She stared at me with narrowed eyes until she realized I would stand here all night and shook her head, her swallow inaudible over the music.
“He has every right to blacklist your name, so nobody will want to marry you, and your father will be disgraced worse thanhe already is. Your husband could also hurt you, and there would be nothing I could do to stop him.”
“You’re Capo dei Capi,” she hissed. “You can do anything you want. Just change the rules!”
“I am trying, because I would not subject my wife to cruelty over the state of her virginity, but things take time, and you are of marriage age.” I stepped back, my eyes catching Oratio and forming the only idea that would protect Fiorella. “You will wed Oratio Gioffre, and you will do so within the year.”
Fiorella stayed silent as her jaw dropped open, and just like when her sister committed me to silence, it did not make me feel better.
“Now,” I bit out, not willing to hear her quiet protest any longer. “Where is Sicily?”
Before she could answer, Fiorella stormed toward the door, screaming something immature about hating me.
“Find her and return her to her father, Adriano,” I ordered my Consigliere. “She is drunk and angered, and I doubt the combination will have a positive outcome.”Once Adriano had left to follow Fiorella, I turned to Oratio, who was as white as my kitchen counters. “Where is my wife?” I shouted, cringing at my own volume.
“I don’t know! I thought I saw someone come in, but—that way.”
I followed Oratio’s pointed finger, taking the stairs two at a time. The first door at the top of the stairs was open, and I peered my head inside, not expecting to find Sicily, but Idid,and I could not make sense of what I was seeing.
Sicily’s body was…almostbare. Her shirt was sliced down the middle, and it was none other than Matteo Bonafede who was looking at her and assisting her with wearinghissweater.
Of course.
She had escaped our home to engage in sexual contact with the one man I had told her was off-limits. Sicily had asked me who was allowed, and I had not known what to say for the first time in my life, because although I did not want to have sex with her, I also did not want anyone else to, especially not that delinquent Bonafede.
I bit into my knuckle, my head shaking. I did not feel in control. I did not know this place with loud music and bright lights. My brain could not recognize Sicily as my wife any longer.
“Milan.” She shook her head. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“And what might that be, Sicily?” I spat, stepping inside and slamming the door that appeared to have been blown off its hinges. “Are you inebriated?”
She shook her head again, shrugging Matteo’s hands away from her arms, and tugging the sweater over her torso.
My chest rose and fell heavier. “You engaged in sexual intercourse withMatteo Bonafede, and you are not drunk?”
It was worse than her being drunk. There was no excuse other than her choice.
I could not delete this from my mind.
“Hold the fuck up.” Matteo laughed, but this did not appear to match the shocked expression on his face. “We’re not fucking?—”
Typically, I thought about every choice before I committed to it, but when it involved Matteo and Sicily, I appeared to lose all reasonable cognitive ability. My fists grabbed Matteo by the collar of his shirt and thrust him against the wall, hard enough to cause a framed photograph to fall.
Sicily screamed as I struck Bonafede, his nose cracking, his jaw spluttering blood over me. “Milan, stop!”
I ignored her, though I still registered her words and contemplated them for a brief second becauseshehad asked.
“He’s innocent!” she cried, hanging from my shoulder. “We’re not together!”
I turned to face her, leaving Matteo to slump onto the ground in a choking fit. “Do you expect me to believe those lies?”
She backed away as though afraid of me, and I did not know what to do or where to go. I had not given her any reason to believe that I would harm her, though perhaps she simply did not like the blood on my knuckles.
“They’re not lies,” she whispered desperately, her hands trembling beneath Matteo’s sweater. “I swear it, I promise, just—just please don’t hurt us.”
“You?” I questioned.
I did not hurt women. I had only broken the rule once, and I would not repeat it.
