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I stand there with my hammering pulse and a burning fury left behind by his taunt.

Who does he think he is, suggesting I’ll beg for him?

I’d rather scoop my brains out with a blunt toothpick than beg for this monster.

But I bite my tongue.

Because I have a plan.

I’m going to win the war.

15

DANTE

It’s done. I’m married.

The capos got what they wanted.

After witnessing the signing of the marriage certificate, everyone makes themselves scarce, leaving me alone with my bride.

She hasn’t moved since the ceremony ended.

She’s still standing in front of the windows overlooking the city like she’s waiting for the executioner.

I go to the bar, pour two drinks, and carry both glasses across the room.

When I hold out the glass, she takes it, and our fingers brush. She pulls her hand back so fast she nearly spills the drink.

“Relax,” I say.

“Nothing about this is relaxing.”

Which is a fair statement.

She takes a sip of her drink and coughs through the burn.

“What happens now?” she asks, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.

I take a step closer to her, and she steps back, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face.

No, not uncertainty.

Fear.

She thinks I’m going to touch her. She thinks this is the part where the monster collects.

She trembles, and her eyes flick around the room like she’s looking for something to arm herself with.

“I’m not having sex with you,” she says suddenly. “And if you try to force me, I’ll stab you with one of those knives you have in the kitchen.”

There is a little too much panic in her voice. Like she needs me to believe she will hurt me if I touch her. Like she has had to before.

She points across the room to the Wüsthof set on the kitchen counter, which was a gift from John Marco two Christmases ago.

I look at the knife block, then back at her. She’s a mere five-foot-two, and she just threatened to stab a six-foot-four man who once killed someone with a corkscrew.

“Which knife?” I ask.