“Be quiet now.”
I turn away and head to the sink, where I pull a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the cabinet beneath. The first aid kit is in a cabinet over the dishwasher, with clean gauze pads, antibiotic ointment, bandages, gloves, and tools inside.
I set the kit on the table, then stand over Quinn and pull on the latex gloves. As I gingerly clean and disinfect the wound, he drinks his wine and smolders as only he can, glancing up at me from time to time with hooded eyes.
I can tell he’s deep in thought, but I’ll be damned if I’ll ask him about it.
After a while, he says abruptly, “I still don’t want to see you after the wedding.”
“You made that clear earlier. I don’t want to see you, either. Your mood changes require medical intervention. Now shut up, or I’ll make your stitches look like they belong on Frankenstein’s monster.”
“You can just glue it.”
“With what? Elmer’s?”
“You don’t have any skin glue?”
“Do I look like a fucking pharmacy?”
His gaze rakes over me, head to toe. He growls, “No, viper. You look more like a fucking land mine.”
“If that was an insult, I didn’t get it. Now please. Shut. Up.”
A low sound of aggravation rumbles through his chest.
Working as quickly as I can, I thread a needle with unwaxed dental floss and make small, even stitches across the wound to close it. Instead of tying a knot at the end, I snip the floss with an inch left over, then tape it to his skin on both ends.
When I feel him looking at me, I know he’s about to demand an explanation, so I beat him to the punch. “It will heal better if the sutures aren’t pulled too tightly. Knots make them pull.”
“How do you know that?”
I mutter, “Years of personal experience on my own body.”
I’m about to draw away, but he grasps my wrist and holds it, his grip firm but not tight.
Startled, I look into his eyes.
They’re blazing with emotion.
He says gruffly, “I’d like to kill him.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. If he were still alive, I’d kill him for you. And I wouldn’t make it quick.”
That takes my breath away.
I stare at him with my lips parted and my heart hammering like mad, feeling as if I’m balancing on the edge of a high cliff, gazing down into an endless abyss below me, dangerously close to tumbling over.
Before I can say another word, Quinn releases my wrist, rises, yanks his shirt and suit jacket from the back of the chair he folded them over, and walks out of the kitchen.
13
Rey
Two hours later, there are two dozen more armed guards patrolling the grounds. Leo, Quinn, and Gianni are locked in the study, strategizing. I’m in the kitchen, making dinner. Mamma is upstairs, asleep, and Lili is in her bedroom, doing God knows what.
She’s probably still in shock. When she came up from the basement with Gianni, she was white as a ghost and shaking badly.
This was her first experience with the darker side of Mafia life.
She’s been pampered and protected since she was a baby, attending only exclusive all-girl private schools with other children of wealthy families, surrounded by bodyguards and watchful eyes. Scarsdale is less than an hour from Manhattan, but has only about 20,000 residents and almost no crime.
She hasn’t been exposed to death in any meaningful way. Her grandfather was killed before she was born, her mother died in childbirth, and her zio Enzo, well…
She didn’t see him die, either.
The point being that she’s never seen this kind of violence. I thought she might faint when she saw the bloodied body lying facedown in the middle of the foyer when Gianni brought her up to her bedroom.
This has been quite the day for her.
For both of us.
I can still see Quinn’s face when he said, “I’d kill him for you.” I still hear that rough, urgent tone in his voice, see his burning, beautiful eyes.
All of it will be seared into my mind forever.
No one ever tried to help me. Everyone knew what was happening, what Enzo enjoyed doing to me, but nobody ever intervened. I was his wife and therefore his property, and in the Cosa Nostra, you can do with your property whatever you like.
Even my own mamma could only offer her shoulder for me to cry on.
After a while, there were no more tears left, so I didn’t even need that.
But Lili’s Irishman wishes he could’ve helped. I believe he would’ve, too, had he been around then to see it.
Maybe she’ll never love him. And maybe he’ll be moody or irritating or a slob, but now I believe he won’t hurt her beyond the petty ways husbands and wives can hurt one another, those small moments of unkindness, words spoken thoughtlessly or small deeds of neglect.
Quinn killed four men today. Protecting me—us, our family—he took four lives.
He would’ve taken on an army by himself if he had to.
Which convinced me, more than anything he could say, that she’ll be safe with him. It might not be a love match, but a man who will protect a woman with his own life is a rare thing.
So rare, I’ve never seen it before.
So although I might have wanted someone different for Lili, this Irishman will do.
“Buona sera, Reyna.”
I look up from the stove to see Leo entering the kitchen. He’s the same age as Gianni, and looks about the same, too. Slicked-back dark hair, custom suit, pinky rings. With their close height, build, and coloring, they could be brothers.
“Buona sera, Leo. Thank you for coming.”
He waves that off. “You look well. Not a scratch, eh?”
“Not a one.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I suppose you can’t scratch titanium.”
As is the way with all Gianni’s friends, he never looks right at me. He addresses me directly, but his gaze lands anywhere but on my face. I used to think it was respect, but now I think it’s fear.
Men don’t like unpredictable things they can’t control. Which is why they prefer dogs over cats.
“How’s your mother?”
“The same ray of sunshine as ever. And yours?”
“Her arthritis is worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Please send her my regards.”
“I will.”
Gianni walks in, nodding at me and clapping a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Smells delicious, sorellina.”
“I made enough for an army, so Leo’s men can come in and eat in shifts during the night.”
Leo looks surprised. “Thank you. They’ll appreciate that.”
“Soldiers can’t focus when their stomachs are growling.”
Gianni says proudly, “She would’ve made a good general in the army, eh?”
I know by the compliment that he’s getting ready to ask me to do him a favor. Otherwise, he’d be taking credit for teaching me everything I know about cooking.
He taught me nothing, of course. The man doesn’t even know how to boil water. Between Mamma, his late wife, and now me, he’s never made a meal in his life.
Quinn enters the kitchen, instantly making the room feel crowded. I have no idea how his presence takes up so much space, but it’s a gift. He pulls up a chair and sits at the table.