His jaw moves as if he's gnashing his teeth. I lift my eyes to his, and his gaze locks onto mine with intensity.
Something in me snaps, and I do something totally uncharacteristic. I grab his arm and tug him aside, pulling him just out of earshot. My hands move furiously. What the hell is wrong with you?
His eyes narrow, and he signs stiffly. I don’t trust anyone from your family. Renato could have sent him. He could hurt you.
I pause. My fingers soften, so does my expression. He's right to be worried. I see a flicker of protectiveness in his eyes. He's only trying to protect me. It warms me in places that have no business warning up.
I sign back carefully. Dario’s different. He’s kind. He's the only one who ever cared. He’d never hurt me.
Giovanni’s lips press tightly, displeasure carved into his features. I brace myself for his rebuttal. Instead, he does something totally unexpected. My breath stills as his hand lifts to my hair.
He ruffles my hair, his fingers lingering in the strands like he’s reluctant to let go, like it hurts him to. Then he presses a soft and warm kiss to my forehead, and my breath evaporates.
Utterly oblivious to the havoc he just wreaked in me, he signs, Talk to him. I’ll be watching.
I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a brow. I give him a tight smile, then nod and turn back to Dario.
Dario’s smile is sweet and teasing as I lead him to a cushion. “Is he sulking?” he says aloud, nodding toward Giovanni. “Does he think I’ll steal you away?” He gasps dramatically. “Worse. He thinks I'll hurt you.”
I sign. Ignore him.
Dario’s grin fades slightly, and he begins to sign, his fingers taking on an urgent frenzy. I didn’t believe it when your father said you married Giovanni Renzetti. No tabloids carried the news, no whispers among the Mafia hierarchy, too. It's like it just happened. How?
Really, cugino? I joke. Why is it hard to comprehend? What, you thought I wasn’t in his league?
He laughs, shaking his head. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he says out loud.
I smile, reassuring him I was only teasing him.
His expression shifts to one of seriousness now. Why, Lili? Why him?
I hesitate. I think about lying. But I don't lie, especially to him. I decide to tell him the raw and unfiltered truth. Father owed him. Giovanni married me to clear the debt.
Dario’s face darkens. His gaze snaps to Giovanni, who’s neck-deep in conversation with Tomasso but he's casting a sideways glance at me. As if he's scared that if he looks away for one second, I'll vaporize into thin air.
Dario’s voice hardens. “That’s low, even for your father.”
I shrug. When Dario won't stop staring menacingly at Giovanni, I sign quickly, I’m happy here.
It’s half-true, but I don’t want him worrying. I shift the focus. Why are you here?
He shrugs, forcing a smile. “Can’t I visit my favorite cousin?”
I frown, signing. That’s not what I mean.
His eyes, tired and shadowed, betray him. Something is wrong, and he's not telling me.
What’s wrong? I press.
He sighs, scruffs a hand over his face. He doesn't just look dead on his ass, he's lost a good amount of weight.
“Long story. Would it be too much of a favour to ask your husband for a place to stay tonight?”
My stomach twists. Father won’t let you stay?
He nods. “Part of the long story.”
I glance at Giovanni, hesitating. I touch his arm. Wait here.
