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“And all six capos.”
A shudder passes down my spine. The fact that I like a man who represents everything I wanted to run away from is hard to accept. “Tore?”
“Yes?”
“How many people have you killed?” I whisper. “Personally.”
His finger moves under my chin and raises my head. Our eyes lock. “Do you really want me to answer that question, cara?”
I stare at those amber depths and feeling like the largest hypocrite on earth, I slowly shake my head. No, I don’t want to know. But not because I’m afraid it’ll make me like him less. It’s because I’m afraid I’ll like him the same, whatever the answer is.
Chapter 20
“This is hilarious,” Pippa says, looking back over her shoulder at Stefano and Vincenzo, who are trailing a few paces behind us. Two more bodyguards are following a little further back.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I sigh and turn to enter the next boutique.
“I feel like there should be a camera crew following us, as well.” She giggles. “Why would anyone need four bodyguards? You said your husband was a businessman, not the president.”
“He is a bit extreme.” I approach the dress rack and fish the phone out of my purse to call Salvatore.
“Milene.”
“About the dress for Rocco’s wedding. How about gray?” I ask, looking at a long and flowing gown. “Or should I go with something more colorful?”
“You can wear whatever you want, as long as it covers your ass.”
“Well, thank you, sugar pie, that was really helpful.” I snort and cut the line.
“You’re really into him,” Pippa comments, looking past me at the dress. “What was that, the third time you’ve called him since we started shopping?”
Actually, it was the fourth. I called him while she was in a restroom, as well.
It’s been two weeks since Salvatore asked me to call him whenever we’re not together. In the beginning, I wasn’t exactly punctual. He never commented on it or reprimanded me for being late with my “check-ins.” I think he was feeling bad for asking me to do it in the first place, but, every time I was late calling, I noticed a slight strain in his voice, as if he was on edge. After that, I decided to be more diligent with my communications.
“Yup.” I nod. “I really am.”
It’s the truth. Weird or not, I enjoy spending time with Salvatore. I don’t even mind his quirks. If there wasn’t his continued insistence that I do not work, I wouldn’t harbor any lingering resentment to the marriage, arranged or not.
“Shit,” I say as I’m taking the dress to the cash register. I think I’m falling for my husband.
After a quick coffee at the mall, we drop Pippa off at her place and head home. The car enters the garage, and while I’m taking my phone out to call Salvatore and tell him I’m back, the elevator doors open, and he steps out. As I’m reaching across the back seat to collect the shopping bags that are piled next to me, the door opens, and Salvatore slides in beside me.
“Out!” he barks at the driver and Stefano in the front seat.
As soon as they exit the car, he grabs me around the waist, pulls me onto his lap, and puts his nose in my hair. I try toturn my head, but he just tightens his grip around my middle, pressing me to his body.
“Four hours, Milene,” he whispers into my ear.
“I called you every hour.”
“I know.” He presses his face to my neck and inhales. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“A little?” I snort, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to his.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not really.” I shrug and kiss him. It should concern me. The thing is—I don’t mind Salvatore’s OCD behavior or his need to know where I am. I don’t mind calling him, either, even more than every hour if that’s what it takes to quell his anxiety. In fact, I kind of . . . like it. “You know, something came to my mind when Pippa and I passed a flower shop earlier.”
