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“Made it worse?” Dante’s jaw goes tight again.
“Cool it, Rocky, no need to go punching more made Russo men. He just told me I was too soft for a Russo man, that I’d get eaten alive.” Understanding moved over Dante’s face.
“He didn’t know who you were.”
“Nope. But I made sure he won’t forget who Delilah Antonia Carluccio-Russo is ever again,” I say with a small smile, and in a move so similar to his best friend, Dante looks at the ceiling, his lips moving but no sound coming out.
“You do that a lot, you know. Pray. Both of you, actually,” I say, looking at Marco who’s holding an ice pack to his jaw that I had Roddy bring in from the bar.
“I’m praying for the patience and energy I need to deal with your volatile ass.”
“My volatile ass?! You just punched my second for literally no reason.”
“Your second?”
“I’ve named Marco my first soldier.”
“I thought Marco was my man.”
“Turns out, Marco was a Russo first, sent to the Carluccios to keep an eye on you dipshits, make sure no one wanted to fuck with me.” I look at my husband who loves to fuck with me. “He didn’t do that part of his job too well.”
Dante stares at me, trying to process everything I just told him, his mouth open just a bit. He stares for nearly a minute, mouth opening and closing, trying to decide how to proceed before he shakes his head and waves his hands in front of him.
“You know what? Not touching this one right now. We can handle all of . . .” His hand waves at Marco in an all-consuming gesture. “ . . . that later. What did you do to the man who gave you shit?”
I smile.
I smile big and twirl a lock of my hair.
“I spit in his face.”
“You . . .” Dante closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You spit in his face?”
“My dad told me to.” Dante breathes deep before staring at me.
God, I love this.
This is so fucking fun.
Being queen is a goddamn blast.
Giving Dante regular heart attacks is fun.
“Lilah, sweetheart, your dad is dead,” he says in a slow, panicked way, like he’s afraid I might have forgotten or lost my mind.
“In a letter, honey. Arturo told me that any man who questions if I should be the boss of the family, I should spit in their faces.”
“I think . . . I think that he probably meant that metaphorically, baby.”
“Yeah, well, I took it literally.” I shrug and Dante slowly closes his eyes.
And with that, my second bursts into laughter and I do too, watching my husband shake his head at us like we’re both the most insane people on this planet.
But we’re his people, all the same.
ELEVEN
-Lilah-
