Page 63 of Revenge on the Mafia

His hand gripped my nape. The touch both possessive and soft. But he pulled his gaze to the side like he couldn’t even look at me. My hair, that Daria had put in a sleek bun, uncoiled beneath the stroke of his thumb. Five heartbeats passed. I steadied myself for answers, but only determination stared back at me when he returned his gaze to mine.

“Perfect way to carry my name.”

He pulled my strings so hard it took me some time to figure out what my question was. Why do you want me to marry you? And that was his answer.

“I wouldn’t carry your last name if you were the last man standing.” What was he not telling me?

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Why?” I gripped his arm. “Tell me why, por favor.”

“How about when you kill me, you’d be my widow? You’ll get everything under my name.”

He robbed me of my breath. What was he even saying? The man was psychotic. “What do I need your blood money for?”

He shrugged. “Give it away. Start a charity in your father’s name. Give your sister a better life. Fuck, flush it down the drains of Marbella for all I care.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you give me everything?” I grabbed hold of his collar. “Make me understand. Por favor. What are you not telling me?”

His gaze was pained. It felt almost as if he understood me, but he didn’t give me an answer.

“I promise. I’ll do it. Just tell me why.”

He clenched his teeth. “Fine. A good fuck. That’s why.”

I shook my head in denial. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You told me you weren’t a liar, but you fucking are.”

“Don’t push it, Anna.” He rushed to his feet.

“What else can I do? You won’t let me go. You won’t tell me the truth. What could possibly be worth the torture of a month?”

“Torture, huh?” He ground his teeth as if the words themselves were a distaste.

I reached for his hand. He took a hurried step back. “The why doesn’t matter.” He took in my messy hair and washed-out makeup. “Get dressed.” The finality in his tone bit into my skin. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “No makeup, Anna. And don’t put your hair in a fucking bun.”

He turned to walk out.

I hated him. I hated him with my entire being, so much that I could almost taste it in the air. Claw at it with my hands. Snap it with my teeth. “I’ll kill you.” My voice cracked across the room, stopping him at the door.

He turned into stone. Only the slight tension in his shoulder told me he’d heard me. Then he sighed. “Mia piccola assassina.” His voice was steady. But roughness painted the edges. “I was a dead man the day your father was killed.”

I glared at the door that slammed shut behind him. What has he done in his life to want to be killed?

When Daria walked in a second later, she stuttered to a stop, put off by the anger radiating from my body. I forced a smile. It had nothing to do with her. After a second, she walked further into the room and sat next to me.

“If it’s any consolation, I wanted to kill Enzo the day we got married.”

A stupid laugh broke out of me.

She gave me a weak smile. After a beat, she took my hand and squeezed gently.

“Let’s get dressed.”

We moved through the process silently. I only broke it to request a layer of thick makeup and my hair in a tight bun.