He gave me a very small smile. “I apologize,” he said formally.
“You can’t help my dress. Unless you move your hand to an inappropriately low level there is no way for you to reach fabric,” I said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.
The barest hint of amusement showed on Dante’s face. “If I do that, your husband will spill blood.”
I followed his gaze. Luca kept throwing possessive looks my way as he danced with Val. While Val had looked perfectly fine with Dante, she appeared absolutely tense in Luca’s hold.
“Val looked happier dancing with you,” I said with a smile. Dante’s fingers against my back tightened and his expression darkened. Possessive and dominant, not so different from Luca, when it came down to it.
Matteo took over from Luca and Dante released me. I declined a dance from an Outfit soldier with a quick excuse, not wanting to test Luca’s patience and needing something to drink and a break from the possessive dominance surrounding me, but then Val laughed loudly at something Matteo had said. They were dancing closer than was appropriate. Luca narrowed his eyes at his brother, but he wasn’t the one I was worried about. Dante had a look in his eyes I knew from Luca.
Ignoring my thirst, I hurried to the dance floor and stopped beside Matteo and Val. “Why don’t you dance with me now, Matteo?”
Val’s eyes moved from me to her husband and realization filled her face. She stepped back from Matteo, who sent her a grin before he gripped my hand and jerked me against him.
I gasped from the impact against his muscled chest. My indignant look only made him grin wider, and he pressed his palm without hesitation against my back. He and Gianna would kill each other, that was a given.
For Matteo everything was a game—he thrived on provocation and chaos. With anyone but him I would have worried about Luca’s reaction but since this was Matteo, I relaxed in his tight embrace and let him twirl us around the dance floor.
Gianna stood off to the side, a scowl on her face when Matteo winked at her in passing. I dug my nails into his shoulder, bringing his attention back to me. “Don’t hurt her.” It came out sharper than intended, almost an order.
Matteo’s face became guarded. “Or what?”
I squeezed his hand and softened my tone. “Or you will never win her over. She might act all strong, but she has grown up as sheltered as me. Please treat her with kindness.” This was Luca’s brother and I was well aware that kindness wasn’t his forte, but if Luca could be kind to me then I had to hope Matteo could do the same with Gianna.
“I have no intention of hurting Gianna unless she’s into that kind of kinky shit.”
I rolled my eyes at him but when he looked at Gianna again, I could tell that his gaze held a flicker of warmth. Hers didn’t. She looked like she would rather chop her hands off than marry him. It worried me.LUCAI rolled over and reached for Aria but touched an empty bedsheet. My eyes flew open and I sat up, looking toward the clock on the nightstand. It was only six thirty in the morning on a Sunday and we’d returned late from Chicago. Where was she? Why wasn’t she still asleep?
That I hadn’t even noticed her getting out of bed showed how deep my sleep was beside her. Fuck.
I swung my legs out of bed, staggered to my feet and reached for my Beretta and stuffed it into my sweatpants. When I stepped onto the first floor landing, the sound of Aria’s humming reached my ears. I went down the stairs and found Aria in our open kitchen, barefoot and dressed in her satin nightgown. The counters and the floor were covered with white powder and so was Aria, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
It smelled distinctly burned.
“What’s going on?”
Aria cried out and whirled around with a hand over her heart, her eyes wide. The tip of her nose and cheekbones were covered in white too, and my lips turned up at the sight.
A smile broke on her face. “I baked a cake for you.” She moved toward me. “Happy birthday, my love.”
Fuck, it was my birthday. I’d forgotten. I didn’t really celebrate that day. Aria stood on her tiptoes and I bent down, molding our lips together. I tasted flour on her lips—so that was the white powder. I pulled back, letting my eyes assess the mess. “I don’t want to sound cruel, but past experiences proved that you being in the kitchen isn’t a good idea.”
She pursed her lips. “I practiced with Marianna when you weren’t around.”
“You practiced?”
“I wanted your birthday cake to be perfect,” she said softly. I stared then raised my fingertips and brushed the flour off her cheeks. The spot on her nose would have to stay. She looked too fucking gorgeous for words. She stepped back, took mittens and opened the oven. The cake that she pulled out didn’t look half bad, even though it was on the dark side.