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“Will I need a jacket?”
He sighs. “Yes.”
I turn away, grabbing a puffer jacket from the closet and throwing it on the bed with the rest of my clothes.
His lips move to speak, but I cut him off.
“I’m going to make coffee. Would you like some?”
“Please,” he answers quietly. “Bianca,” he calls as I make it to the door.
I pause but don’t turn around.
“As much as your torn-up wedding dress is a wonderful addition to our bedroom floor and obviously brings you a sense of pride at the tantrum you so effectively threw by tearing it into pieces, it makes a mockery of our union.”
My shoulders jolt with a snort of laughter. “It would seem it’s perfectly in place then.” I walk away without waiting for him to respond.
seven
We were on the road within half an hour.
We took his G63, the extravagance in the SUV a reminder of the fact that Cosa Nostra has more money than I could imagine.
“Nice car.”
He glances at me, reading the sarcasm in my voice with an impassive side-eye. “My father had money. I inherited well.”
“You and Berto.”
“And then I inherited from Roberto.”
“Convenient,” I snipe, regretting it the moment I say it.
He turns the radio up, ignoring my biting comment.
“Is it new?” I turn the radio down.
“No.” He turns it back up.
I turn it off. “It smells new.”
“I don’t drive it often.” He turns it back on.
“How wasteful,” I chide, but he ignores me.
We drive for hours. Vincent rejects every request I make to stop for food. My stomach growls angrily between us. I push a hand against the vocal organ, embarrassed at the ferocity of the sound.
“I need to pee.”
His eyes close in irritation. “Are you a toddler? You should’ve gone before we left.”
“I did.” I roll my eyes. “We’ve been driving forhours, Vincent. Please.”
“No.” He doesn’t even consider my request.
“You are such an asshole.”
“We can’t risk being seen,” he tells me quietly, stretching his neck back and forth. It cracks, and I frown.
