Page 21 of Revenge on the Mafia

Her comeback was a panicked gasp. It rippled through the room to me.

I moved around the desk until her profile came into my view. She was staring into nothing. Her body stiff and her jaw clenched so tight that she was in danger of harming herself. Swallowing the space between us, I stopped a measured three feet from her. That was all I was going to allow myself. Close enough to breathe her in. Far enough not to touch.

“You should be more careful.” My tone was casual. Unbothered. “Some people are allergic to pineapple.” The porcelain in her hand slipped. Shattered on the wooden floor.

She stared at the scattered pieces as if they were her life smashed to bits. It was, and I’d helped entirely. Her throat worked. Lips trembled. Her emotions squeezed my ribs like a metal brace. I ached to relieve her of her pain. Ached to touch her. But I’d lost that privilege. So I let a bittersweet word poison the gap between us. “Sesame.” Her expression shifted to confusion. “That would be the death of me.”

She turned white. The pulse on the side of her neck jumped. Once. Twice. She didn’t hang around for the third. With a strangled gasp, she staggered out of the room, stumbling over porcelain, crushing it.

I watched her disappear from my view. Then I closed the door before walking back to the chair. By the time I dropped onto it, I was clawing at my throat. It was going to be an hour or two of pure agony before the scratchiness in my throat would ease. Unlike my father, pineapple wasn’t a deadly allergy for me, but it was annoying as fuck to have my throat on fire. Sesame, on the other hand— well, I’d just loaded the gun and given it to her to kill me. What can I say? A helping hand wouldn’t harm her cause.

The only thing was I couldn’t figure out what I wanted more. It was inevitable. She should avenge Juan’s death, and there was only one way to do it. But I couldn’t shake off an insistent thought. To have one taste of her as a parting gift before my last breath.

The ocean was silent and blue. The sand warm and white. It was too early for the tourists, and there was only one crazy idiot hanging around the beach.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I already knew who it was before his name flashed across the screen.

“Did you take my fucking plane?” Enzo greeted me.

“Sì.”

“What the fuck, Nico?”

“It craved some attention.”

“It’s not a fucking toy! Where the fuck are you?”

I answered him with a question of my own. “What’s with your mood?”

Enzo was fire. I was ice. At least when it came to most situations in our lives. He sighed, exasperation ringing through the line. “Daria wants to visit her mamá.”

“Does your wife realize her mamá lives in Sicily and not on the Upper East Side?”

He groaned. “Told her that. Apparently, she’s lonely.”

“How is that even possible? You’re stuck to her pussy.”

“Not her, stronzo. Her mother. Fucking Vitale took his wife away from there, and now I have to send mine to babysit.”

“Shocker. Vitale wanted his wife with him.”

“He’s probably fucking her 24/7.”

“Another reason to be jealous of your brother-in-law.”

“Damn right. What the fuck am I supposed to do if Daria’s gone?”

“Work? Play with your dick? You’ll survive a week or two without her.”

“Hell no. Two days maximum.”

“Again, Italy’s in fucking Europe. It’s not around the corner.”

Thank God for that. I didn’t know if I could have been disciplined if Spain had been a few hours’ drive away.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

I shook my head. He was a sane person before Daria. At least the type of sane that I understood. But since he got married, he was a boomerang. A fucking pile of emotion that got him and, consequently, us in trouble. A week ago, he’d branded one of our men’s eyes because he’d looked at his wife.