Calm down.
No need to get all hot and bothered.
He’s just a man . . .
An insanely hot one who touches—
“Everything okay over there, Viviana?” His voice cuts through the graphic image playing through my mind.
“What-what do you mean?” I croak.
“You’re staring, and you seem a bit flushed. Is something wrong?”
He gives me a look that I find strange. It’s almost wicked the way his lip curls up across the side of his face. It’s almost as if he knew I saw him pleasuring himself, but that’s not possible.
Or is it?
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, his smile spreading farther across his flawless face.
“Nothing.”
“It looks like you saw something.”
Shit.
No.
How could he know? How could he read me so thoroughly? Like an open book?
But it’s obvious.
By the way he stares at me, it’s so very obvious that he knows what I saw, and what’s more obvious is that he likes it.
I want to crawl into a hole.
However, since that’s not the kind of person I am, I throw my shoulders back, hold my head high, and school my features.
Then when I’m one hundred percent sure my façade is down, I make my way over to my chair. He stands, surprising me, and pulls it out for me.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he says as he sits in the chair directly in front of me, looking into my eyes as he speaks.
Francesca brings the food out. It’s as if they have surveillance cameras telling the staff when we are ready.
And that’s when it hits me.
They do.
There are probably cameras all over the house, and if that’s the case, he knows I saw him.
It had never dawned on me that that could be the case. Which, in hindsight, seems rather naïve, seeing as what he does for a living.
I can play this one of two ways. I can act like a child and hide in my room another day, or I can pretend I’m not bothered by it.
I choose option two.
“So, bringing up the elephant in the room . . .” I say, and his eyes go wide because he thinks I’m going to mention it.
“Where did you go when you left me in the city?”
“I had business to attend to.”
“Business so important that you cut our date short?”
“Unfortunately, Viviana, that will happen from time to time. I could apologize. I could lie to you and say it would never happen again, but that’s not the kind of man I am. It will happen again, probably more than you would like, but that’s what you signed on for when you decided to marry me.”
“Decided? As if I had a choice,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“There are always choices, Viviana. No matter what you think the consequences will be, there are always other options.” His words feel weighted as if he can see into the blackness of my soul, but he’s wrong. Sometimes, we have no choices. Sometimes, we have to do things we’re not proud of, and I’m sure Matteo, more than others, knows that.
“Have you never done something just because you had to?”
“Everything I’ve ever done is because I chose to. Every deal. Every death.”
The words he speaks leave me speechless. They make my tongue feel heavy. They make my heart hammer. He’s openly talking about his work, admitting he’s killed. I know it should make me scared, but for some reason, it does the opposite.
I don’t feel scared.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like there could be another way.
My husband could be the solution to all my problems.
But would he help me?
He already has.
Dinner is like the last few times. We speak of mundane topics, nothing important. At some point, we even talk about the weather, which seems ridiculous in the grand scheme, but what else are we supposed to talk about?
I’m not going to ask him if he’s put a hit on anybody, and I’m certainly not going to ask him whose blood was on his body. He’s not going to talk to me about my father, so we are resigned to speaking about the weather.
“The snow is really coming down.”
“It is.”
“I didn't expect it to happen so fast. Just the other day was cold but not like this.”
“They’re calling for a massive snowstorm.”
“Really?” I ask. I didn’t know that, but seeing as I don’t watch the news or read a newspaper here, I guess it makes sense I wouldn’t know.
“Yes, while you were sequestered in your room, it was all over the news.” There is a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“You watch the news?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You just don’t seem the type. I can't imagine you comfortable on a couch with a remote in your hand.”
“Truth?” He smirks.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t watch TV, nor did I watch the news. However, I have my men keep me apprised.”
That makes me smile. I wasn’t wrong about my assessment of him. I rarely am about people. It comes with the territory of growing up in a dangerous environment.