, for the most part.”
“Oh really?” My cheeks flush as memories of him eating me out this morning flit through my mind. I could certainly handle another few rounds ofthat.
“Really,” he says, his eyes trailing lazily down my body and back up again.
My pulse is pounding, liquid desire already pooling at my core. “Then I’m in.”
I start to push my chair back to stand, but Armani grabs my wrist.
“Not in that nightgown, you’re not. Go get dressed. I’ll be waiting for you.”
So commanding. So confident. So caveman. Guess the old Armani is back.
Not that I mind, not even one tiny bit.
In the closet, I find a flirty pink sundress and pair it with some comfy black slip-on sneakers, because foot injury. Still, the outfit looks cute enough. Then I put on sunscreen, a few swipes of waterproof mascara, and run a brush through my hair. A lightweight backpack gets slung over one shoulder with my sunglasses and water bottle inside. The only thing I can’t find is my floppy hat.
When I get downstairs, however, I find Armani in the entryway with my hat in his hands.
“Ah. There’s my hat.”
