Page 12 of The Mafioso’s Bride

In our world, a new wife routinely tests how far her husband’s generosity extends. Whatever she needs, I intend to provide. I’ll fill her closet, vanity, dresser, jewelry box, and anything else she requires.

Giada is still seated at the breakfast table when I return. I come up behind her and tap her upper arm to get her attention. Her whole body jerks so hard I take a step back.

“Sorry,” she says before I can speak. “I… I’m sorry.”

I take out my wallet and remove a black credit card. “Here.”

Her face screws up into a questioning frown. She stares at it.

“Take it,” I demand. “It’s for you.”

She holds out her hand, palm up. I place the card on it.

“There’s no spending limit. Buy whatever you want.”

Her thumb traces the numbers on the card. “Anything I want?”

“That's what I said.” I slip my wallet into my jacket.

She turns the card over. “All right.”

She really is beautiful. Her skin is dewy, glowing almost, and looks so soft and smooth with a faint pink tinge. I reach out to brush my fingertips across her cheek.

She flinches again, hard, yanking her face back.

What the hell?

“What was that? Do you find my touch vile?” I ask. “You recoil every time I touch you.”

“I…well… You…” She looks down at the floor, and a blush creeps over her cheeks.

“I what?” The accusation comes out too harsh.

“You didn't tell me you were going to.” She presses her thumb against the edge of the card in her hand. “Unexpected touch is…difficult for me. Startling.”

I picture her standing in lace last night, rigid and waiting. She locked every muscle in her body when I unzipped her dress.

“If I tell you first, you won't pull away?”

“It depends. A touch that skims my skin can also be difficult for me. Firm pressure is better.”

The answer carries no flirtation and no apology. She gives it to me as directly as she gave me facts about tardigrades.

“Fair enough.”

Her eyes rise from my tie to my face. “You aren't angry?”

“Of course not. Next time, I'll forewarn you.”

Her thumb keeps moving along the edge of the card while she searches my face, studying me as though this might be a trick. As though asking permission before touching her is unreasonable.

At last, she whispers, “Thank you.”

“Right. Well, if you need to go anywhere, take one of the guards,” I tell her. “Security needs to accompany you until I tell you otherwise.”

Until we deal with Rafinelli and Lombardi.

I leave Giada at the breakfast-room door with a limitless card in her hand and a spread of untouched food behind her and force myself toward the car.