Keeping his bride

Luca

B

ENITO COMES TO me later on that day with video footage on his phone of Verona and Dante in the kitchen together. When I see her go to him and wrap her arms around him, I’m so angry I can’t even speak.

“Do you think something is going on between the two of them?” Benito asks.

I watch closely as Verona pulls away from Dante and tries to play the whole thing off, looking nervous. “Not on her end. But him…” I study the forlorn look on his face when she walks away from him. “He’s in love with her. I knew it from day one. Hell, I knew it when we were all kids.”

Dante was probably never allowed to act upon his feelings at the Moretti household. Her father probably would have had his head on a stake.

But here…no, here he must feel safer. But if he thinks I’m going to allow him to try to steal my wife away from me in my own goddam house, he’s got another thing coming.

“Keep an eye on them,” I instruct Benito.

He nods in agreement. “I don’t trust Dante.”

“Me either.” I stare at the tiny screen, studying my wife floating around the kitchen, making the two of them lunch like they’re the ones who got married. “Before we went to war, the Morettis and Vitales were in business dealings together. Partners you could even say, although probably more out of convenience than by choice. Dante’s parents were traitors to the two families, and so they were killed for the insolence. For some fucked-up reason, the Morettis took in Dante, raised him as one of their own.”

“Do you think he harbors some ill will towards the families?” Benito asks.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Benito considers it for a second before nodding. “I wouldn’t be able to rest until they all suffered.”

“Which is why we can never trust him. Even if he was a child when it all happened, I don’t believe his thirst for revenge ever totally went away.” Maybe he’s planning on trying to take Verona away from me as part of his vengeance. Over my dead fucking body. “He can never be trusted.”

“Understood.”

Benito is halfway to the door when I call out to him,

“Thank you for the information.”

“Of course,” he says before leaving my office.

Benito is keeping a close eye on my wife. That’s a good thing, because right now I can hardly stand the sight of her. She is the daughter of my enemy; therefore, she is my enemy too. I will never be able to love her. Maybe one day I’ll be able to tolerate her presence, but it’s doubtful. All I feel towards my wife is hatred. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that her family was responsible for the murder of my mother. And so, for that, I will never be able to forgive their crimes.

Opening my laptop, I bring up the security camera footage from around the house and outside. I scan through the screens until I find Verona. She’s in the library, reading. Her long legs are crossed over the arm of the chair as she relaxes with a book in her hands.

My eyes skim over her legs, and I can’t help but think about this morning when she was in my office, bent over while I spanked her like the naughty, little girl she is.

I close my eyes, and I can still remember vividly how wet she grew between her legs when I spanked her. Fuck, that was so hot, and my dick jumps at the memory.

Growling, my eyes snap open, and I try to shake the dirty thoughts out of my head. I don’t need to be fantasizing about Verona. No, what I really need is a fucking release.

Scooping my phone from my desk, I enter my passcode and then find the number I’m looking for. It connects after two rings.

“Vitale, what’s up?” Marco asks on the other end.

“VIP, tomorrow night,” I request. Marco’s strip club is as classy as an establishment of that type can get. I’ve frequented it many nights with my team, and we’re always taken care of by Marco and his girls.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll make the appropriate accommodations for you and your guests.”

“Thank you, Marco,” I say before ending the call.

You know, they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to get Verona out of my system one way or another, even if it means cheating on my new bride.

VeronaText property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

T

HE NEXT MORNING, I wake up early again…but not to run the dishwasher this time. After the whole bubbles incident, as I’m calling it, I’m desperate to do better. If I’m going to be stuck in this marriage, I’m going to at least try to get along with my husband. And I want him to at least like me. Is that so hard to ask for?

And so, when I see Benito, Luca’s second in command, walking down the hall the next day, I corner him. Benito towers over me, and so I have to look up so far it almost hurts my neck. “Hi, could I, uh, talk to you for a second?” I ask, feeling intimidated by his size alone…not to mention the tattoos covering him almost head to toe or the way his presence alone is menacing.

“Sure,” he says in a gruff voice. He motions for us to enter a separate room, and he closes the door behind us. “What’s wrong?” he asks, already assuming the worst.

“What does Luca like to eat?” I blurt out. My question has Benito raising a dark eyebrow in confusion. “I mean, what’s his favorite food? I would like to cook for him,” I explain quickly.

“Ah,” he says, nodding in understanding. “Well, don’t tell him I told you this, but his favorite is his mother’s recipe for spaghetti. I could call Greta, one of the old cooks that used to work for his father, and get the recipe. I’m sure she would remember how to make it. She could help you over the phone, talk you through it.”

“Really? That would be wonderful,” I tell him, smiling widely and so happy by his response that I could hug him.

But I won’t.

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Benny!” I exclaim, blurting out the nickname without thinking.

He pauses for a moment and then a rare smile spreads across his face. “Benny? I like that,” he says with a dark chuckle.

I can’t help but smile as we leave the room and he leads the way into the kitchen, ordering the cooks to help me with cooking dinner tonight.

“We’re going out later,” Benito warns. Then, he quickly adds, “But I promise I’ll try to get Luca back in time for dinner.”

“That would be great. Thanks,” I tell him.

Benito calls Greta on the house phone, and I listen as the older woman rambles on in Italian to the new cooks. They write down every word and assure us that they have all the ingredients already to make it.

I’m so excited to cook for Luca that I’m practically bursting. I know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, or at least that’s what my mama always said. And lord knows I need some kind of miracle to weasel my way into my husband’s cold, dark heart.