Keeping his bride

Verona

T

HE MOMENT WE land in New York, I can sense a change in Luca. Gone is the carefree Luca I had grown to love while we were on our honeymoon. Now, he is back to being his brooding, serious self. But I understand why he has to be that way. You can’t be perceived as weak in the world we live in. Weakness will get you killed.

When we get back to the house, Luca carries our luggage in. There is a large, wrapped package inside the door, and Luca remarks, “Our painting arrived.” “Where should we hang it?” I ask him.

“Wherever you want to,” he tells me.

“Hmm, I’ll think about it,” I say before I walk into the kitchen to place the magnet that we bought yesterday on the fridge. It looks so foreign on the stainless-steel surface with nothing else around it, but it makes me smile and look forward to our future together. Maybe one day we’ll have the entire fridge filled with mementos of our adventures together.

Warm arms wrap behind me, and I sink into his touch. But when I smell an unfamiliar cologne, I wrench away and spin around so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

“Dante,” I gasp. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t hug my friend?” he asks, trying to play the whole thing off as friendly when it clearly wasn’t. “I missed you,” he says with a warm smile.

Luca enters the kitchen and looks between Dante and me with a frown. “Leave us, Dante,” he says with a severe tone.

Dante gives me one last longing look before he reluctantly leaves the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Luca asks, coming to me and pulling me into his embrace.

It’s scary how well he can read me now. “Nothing,” I say, trying to downplay what just happened with Dante. I don’t want to get him into trouble, and I definitely don’t want to ruin Luca’s good mood that he’s been in for days now. “I was just putting our magnet on the fridge.”

He peers over my head, and a big smile appears on his face. “We’ll add more soon,” he promises.

I look down at the floor when I tell Luca, “Maybe I can talk to my father about having Dante return to his house to work for him.”

Luca puts his finger under my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” I lie. Recently, Dante’s actions have been weirding me out, but I don’t want to alarm Luca. I know Dante would never hurt me. But I think his feelings for me are growing, even though I’m not reciprocating them in any way. Maybe it’s because I’m married now, and the whole wanting what he can’t have thing? I’m not sure. “Maybe you could hire someone else to protect me when Benito can’t?” I suggest.

“I’ll make some calls first thing tomorrow morning,” he assures me. He seems happy about my decision. Leaning down, he kisses the top of my head. “Why don’t you go get some rest? I know you were tired on the plane, but you

refused to stop looking out the window.” “I am pretty tired,” I say with a yawn.

“I’m going to catch up on things with Benito. I’ll see you tonight for dinner,” he says before placing a quick kiss on my lips.

“Sounds good,” I agree. I walk out of the kitchen and almost run smackdab into Dante. Was he listening at the door? “What are you doing?” I ask him curtly.

“I’m going to get something for lunch,” he says, but there’s something off about his tone and demeanor.

I walk past him and to our bedroom. I’m even more convinced now that having Dante move out of the house is the best decision for Luca and me. Dante is proving to be like a third wheel when I’m trying to build a relationship with my new husband. Luca and I have come so far, and I’m not going to let anyone ruin our chances at real, forever love. Not even my best friend.

Luca

B

ENITO ENTERS MY office a short time after I’ve settled down at my desk. The look on his face is serious and drawn, like he’s been contemplating how to tell me bad news for a while.

“You received a delivery,” he tells me.

I smile. “I know. I saw the painting by the door when we arrived home.”

“No, not that. Something else came in the mail.” He approaches and slides a manilla envelope across my desk. I stare at the envelope. It seems innocent enough. I turn it over and notice my name scrawled on the front in unfamiliar handwriting. “Who sent this?” I ask.

“We don’t know. It appeared in the mailbox the other night.”

I frown at that revelation. A hand-delivered letter can’t contain anything good when you live in the kind of world that we do.

Opening the envelope, I dump the contents out on my desk. Photo after photo of Verona appears before my eyes.

Some are far away, through a telephoto lens, like Verona and I in the airport just a few days ago. And others are close, far too close for my liking. Her at the mall, shopping. My fingertips grip the edges of the photos that are zoomed in of her ass and breasts, and I crinkle the edges as a fury erupts inside of me.

“And you have no idea who did this?” I ask him.

“No, boss.”

“That’s not what I want to hear. I want to know who sent these and why. What’s their fucking game?” I demand, standing and pounding my fists against my desk.

“We were hoping that maybe you would have an inkling as to who might have done this. Give us a lead,” Benito suggests.

I stare at the photos and look up at him. There’s only one man who would do this. One man who has threatened Verona, touched her, tried to take her away from me. “Constantine Carbone,” I say. “He threatened Verona the night of the art gallery. Told her he’d see her again soon.” I glance down at the pictures. “He has to be the person behind all of this.”

“We should have gone after him the moment he laid a finger on Verona.”

“I know,” I agree, nodding. “But I promised her I wouldn’t go to war over it.” I sit down at my desk and lock eyes with my most trusted friend. “Now I don’t think we have a choice.”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

“I’ll get the men prepared,” Benito says before leaving my office.

I sit in the room alone, pissed off and over-thinking everything. I can’t believe just an hour ago I was planning vacation trips in my head with Verona. I wanted to travel with her, leave this world behind us. But that’s the thing with the mafioso, you can never leave. Not unless you’re in a casket. I shouldn’t have entertained such childish illusions. And thanks to letting my guard down, I have to come back home to this fucking mess.

My eyes dart to the pictures once again; and the longer I stare at them, the more furious I become.

Constantine fucked with the wrong man. If he wants a war, then that’s exactly what he’s going to get. Because I won’t back down, and I won’t fucking stop until he’s dead.