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“You saw her?”
“Earlier today,” I confirm. “I think she was going on a walk with Isabella. Enzo, she… she doesn’t look well.”
He sighs. “I know. Losing her husband was a pretty big blow. I tried to help her, but she doesn’t trust me. She has a doctor come in to check up on her. I talked to him once and he told me she would get better eventually. I can’t interfere further than that. What did she say to you?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Liar. She probably talked about how much I didn’t deserve my position. Which is ridiculous because it’s my fucking birthright.” Enzo chuckles. “Her husband and his brother were never meant to be in charge. They didn’t have what it took and they paid for it.”
“Still, you can’t blame her for feeling the way she does,” I murmur. “You did have her husband killed.”
“He was dead anyway,” Enzo states. “All I did was speed up the process. If you ask me, I got him a merciful death. Knowing your brother, he would have been tortured for a long time before he was finally killed.”
I clench my jaw, trying hard not to think about his words.
“It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” Enzo questions.
There’s a small smirk on his face as he pushes off the wall and moves to stand in front of me. He’s still in his suit, although he has ditched the jacket. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up.I swallow softly when his arm reaches up and he gently runs his hand through my hair.
“We kill people,principessa, he says softly. “You were born into the Cosa Nostra. You should be used to it by now.”
I look him straight in the eye, “I’m not a murderer. And I’ll never be okay with what you do. The only thing I can do is ignore it.”
He smiles. “You’ll be ignoring it for the rest of your life, then. It’s a pity; I kind of wanted a wife who was a bit more… supportive.”
I glare at him and shift out of his grip. His hand closes up in a fist and he steps back toward the wall.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask him.
“Our kiss,” he replies bluntly.
His expression doesn’t so much as flicker. Meanwhile, my heart skips several beats.
“What about it?” I ask in the most normal voice I can muster.
“I realized we didn’t set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules,” I repeat dryly.
“Yeah. In case you didn’t notice, sweetheart, I thrive on control. I really fucking hate it when things throw me off. And our kiss last night…” he trails off. “I just want us to have a clear idea of where we stand.”
I hate the way he’s treating this. Clinical. Like a business arrangement. Which, at the end of the day, this whole thing actually is. A sham that I have to tie myself to forever. It slipped my mind for a minute. Anger flares in my chest.
I raise my chin as I stare at him. “You don’t have to worry about your precious control. And if it’s ground rules you want, here’s one: We won’t kiss again unless it’s in public in order to prove the legitimacy of our marriage. Apart from that, you can leave me the fuck alone.”
Heat flares in his eyes. “There’s no need to get mad, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come here for a fight.”
“I know. You came to establish your precious control. Don’t worry, I understand you perfectly. Anything else you’d like to talk about?”
I can tell he wants to say something else, but he seems to convince himself not to.
“You received an invitation to La Mirage in a few days, right?” he asks.
“Yes. Why?”
