Brenno and Milan looked virtually the same, but the eldest Fera brother had a permanent darkness in his eyes that Milan only got when he was faced with his demons.
Or me.
I frowned, staring at this goddess who was far too good to be a fucking Fera’s wife. “You’re Brenno’s wife?”
She choked on nothing as she spluttered, “Oh, no. I would’ve killed myself by now if I was Brenno’s wife.” She stuck her handbetween us, taking mine before I had a chance to decide if I even wanted to be her acquaintance. “I’m Bella,Cesare’swife.”
Cesare seemed tamer than his brother. His dark wavy hair matched his, but his face was softer, more inquisitive perhaps. He still looked like he’d murder me if he had the chance, but he was kinder about it.
My heart lurched as I watched Milan and Adriano visibly sink into their skins as the Feras began to talk. Milan was uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that Adriano had his fingers firmly wrapped around his wrist.
Milan’s discomfort melted into me as if I was there, talking to these men in the flesh. I wanted to save him, to fix it, even though it wasn’t my place to care.
“Why are you here, Bella?” I asked firmly in a sudden flush of defensiveness and protectiveness over my husband, or rather, the boy that had somehow had his brothers taken.
She shuffled uncomfortably on her heels, closing her eyes as she said, “I’m sure it’s not just about the contract. I know Cesare misses Milan dearly and?—”
“What contract?”
Her gentle pupils flamed with an emotion I didn’t like.
A lump bulged in my throat as I repeated on a shaky breath, “What contract, Bella?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was about to say was silenced by a gasp and then a loud, piercing scream. My head spun to the sound, but my eyes caught onto the sight before I could understand what I was seeing.
Blood. So much blood.
MILAN
I required my wife.
I could not speak adequately without my wife.
My chest hurt without my wife.
Sicily was a necessary factor of my well-being, but I could not express this to her. I could not speak that need aloud to anyone. She did not feel the same way; she was getting drunk on shots of tequila and glaring at me.
She was problematic and chaotic, and her idea of the school had caused me significant internal malfunction, yet I was incredibly apologetic and would even assist her in her pursuit to fix the world with schools, women, tennis, and even painting sex if she so desired.
I wanted to gaze upon her, but I could not. Instead, I had to focus my attention on the nonsense Tommaso Bonafede was spouting beside his son about opening new casinos in Vegas, or rather, on the silent son who was attempting not to look over at Elena Ferrari.
My brain repeatedly informed me not to think about his appendage that my wife had painted an obscene amount of times in her studio, but it was an optimal distraction from giving in to the spell that Sicily had seemingly cast over me.
She was aesthetically flawless tonight, and I washere, staring at Matteo Bonafede instead of touching her soft skin and sparkly dress. That was unacceptable but essential, and it was beneficialthat Adriano was beside me, holding onto my wrist to stop my hands from subconsciously wringing.
He was grounding, but he was not who I required at that moment.
Before Tommaso could launch into another tirade about money and gambling, I noticed Elena slipping into the bathroom in the corner of my eye and interrupted, saying, “Matteo, some of our men are exceptionally, unacceptably inebriated. Please tend to them in the bathroom.”
Matteo narrowed his gaze on me, his brows furrowing before an understanding smirk twitched at his lips, but Tommaso grabbed his shoulders as he turned to leave, restraining him. “My son is not a fucking servant.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He is Matteo Bonafede, the only Made Man to have taken the oath before the age of fourteen, and a good friend of his drunken comrades.”
“It’s fine, Pa.” Matteo nodded, shrugging out of the Don’s grip. “We can’t have them stumbling home, hm?”
The moment Matteo left the conversation, he created a gap, a space that was instantly filled with three wide bodies that I did not want anywhere near my wife again.
My brothers.
