Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Thank you so much,” I said, giving him a big smile.
“Don’t mention it. And I may have… suggested to your husband that he might want to be home before morning tonight,” he added, handing me the bags, then turning to leave.
So then, I set my plan in motion.
To make my husband dinner.
Where I hoped we could actually sit and have a conversation, get to know each other. With our clothes on.
I didn’t cook often, much to the chagrin of my family, who claimed I was the best at it. Cooking kind of reminded me a lot of my mom, of those long afternoons and evenings in the kitchen, learning at her apron strings how to make all the recipes that went back generations in her family.
After her death, cooking usually filled me with a sense of grief and longing so thick you could slice it. And I didn’t like serving up my grief on a platter.
So I just… chose not to do it.
Tonight was different, though.
Tonight, I wanted to show off in front of my husband.
I wanted to watch him dig into a meal I’d painstakingly cooked.
I wanted to watch him enjoy it.
And maybe be pleased with it enough to actually… you know… come home for dinner sometimes.
With the food cooking, I set the table, pulling out the candleholders and pillars I’d asked Elian to pick up as well, before dressing myself in the nicest thing I’d brought with me from home—the simple black dress I bought to use for any ‘formal’ family gathering.
I never liked dressing up, always feeling that “nice” women’s clothing showed off too much—too much leg, back, or chest. Or it clung to every inch of the body, leaving nothing to the imagination.
And I just… never wanted to draw attention to myself, to be looked at that way. So I avoided it at all costs.
Now, though, for Renzo? A man who seemed to worship every inch of me, I was suddenly okay with it.
I slipped on the dress, then went back downstairs to finish cooking.
Then waited.
And waited.
And, you guessed it, waited.
Sometime much later, I heard voices in the hallway.
Several.
Too many to just be Renzo talking to the guard.
He was having people over.
Again.
Just… completely disregarding the suggestion from Elian.
Angry tears pricking my eyes, I jumped up, taking everything I’d cooked, and tossing it in the garbage, then turned, and ran up the stairs, taking myself across the catwalk and to one of the guest rooms just as the crowd moved into the apartment.
I wasn’t going to share a bed with him.
I wasn’t going to let him come in during the wee hours of the morning and reach for me.
Because I knew my traitorous body would give in.
I would let him touch me.
I would allow those gooey sex hormones to twist and warp my vision of my marriage yet again.
Maybe it was time to finally accept that this was never going to be the relationship my heart was aching for. That Renzo was never going to be the partner I wanted him to be.
And once I accepted that, I had to figure out how to hell to navigate a future where I wouldn’t have my own happily ever after like I read in all my books. Like I’d been dreaming about for years.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Renzo
“Should I be making some Bay Breezes for that lovely wife of yours?” Dav asked as I went to the bar to grab a drink.
“Ask her when you see her,” I said, surprised she hadn’t made an appearance yet. Everyone had been around for almost two hours already.
Maybe she was trying to work her nerve up or some shit.
“Whose face did you smash in?” I asked, walking up to another of my men, Cage.
Cage… had been a thorn in my fucking ass since I’d taken over for this family. The spoiled, bratty, entitled-ass son of a former capo. The second his old man went to prison, Cage had spiraled out of control. Drinking, drugging, making his older sister, Avery’s, life a living fucking hell.
Then he went and became my problem when he went around flaunting the Lombardi crime family connection while starting shit with the Irish mafia that was already giving me a goddamn headache.
Cage was single-handedly to blame for shit with the Costas almost going into a full-on war.
After I cleaned up his mess, I’d set my sights into cleaning him up.
So I dried him out.
Made him hit the gym.
I put him to work.
A chance to get his fucking shit together and grow the fuck up.
Since then, he’d been proving he was worth all the work by keeping the Irish mob in their place.
“Aidan,” he said, flexing his busted knuckles.
“Sure that fuck had it coming,” I said, thinking of the skinny redhead with an attitude problem.
“He did,” he agreed. “I hear my sister was here today.”