“Yes!” I called back instantly. If Brenno did end my life, at least Matteo would find my body. “Yes, Matt, I’m here!”
Relief warmed the ice Brenno had turned my blood into, and I sagged against his hold on the door. Brenno let go instantly as Matteo rattled the lock, backing away toward the open window. His eyes pierced mine as he growled, “Wrong move, Mrs.Lucca.”
The door jolted again, the lock splintering to the floor with a clink, and Brenno used his final second with me to launch forward again. He slit the front of my bodysuit with the knife’s serrated edge, creating a channel that exposed my breasts and stomach beneath.
Matteo kicked the door, almost sending me flying, as Brenno rushed to the windowsill, grabbing onto the window frame as he threw himself out, just in time to not be seen. I scurried to it, watching him jump from balcony to balcony until he reached the ground and scuttled into the darkness.
“What the hell happened to your shirt?” Matteo frowned deeply, immediately shrugging off his gray sweater. “I couldn’t find your fucking sister.”
I thought about outing Brenno to Matteo, but Matteo would tell Milan—he would have to—and there was more that I needed to discover about the Luccas’ past.A war between Philly and New York was unlikely to shed any of the information I needed.
“I’ll find her.” I took Matteo’s sweater in my shuddering fingers. “Thank you for coming, Matt, really, I?—”
The floorboard creaked, and my head snapped to the doorway.
The doorway where my husband stood.
11
MILAN
ONE HOUR AGO
I wasunaware that a bath required two hours.
Adriano and I had spent one hour in the home conditioning unit, showered, and had managed to get an hour’s work completed in my office, but Sicily had still not emerged from her bathroom. I had not even heard the floor creak to indicate that she had not passed away in the bathtub.
It was not a requirement of mine, or hers, that I knew what her schedule was like, but logically, it was unacceptable for her to die in my household.
No more women would die under my roof.
“She has drowned,” I stated, shoving up from the desk to retrieve my wife’s dead body from the bathtub.
Adriano made that awful snorting sound.He leaned back in his chair beside me, yawning as he said plainly, “She’s a girl, Milano. They take their time.”
“I am aware. Sicily spends a godforsaken amount of time choosing between three pairs of pants that look the same, but what options of activities does she have in the bath?”
He shrugged. “Maybe she’s sleeping.” Then, he choked on a laugh. “Or…”
I frowned. “Or what?”
“I don’t know, Milan.” He smirked.
“Yes, you do.”
He continued laughing. “Maybe her activities involve something she’d rather not have you walk in on.”
I thought about this for a few moments before I understood. He was suggesting that my wife was masturbating in the bathtub. Not only did this sound incredibly impractical, but I also noted that if it took her over an hour, she may be struggling.
I experienced a flush of heat through my lower stomach and thighs as my brain involuntarily created the image of Sicily touching herself in the bathtub. That was unacceptable, and I mentally scolded myself to ensure it did not occur again.
Clearing my throat, I clasped my hands together, quickly removing them when Adriano raised a brow at me. “It does not take hours to reach an orgasm, Adriano.”
“Maybe it does for her,” he countered, setting his forehead onto the desk. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about your wife fucking herself. Just wait ten more minutes, then go see if she needs any help.”
His wink was unnecessary. I would not be assisting my wife with her orgasm.
My seat caught me as I sighed back into it and opened my emails. I had checked and responded to all my mail already, and I was aware that it was an attempt to stop thinking of Sicily. I was almost convinced that nothing would take my mind from her, but a new email appeared and everything inside of me silenced.
