“You will paint this photograph at your earliest convenience.”
Her face morphed into an expression that I could not name. It was as though she was capable of feeling angered, humored, and disbelieved all at once. I found this to be intriguing, something that required closer study.
“And what will you do with it?” she asked, fighting my hold like a kitten.
My lips twitched. “Hang it in my office.”
“You’recrazy!”
“And you are an anomaly. That means you are exceptional.”
14
MILAN
Sicily was dancingin the passenger seat of my car because I had permitted her choice of music for three minutes total. She was singing quietly, spraying her pink perfume over her throat, brushing her hair, and attempting to apply lipstick in the small mirror.
There were blonde hairs trapped in the door handles, perfume spray stains all over my leather seats, and makeup scents instead of my expensive air freshener, but there was evidence of her happiness, and I found that I did not require her to stop.
Since spending time with her in the garage the week prior, I had silently sought out her presence. I had even watched those ridiculous movies she and Adriano enjoyed watching together just to be in the same room as her.
I could not think of the way I had held her in my garage. Not of the way she had allowed herself into my arms, not of the way she had touched my skin, and certainly not of how I had felt a stirring lust in my bones. It caused me to feel…shivery, hot, like I needed her to fix it.
I was becoming a fool, one that required his wife to study closely.
Today, we were meeting with the Ferraris at a restaurant that the Don, Davide, owned. This was crucial in solidifying their household under my rule as Capo dei Capi, so I did not believe the trip to be as exciting as Sicily did, but I had noted that her friendship with Elena Ferrari could have caused this excitement.
Sicily fished something long and black out of her bag, unscrewed it, and brought it to her eye before frowning. Adriano had watched her do the flick over her eyelid before and had explained the illogical concept to me. I did not understand how it could be healthy to put a stick near your eyeball until I noted its purpose, and I found it visually gratifying.
This activity required patience and steadiness, and the car was neither. Her hair got in the way, the car was too fast, and she kept huffing in signs of frustration.
I eased my foot off the accelerator slowly, ignoring the loud beeping from behind us, and reached one hand over to her hair to hold it away from her face. Her curls were smooth and glossy in my hand, and I resisted the urge to pull.
If the car were to speed up, causing me to pull hard and she accidentally ended up with her lips near mine, that would not technically be my fault. If she then felt obliged to touch my skin again, that would also not be my fault.
She smirked at me, but it soon turned into a smaller smile, a true display of happiness, and it softened my burning need. “You are going to cause traffic.”
“You are going to cause a makeup malfunction,” I countered.
“Touché,marito mio.”
Sicily applied the stick with precision. She was very efficient.“What do you think?”
I think you are extremely visually pleasing, and I do not wish to look away from your face.
The words clogged in my throat, leaving me with a simple, “That was well-achieved.”
I did not wish to look away from a lot more than just her face. Sicily had chosen to wear a tight pink dress with her back exposed. This caused me a new kind of malfunction, one that I did not want to rectify straight away.
I wascompromisedaround her, and this was suboptimal on serious levels.
Once we had arrived, I pulled the car into the nearest parking spot and threw myself out before she could say another word and infect my brain with her pleasing face. Adriano was already waiting by the restaurant’s doors, and I did not respond to his frown at my behavior. I simply pushed the doors open, deciding instantly that remaining in the car with a confused mental system was more enjoyable than sitting anywhere with the man who threw his arms around my neck.
Davide’s interests lay within loansharking, though his wife had enjoyed this restaurant while pregnant with their second child so much that he had purchased it as a gift for her and had designed it to be reminiscent of her childhood village in Italy. It consisted of red brick, fake green vines and plants, and black and white photographs of the true village. It was quaint and somewhat relaxing to the ordinary mind, I assumed, but I was far from relaxed.
My body stiffened upon Davide’s impact, jolting as if he had shot me through the stomach.
Hugging wasrevolting.
