Page 113 of The Viper's Wife

Cars spray through shallow puddles of rainwater on the road, their headlights glowing on the wet road. A man with headphones and a backpack stares oddly at the bouquet of tulips in my hand as we cross paths under a streetlamp.

It’s a pitiful assortment, but they were the best flowers the convenience store offered this late at night, and I liked catching Valeria secretly admiring the last bouquet I brought her.

Salvatore is still determined to haze me, not that I blame him or care, really. I could be shoveling shit all night, and so long as I can see Valeria’s red GPS dot at the apartment, I’ll do whatever my don asks of me.

As I turn toward our apartment building with my armful of magazines and tulips, an SUV pulls alongside. The driver’s window rolls down.

I keep walking.

“Get in,” Giovanni says.

I wring the tulip stems, imagining they’re his thick neck. “What about a pretty please?”

The car creeps forward to match my pace, his gaze fixed on me, until I come to a stop.

I hold up my things. “And what about these?”

“I will have somebody come and collect them.”

I set them on top of a barren planter. I better get this over with.

I get into the car, and Giovanni drives off. I imagine I catch a glimpse of Valeria in our dark apartment window before we drive around the street corner.

“We haven’t spoken in sometime,” he says. The car cabin is ice cold.

“I’ve missed you, too. My hearing is almost back to normal after the shooting.”

Giovanni doesn’t need to know that I suspect him of anything, but I can’t fucking help myself. He put my entire family at risk by coordinating that drive-by, and for what? A fuckingthreat? To make Valeria and me scared of the big, bad Russians? We’re already doing what Salvatore and my father asked of us and getting married. What more motivation do we need?

His hands tighten over the steering wheel in a little show of emotion. “We will kill those bastards,” he says in Italian.

I roll my eyes. If all of this is culminating in Father pushing me to kill the pakhan, he can answer my calls and tell me to do it himself.

I text Valeria, letting her know I won’t be home for a while longer, and I have a delivery on its way for her. It’s the middle of the night, so I don’t expect a response, but I watch the screen for a little longer anyway, just in case.

“Things are going well with Valeria?”

I stuff my phone into my pocket. “Peachy.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Thinking of what to get for the baby shower?”

“I am asking on your father’s behalf.”

“Let Father know she’s trying her best, but I keep begging to have her take my ass instead.”

“You need to figure this out soon. Your father isn’t going to let a wedding happen unless he knows she can give you an heir.”

Is that really what all this is about? Making sure he has a grandchild in the short time he has left? “Why does he care? He planning on kicking the bucket before then?”

Giovanni glances over at me. “So you know.”

I move the seat back and kick my feet up on the dashboard, grinding my boots into the leather. “Yeah, apparently everyone wants me in charge.” I shift to a casually light tone, inspecting my nails. “What do you think is gonna happen to you when they make me the boss?”

“I am not worried about myself. And your father is getting the best treatment possible. He still has plenty of time.”

“I wouldn’t know. He’s not answering my calls.”