Page 142 of The Viper's Wife

The look of fury in Ottavio’s eyes flashes in my mind. “And Giovanni?”

“He’s in a stable condition now. You don’t have to worry about him—he won’t hold a grudge unless he’s told to. Father wished us a happy marriage. We’re safe.”

I don’t believe him, and by the sound of his voice, he doesn’t believe it either, but I hold Nico close all the same. I’m terrified of what the future holds, but I don’t regret a thing either.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “I thought about you everyday. And I want you to know, I never touched Giorgia. I told her I was saving myself for marriage.”

“I don’t care about that,” I say, even as my heart balloons.

He places a kiss on top of my head. “I do. I don’t ever want to do anything to hurt you, Val.”

“I know you don’t,” I tell him and lift my face to kiss him back.

When he cups my face, kissing me and walking me backward into the apartment, the doubt and fear fade away.

For now, we have each other. And that’s enough.

30

NICO

“Repeat after me:If I betray my Family, may my soul burn in hell like this saint.”

I hold up a photo of Saint Michael, my trigger finger slick with blood, drops of it sliding down the image.

Salvatore’s face flares as he lights a match and tips it to the edge of the photo.

Saint Michael catches fire.

“If I betray my family,” I intone, “may my soul burn in hell like this saint.”

Rain dumpsonto the sidewalk around me, curtaining me off from the rest of the world.

A man holding an umbrella jogs across the street to me, stopping at my side. Water pools at our feet. Far away, thunder crashes.

“We got everything,” the man says.

My fingers are cold. Hot, fresh sandwiches are being delivered to Valeria soon, and if I’m fortunate, I’ll be able tomeet her home in time to eat dinner with her, though she hasn’t had much of an appetite this close to the wedding. She needs to eat. She needs to keep her strength up.

“Next time the pakhan needs a favor, let him know I’m hissoyuznik,” I say, using the Russian term for ally.

“He will be pleased to hear this,” the man assures me. “We will keep in touch.”

The man and I part ways.

The Russians have been understandably on edge. Salvatore told me Giovanni had been sending Stefano into their territory, fucking with shipments, threatening their families and businesses. And with the wave of Italians coming to celebrate Valeria’s and my wedding, the city is a massive pyre doused in gasoline.

But Stefano was sent away.

Giovanni is on bedrest.

And my father is in New York until the wedding.

Where strife is sowed, a man looks for allies. After liquidating the entirety of the Aceto fortune and gifting it to the pakhan—ensuring that Stefano won’t ever be able to access another penny—the Russian leader has found himself a new ally, and I’ve found another layer of protection to wrap around my wife and myself.

My father’s eyes, after I shot his right-hand man, burned with anger, but also something more.

Fear.