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When I pad to the bathroom, I find all the necessities waiting for me on the counter. I brush my teeth and myI was fucked too many timeshair. My bag is on the white leather chaise in the closet.
A very impressive closet.
I run my fingers along the line of Antonio’s blazers hanging on the top rod, the Italian fabric soft between my fingers, and unzip my bag to get dressed. I leave the bedroom and scan all my surroundings, taking in my new home.
When I walk in, Antonio is alone in the kitchen, drinking coffee and typing on his MacBook.
He smiles when he notices me. Stainless steel appliances, a massive island, and tall cabinets surround us.
“Good morning.” I can’t help but timidly smile at him.
What happens from here?
The war with Sonny is over, but he and my father have no peace treaty.
“Morning.” His voice is husky as he steps to me and brushes his lips against mine. “How’d you sleep?”
“Not bad. Although waking up to an empty bed was a bit disappointing.”
“Sorry.” His brows furrow, and he places a tender kiss on my nose. “I don’t sleep much.”
“Like all the other men I know.”
Sleep deprivation is basically a required skill on the Cosa Nostra résumé.
Thank God that isn’t expected of me. I can barely do my eyeliner without a good eight hours of sleep, let alone murder people and commit felonies.
Antonio scrubs a hand over his face in an attempt to hide the stress, but it’s so deep that there’s no masking it. “I wish I could stay with you today, but I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” I say gently. “I understand.”
I might’ve fallen for the wrong man, but I’m not completely naive. There was no expectation of a romantic honeymoon with him where we lay in bed, bingeing cheesy reality shows and eating too much sugar. Antonio still has a binder-sized list of problems on his plate.
“We can arrange for you to get more things from the mansion.” He digs his hand into his pocket, drags out his wallet, and places a black Amex on the counter. “But anything else you want, you buy it.”
I swallow, shaking my head. “I can’t take your money.”
His eyes grow heated. “You’re my wife.”
I’m about to tell him I have my own money—independent woman over here—but then it hits me. That’s notmymoney. It’s my father’s. Not that he’d ever cut me off.
Antonio taps two thick fingers against the card. “And you use this, not your father’s. Do you hear me?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
For once, there’s not that need to argue with him. He has too much going on. If my husband wants me to spend his money, then spending his money is what I’ll do. Although he might regret this when he realizes I have a little shopping problem.
But it’s for the economy.
That’s what I told my father when he found out I’d bought a twenty-thousand dollar Hermès bag and then matched that amount for my favorite charity the same day.
“Back up your contacts when you get a chance,” he says, his voice sounding more businesslike with each word. “I’ll get you a new phone on my plan. As for cars, I can buy you a new one or hire a driver.”
“But I have Bruno.” I immediately shut my eyes, a pang of regret forming in my throat that I didn’t tell him goodbye in person. I hadn’t expected everything to happen so fast.
“Bruno works for your father,” he points out. “Not me.”
“Canyouhire him then?”
