“Why?” Matt chuckled, trying and obviouslyfailingto focus on anyone other than Elena.
“He doesn’t like it when I talk. I don’t think he likes much.”
Matteo shrugged. “You do talk a lot,principessa.”
“Teo, that’s rude!” Elena smacked him in the chest, but he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips and peppering small kisses down her wrist until she yanked herself away, whispering something into his ear that looked as though it reminded him that they were supposed to be a secret. Matteo’s face paled, andhe swore under his breath, looking frantically behind him and over his shoulders.
He was a lovesick idiot.
I slapped a tense smile onto my face as Milan edged closer, so close that the heat of his cologne wafted toward us like a pre-warning to his appearance, but before he could get any closer, three men stepped into his path, all suited like he was, all similar in ways, and I watched his throat work in a deep swallow before he said a word.
That was a real reaction, not one made of cardboard and falseness.
That was either fear, history, or anger. Maybe all three.
“Who are they?” I whispered to Matteo.
Matt went to wrap an arm around Elena’s waist before clenching his eyes, jaw, and hands closed and grinding through his teeth, “The Feras. The tallest one, Brenno, is the Capo dei Capi of the Philadelphia mob—” Fiorella interrupted him with a harsh choke on her refilled glass, but he kept going anyway. “The middle one is his Consigliere, brother, and lawyer, Cesare. The little one, Ezio, he’s only twelve, but he’s still the Capo’s brother.”
I looked closer, noticing the few boyish features the shortest one still had, but it took me a while to find them. If their preteens looked that much like men in Philly, I wondered what the hell their training looked like.
The other brothers, Brenno and Cesare, had dark hair, and if it hadn’t been for the slight waves and loose curls in theirs, I would’ve found it almost identical to Milan’s.
“They’re brothers,” Matt said as if he could read my scrutiny.
“Brothers?”I echoed, my jaw gaping open. “Nobody mentioned Milan had brothers.”
“I don’t think many are brave enough to say it. Some shady shit happened, and nobody really knows what. One day they wereFamigliaand the next they were Feras and moved to?—"
I didn’t hear the end of Matteo’s sentence before I was stalking toward their conversation, desperate to figure out why my new husband was so shrouded in mystery. My pulse pounded in my ears, only growing louder by the time I reached them and realized that this was not a pleasant conversation between brothers.
Brenno, the eldest, the Capo dei Capi,couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. He looked the most like Milan, but there was still a hint of someone else that made me wonder if they were full brothers. He looked me up and down, but it wasn’t assessing like Milan’s gaze was now; Brenno’s was familiarity that hadn’t been earned butlearned.
“Well, well, well.” He chuckled darkly. “You must be the newest addition. Welcome to the family, Mrs.Lucca.”
I hadn’t realized how close I’d stood to Milan until my shoulder nudged into his side, and he planted his rough palm on my hip, tugging me closer until there was no room between us. It wasn’t a sign of a loving husband and his new wife, but ofownership.
A statement. A contract.
Still, I wasn’t sure I minded at that moment; Brenno Fera held the space around him as someone who thought they deserved it, and that was a dangerous ego for a man to have.
“Thank you,” I heard myself say. “And you are?”
Men like Brenno didn’t like to be made to feel unknown. In their minds, it translated to ‘I wasn’t brutal enough’ or ‘I didn’t sully this earth with my presence enough.’ It wasn’t a good idea to aggravate a man who held so much unsteady space, yet there was strength in being protected by Milan, even if he hadn’t done anything except hold onto me. I felt safe. I felt as if nobody couldtouch me, because ifhecould touch me, even though he’d made it evidently clear that he hated being around me, keeping me safe meant something to him.
Brenno smirked as he shared a look with his brother, the middle one, Cesare. It wasn’t indecipherable—in fact, all of their surprise and distaste decorated the air like sticky glitter, and I felt the urge to slap them both in one swoop as hard as I could.
Milan didn’t need protecting, but that look on his face, the one that hinted there was something about this conversation he didn’t like, that there was something about his brothers’ presence that waswrong,made me want to find out what else could pull the emotion out of him.
“Wow.” I sighed slowly to fill the silence. “That’s a great name. How about you?” I turned to the youngest one, Ezio, who, despite his height, looked more like a boy in his blue eyes than a man.
“Ezio,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sicily.”
He was genuine; I could tell from the way he took my hand, earnest and strong, but hesitant and held back. He was trying to be gentle. Perhaps Ezio hadn’t been corrupted by his brothers yet.
Milan’s grip tightened on my hip as Ezio let me go. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I doubted he would appreciate that in front of them, so I lifted my eyes to his, giving him a look that asked,Are you okay?but he merely frowned in confusion, his brow furrowing as he searched my face for the answer he was supposed to give.
Brenno cleared his throat, and my husband blinked back into the conversation. “Sicily, these are my brothers, Brenno, Cesare, and Ezio. They live in Philadelphia.”
