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Before I could get any more irritated, I took myself upstairs to get myself dressed. A part of me wondered why the hell I bothered to get out of my pajamas at all, let alone put on makeup, and especially slipping heels on my feet. It wasn’t looking like I would be able to go anywhere for a good, long while. Maybe it was silly, but taking time to put myself together gave my days at least a little structure. If I got myself dressed for the day, then I had to get myself undressed later, taking off my makeup, getting into new pajamas. It would be too easy to fall into depression if I didn’t put a little effort in.
I went ahead and admitted to myself that I’d chosen a skintight wine-red sweater dress that dipped a little low in the bodice even if the skirt skimmed the middle of my calves simply because I wanted to look good in front of the woman who was okay with being a homewrecker.
I also slipped on the expensive gold earrings I’d bought on Primo’s dollar. I spritzed on my perfume, and even strapped on some heels.
By the time I’d finished, I could hear Primo’s voice on the floor below.
Reaching up, I mussed my hair, took one more look at my outfit, then made my way out of the bedroom, then down the stairs.
From the top landing, I could see Primo sitting on the couch in the living room. And despite all the cookware being all over the island in the kitchen, suggesting she hadn’t finished with the cabinets, where was Cassidy? Bending forward over the coffee table “dusting it off.” Which, last time I’d dusted it, didn’t require quite as much jiggling as she was doing.
I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness that was gripping my system right then, but righteous indignation at being disrespected in my own home.
I had to put up with a lot of shit from Primo.
But I would be damned if I put up with it from anyone else.
Primo’s gaze lifted at the sound of my heels on the steps. Even from across the room, I could see—hell, I could feel—his gaze moving over me, a slow and thorough once-over that only made its way back to my face when I made it to the bottom landing.
It was then that Cassidy went ahead and straightened as to not to so blatantly attempt to entice my husband right in front of me.
“Oh, you’re home,” I said, forcing a fake smile as I made my way across the living room, watching as Primo’s brows drew together in confusion since I’d done nothing but snarl and scowl at him since he’d told me about my new prison sentence. “I’m so disappointed I couldn’t come, but I understand you’re trying to keep me safe,” I said, walking right up to him, and dropping my ass into his lap.
“The fuck is this?” Primo whispered, but his arm immediately went around me, wrapping around my back with his hand settling at the very low part of my stomach as I leaned my side into his chest.
“Did you miss me?” I asked, tone full-on coquettish as I ran my fingers up and down his tie as I actually fluttered my lashes at him.
I won’t lie. I got more pleasure than I probably should have at the confusion on Primo’s face. What can I say? I had to get my kicks somewhere. And shocking a mafia boss was surprisingly entertaining.
I glanced back over Primo’s shoulder like I was noticing the mess in the kitchen for the first time, then rested my head on Primo’s shoulder as I looked over at Cassidy.
“Was there a problem with the cabinets, Candy?” I asked, deliberately screwing up her name. Because girls like her hated to be forgettable.
“Oh, ah, no. I was letting them dry,” she claimed, looking uncomfortable. “But, ah, they should be dry now,” she said, turning and rushing off.
It was right about then that Primo seemed to register what was going on.
An amused smile tugged at his lips.
“Jealous, baby?” he asked, brow quirking up.
“I thought we covered this,” I told him, tone icy again. “I better not have something to be jealous about. Or you won’t have to worry about outside threats on your life,” I told him as I sat up, but didn’t move off his lap because I really wanted to drive it home to Cassidy that Primo was mine and mine alone, even if I didn’t want him that way. Or, more accurately, I didn’t want to want him that way.
“Gave you my word on that,” he told me, voice firm.
“And yet I walk out to her shaking her tits at you,” I said, chin jerking up.
“I think I like possessiveness on you, lamb,” he said, eyes bright.
