Page 41 of Revenge on the Mafia

“You said you had a stomach bug.” She wasn’t letting go of it. I’d seen the picture of her lasagna. Her caption had read, if he won’t eat the food he can’t have me. The woman had guts.

More than you, idiot.

She would have probably killed him already. If he wasn’t her brother-in-law and he’d murdered her father.

Seconds passed. What was he doing? Couldn’t be enjoying my food. He probably thought that was dull too. That would be the day. I make a damn good paella. “I was being polite.”

She scoffed. “You’re never polite.”

I was beginning to like this girl.

“I am when your husband tells me he’d cut my balls off.” Another pause. “This tastes like heaven.”

This? The paella? His whiskey? Or was he licking the table? It probably matched his soul. Ridículo. The table was wooden. It had more soul than he did.

“Why’re you telling me now?” She really wasn’t letting go. She might be my new best friend. Not that I had an old one.

“You pissed me off.”

“Ridiculo. You’re never pissed. Enzo, there was nothing wrong with my food, right? You eat it.”

I imagined the Don giving his wife an indulgent look. “It was delicious, principessa.”

She was no fool. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Maybe we should ask Bernadetta to cook the next time we have visitors.”

“You can have all her food then. I’m going to Sicily.”

“No fucking way.”

Silence followed, and a moan. “This is soooooo good.” Hallelujah. He finally allowed her to eat. “Can we have her, Nico?”

“No.”

Silence again. I leaned in so close to the door that it started to swing. I pulled back sharply.

“If you want her, principessa I’ll get her for you.”

¿Qué demonios? I’m not a damn dog.

“She’s not a fucking commodity.”

I pressed against the door. I didn’t think I’d ever heard him raise his voice. Given the silence that followed, no one else had either.

After a beat, the Don spoke, “Interesting.” He sounded as if he’d tested something and was dissecting the results.

“Besides, she’s useless. Doesn’t follow instructions. Can’t make up her mind. She simply can’t get the job done.”

Hijo de puta. I backed off. I didn’t know what to think of it. I should definitely not ask him for a reference before I offed him. Just when I had liked that he’d defended me, he’d reminded me again why I loathed him. Almost as if he’d done it on purpose.

A él era un asesino.

He provoked me. Made a joke of my emotions.

He was a murderer.

A él era un asesino.