“Red Sox,” I responded dryly.
“Boxers or briefs?”
“Commando,” I lied.
Her gaze dropped to my dick, only to look away a moment later and purse her lips. “This game is boring.”
Amusement filled me. This girl was fucking weird. And I was aware that’s why Salvatore had offered me a daughter in the first place. “Unfit,” he’d said about Elena. Unfit, my ass. Not a single man in the Cosa Nostra would turn Elena away because of her lack of virginity. Salvatore didn’t want to give up the favored Sweet Abelli, at least not to me. He probably thought he’d gotten one over on me.
I’d take the weird one. At least she would be entertaining. She was also the smartest choice. Who knew how many men Elena had been with? I was Don. If I married a woman who’d been fucked by a few others in the Cosa Nostra, it would look bad. And, honestly, I never was that great at sharing. I’d have to kill all of them and I already had enough on my plate.
Luca leaned against the wall by the open double doors, sharing a look with my cousin Ricardo who sat at the edge of the party quietly observing the scene. Luca held up two fingers, nodding toward the girls on the lawn. Ricardo shook his head. After a few more silent exchanges, they both nodded.
At least tonight seemed to be dull enough for bets on stupid croquet games rather than as eventful as it was last Sunday. I sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to ruin it by cracking skulls against doors.
I flicked a glance at Elena to find her gaze already on me. It was the same way she’d looked at me when she said, “You’ll get all wet.” I tried to ignore the heat running to my groin. The words had been innocent, the thought not crossing her mind that any man would let her get them as wet as she wanted. And not with fucking pool water either.
At first, I thought whoever nicknamed her had never even met her, but as I spent a little more time observing her it started to make sense. She looked tense when she stood up to me, like it was new for her, like she expected me to wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze. A thought I’d had, though probably in a different context.
The Sweet Abelli was trying to grow some wings.
Thank fuck.
Something in my chest rattled with satisfaction when she listened to me without hesitation. The hot-blooded male in me wondered how obedient she really was. And the Russo wanted to know how much she would let me get away with.
I had already touched her more than I should. Had only shared my cigarette with her just so I could see her lips where mine had been. I’d imagined those little pink fingernails around a specific part of my body, rather than holding a smoke.
I’d only touched the girl’s waist, and the warmth and softness of it was still burned into my palm.
The whole goddamn situation was fucking annoying.
The blond prick grabbed Elena by the arm as she walked past, pulling her in to say something in her ear. Animosity crawled through me. Leaning back in my chair, I rested my forearm on the table and away from my gun, because I had the sudden urge to shoot another man in the Abellis’ backyard. Elena’s papà glanced at the exchange, though hardly seemed concerned.
My tongue ran across my teeth, a deep, unsettling ache unfurling in my ribs.
Elena nodded tightly before the prick dropped his hand and let her go. She disappeared inside.
“What’s his name?” I asked Adriana, nodding toward the blond whose mere presence had become tiresome.
“Oscar Perry—no, Pretzel.” Her brows knitted. “No, that doesn’t sound right either. Oscar something. God, I’m hungry for pretzels now.”
“What does he do for your papà?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. Kind of a creep, though. He’s always all over Elena.”
I let out a dry breath. “Who isn’t?” They greeted her at church like she was Mother Mary.
“True, but she doesn’t care about any of them. My sister is in love.”
My gaze narrowed. “She’s what?”
?
?In love.”
Something dark and unwanted slithered through my veins.
Adriana’s wide eyes came to me like she just realized she’d said too much. She tipped her entire glass of wine back. I hadn’t even noticed her acquire another.