Page 12 of Obsessed with His Bride

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get her pregnant, you stupid fuck.”

“I never do.” Gino laughed. “Later, boss. I’ll be back early tomorrow.”

“Good.” He slipped out of the room and I heard the front door shut behind him. I lingered in the kitchen for a moment, frowning at my living room. It was empty, the couch hadn’t been touched, the TV was cold. I thought she would’ve come downstairs at some point, but now it was going on day two of her locking herself away, and I was starting to get worried.

I knew she wouldn’t warm up to me. I didn’t expect her to. I killed her father in front of her, wrapped the guy’s body in plastic, and gave him to some asshole scumbag Russian mobster. There was no reason in the world for her to ever forgive me for something like that.

But she clearly understood it. I could see it in her eyes when we talked that first morning. She understood what her father was and why I did what I did, and that was all I needed from her. Maybe I wouldn’t get forgiveness, but at least I could get understanding.

Still, she couldn’t mope around in that fucking room forever.

I took the apron I was wearing to protect my clean white shirt and draped it over a stool as I walked around the island. I headed back down the hallway, past the paintings I’d gotten at thrift stores when I first bought this place a few years back just to have some shit on the walls. My place looked haphazard, thrown together, and a little dusty, mostly because I didn’t spent much time out there. Mt. Airy was outside of the city, and if I was going to be a Capo, I needed to be in town at all times in case shit went down.

But it was good to have a second house somewhere outside of the danger zone, somewhere safe and secret.

I moved up the steps, making as much noise as I could. I walked down the hall, stopped outside her door, and knocked.

“Fuck off,” she called.

I grinned. “Open up,” I said.

“No.”

“You’re done lying around in bed,” I said. “Open the door.”

“Go away.”

“I’m going to open it whether you want me to or not.”

“I said, go—”

I leaned my body against the door, turned the knob, and pushed it open. I was a little surprised to find it unlocked, and I stumbled a little as it swung inward.

“— away.” She frowned at me and tilted her head.

I stood and stared at her for a moment. She was sitting on the bed wearing that same tank top, but wasn’t wearing any pants. She had on a pair of black panties, her legs crossed in front of her, her phone hanging loose in her hands. She glared at me.

“Get dressed,” I said, grinning. “Or don’t, that’d be more fun.”

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“I’m cooking dinner. Fresh pasta sauce. Come downstairs.”

“No,” she said. “You can bring me some if you want.”

“You’re not lying in bed this whole time,” I growled.

“Then let me go out for a walk.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not safe out there.”

“Right. So I can leave my room and play nice with you, or what? You’ll beat me up?”

I stared at her and laughed again. “I’m not going to hurt you, little Aida,” I said. “Come downstairs and have dinner with me.”

“No.” She crossed her arms.

“Fine.” I walked back into the hallway then glanced over my shoulder. “But I brought some clean clothes for you.”

She frowned at me and seemed to relax. “Really?”

“Really. Come downstairs, eat dinner with me, and you can have them.”

“You manipulative bastard.”

I shrugged and walked away smiling. That’d work, I knew it would. Even if she was fine with lying around in bed for days on end, she’d have to want to shower and get dressed in something clean eventually. I had one of my guys break into her apartment and pack a couple bags of her stuff. It was a small risk, but worth it.

I headed back into the kitchen and glanced at the two black duffel bags lying in the corner of the living room. I stirred my sauce, tasted it, and nodded to myself. I took some sausage from the refrigerator and began to take off the casing. Just as I finished and washed my hands, I heard the steps creak, and Aida stepped into the room.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun and there were bags under her eyes, but her breasts were pressed up and her full lips pouted at me like they begged to be kissed.

“Wine?” I asked.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to give me some wise-ass response, then shut it again and sat down. “Please.”

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