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My anger reaches another level as I speed toward the car’s location. It’s parked at a strange angle, occupying half the street. I yank the door open to find her trembling behind the wheel, eyes wide with panic. My heart constricts so hard in my chest that it becomes a fucking raisin.
“I . . . I don’t know what happened . . .”
“Someone hacked the car. You’re safe now.”
I pull her into my chest and hold her, making sure she’s alright. I lift her, carrying her to my car, and send someone to pick up her Ferrari.
My men flinch when I pass by them with her in my arms.
They can shove their fucking sorrys somewhere else. If something had happened to her, I would have killed them. Still might.
Inside the bedroom, I undress her and lay her on the bed. I kiss down her neck, shoulder, collarbone, her chest, and her belly. “I’m so fucking sorry,cara.”
“Stay with me, don’t make me beg . . . a queen never has to beg her king.”
I love her so fucking much. Have loved her since the moment I saw her.
But if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t say that.
Chapter 33
Cato leaves, closing the door behind him, and there is this battle inside me. A rational part of me says this is his fucked-up way of pushing me away, and the other is despondent. No, I refuse to believe that we’re at the end. That look in his eyes reflected an even worse fear—the fear of something happening to me mixed with guilt.
We live in a dangerous world. He can’t get all soft on me. He can’t protect me from the realities of our world by thinking if he leaves, I can have a normal life. I was not meant to be born into a normal life. I was born as a mafia princess and became a mafia queen at his side. Normalcy was never in the cards for me. And I don’t want it either. Losing control over the car was scary, but nothing I can’t handle. And knowing Cato, he will annihilate the threat. There’s peace in that thought and also strength.
All my life I fought for the things I wanted—wildly, recklessly, desperately—and he’s worth the fight.
After a restless night, I get up. I lock myself in my studio, needing to put my energy into something creative.
I will build a life I’d never dreamed of having, was terrified of even contemplating it. But I have a man who loves me, who would sacrifice his happiness for my own. I found my place, my life goal, and nothing and no one will stop me from getting it. Inside my happy place, my heart beats a contented rhythm. Cato did this for me, believed in me, and supported me.
I ponder how to show my husband, my stubborn, beautiful monster, I am here for the long run, for as long as we will both live.
My jewelry has always reflected my mood, and as I look around, every piece is a part of me. I hope my clients will wear them with pride, knowing someone poured a part of themselves into them.
***
The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in oranges and deep violets. It’s time to put my plan in motion.
I step out of the walk-in closet, wearing a black satin mid-thigh dress and some of my jewelry—all red, like the lipstick I wear—and strap the knife against my thigh.
This is it. You can do this.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Cato leaning against the doorframe, taking me in with that look I love to see: hunger, desperation, sheer uncontainable love. I feel all that for him, too. We’re mad and made for each other. I sashay to him, my lips curling up in a mischievous grin, feeling emboldened. I plant my palms on his chest.
“Go greet our parents. I need one more minute.”
I walk toward his office, looking eye to eye with Slith before I bend to pick him up. He wraps himself around my arm. I inhale and exhale to calm my nerves, plastering a smile on my face as I walk down the stairs. Gasps resound, but I look at my husband, telling him to bring it on.I dare you!He shakes his head a fraction, rubbing his thumb against his lips that curl up in an incredulous smile.
“What is that?” my father shrieks.
“It’s Slith. Cato’s pet—well, ours.”
I approach our families, and everyone takes a step back. I place him down and Slith doesn’t move from my side as we’re in this together. My husband has a wary look on his face, pensive and fascinated at the same time. Good. I hope my face says ‘don’t mess with me.’
In the dining room, I take a seat next to Cato and grip his hand. I place it on my thigh and his eyes widen when he detects the knife. I lean into him.
“War or peace, husband. You pick. But if you open that mouth to say anything about a divorce, I will plunge it in your thigh.”
