“Think what you want, but I’ve known him since we were kids.”
“You grew up together?” I ask.
Andrea nods. “He moved to Gela to live with his uncle.”
“After his parents were killed,” I finish.
Andrea glances at Benny losing the battle to peel the elder off him. “Turi doesn’t talk about them anymore. You’re special, B.”
Benny’s eyes lift toward the mirror, exactly where I’m standing.
He’s a walking contradiction molded in strong cheekbones and tousled hair. He’s arrogant and an asshole most days, but has his moments when he’s caring—loving, even.
Not loving.
Attentive.
Affectionate.
My feelings for Benny have changed, but I won’t put my heart on the line with my life. Who falls in love with their kidnapper?
Not me.
Chapter 32
Make Yourself at Home
Salvatore
“Someone made herself at home.” Andrea snickers into his coffee. “How’s having a roommate?”
“A fucking experience,” I mumble.
More deliveries arrived in the last hour than at any of my warehouses in a week. My house is off-limits to the outside world. Now, it’s full of boxes and random shit to fill a market.
Face creams.
Clothes.
Shoes.
“Is that another order?” Andrea lowers his sunglasses at a truck outside the gate and laughs at my groan. “Looks like you made a few concessions.”
I shake my head at the bundles of hair I found on Bianca’s bathroom sink. She traveled with six packs in her luggage and kicked me out for asking questions, in a rant about protective styles.
Bianca’s room is farthest from mine. She likely chose it out of spite when she first arrived, but she sleeps in my room, where she belongs. I’ll be damned if I’m paying a million for pussy thatstays in a separate bed. She tried slipping out last night, which ended with my dick on her breath and her head on my chest while we slept. My wife sleeps with me.
My wife.
She hasn’t stopped smiling at the citrus grove since her bare toes sank into the dirt. The grin pulling at her mouth is wider than the sun spilling over the mango trees below the hillside. Her braids spiral down her back as she tips her head toward the afternoon sky, heat seeping into her honey-brown skin in a blue-and-white sundress.
A breeze passes through the pergola’s crisscrossed beams where Andrea and I sit. The leaves on the mango trees flutter through the light wind to ruffle the edges of her hair.
Hearing Trouble’s voice deflate while talking to Stephanie about our marriage crawled under my skin. It’s a marriage of necessity to protect her, but I want her happy, like she is right now. Happy because of me. I never planned to wed for love since joining the Scilari, but I can make it good for her while she’s here.
One of my technicians shows Bianca a mango, like they’re not on every fucking tree.
“Quit growling at Raul.” Andrea laughs.
