"I may have made a mistake, giving up my title of Capo. Not because it’s what I want, but now that Luca’s Capo, he feels like he gets to make decisions for the rest of us. It's why he's doing his best to control what happens with Elsa. It's why he’s so opposed to having Elsa stay with me."
"He’s watching out for you." Massimo’s lips quirk. "Sure, he has a pigheaded way of showing it, but underneath all that bluster, you know he’s loyal to us."
"That may be the only thing he has going for him." I rub the back of my neck. "Still, I can’t believe he insisted on Elsa moving back to her place, and then he put her under virtual house arrest."
"He did allow her to be with her daughter," Massimo points out. "And once he realized his mistake moved her back in to your home."
"It’s the only reason I haven’t taken a gun to thecoglione’shead." I turn and begin to walk toward my front door.
"He was only watching out for you. You can’t blame him for being careful."
"You, too?" I stiffen. "I thought you were in my corner."
"We’re all in your corner," he says in a low voice, "but you have to admit, the fact that she wasn’t shot, while everyone else on that patio was injured, is suspicious."
"I know how it looks, but I swear she isn’t guilty of what happened," I retort.
"I believe you..." He shuffles his feet. "But I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you to watch your back."
"She’s my wife." I glare at him. "Do you understand that?"
"And wives have killed their husband’s for less." He tilts his head. "I’m not saying she's responsible for what happened, but she admitted to colluding with her ex. Regardless of what you wish were the case, it doesn’t exactly exonerate her from what happened."
"The fact that she admitted to it should show that she’s ready to repent for what happened."
"And if you had died—?"
"I didn’t," I point out.
"What if she admitted to being guilty to lull us into complacency?"
I scowl. "You’re not going to stop until you hold her responsible for what happened, are you?"
"Not at all." He rolls his shoulders. "I want to believe her. If it turns out she really had no idea thatminchione,Fabio, would come after you, then no one will be happier than me."
"But—"
"But," he blows out a breath, "it still doesn’t negate the fact that she was in cahoots with her ex. I’m just not sure if she’s as innocent as she claims to be,fratello."
"And I have no doubt that there’s an honest explanation for everything." I set my lips.
"You’re her husband. Of course you believe her." His lips kick up. "I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you. All I am saying is, stay on guard."
The door to the house opens, and I turn toward it.
38
Elsa
I open the door and glance between the two men. Clearly, they’d been in the middle of an argument. No doubt, the argument had something to do with me, going by how both of them shut up and turn to me.
I take in Seb’s drawn features. There are hollows under his cheekbones. His usual bright, golden eyes are mired in pain. He’s wearing a shirt, which has been buttoned over his arm in a sling, and over that, a jacket with one sleeve hanging loose. He's wearing faded jeans that cling to his muscular thighs, and on his feet are worn boots. I’ve never seen Seb this casually dressed. Almost every other time I’ve seen him, he’s worn a suit and a tie. Today, he’s also unshaven. The scruff on his chin is, at least, a few days old. His hair is uncombed. I've never seen it this messy. The scar on his temple lends him an air of mystery.
Anger, and something else… Tension… Frustration, maybe? All of it vibrates off of him, so the air is thick with unspoken emotions. All in all, he looks like a dangerous criminal. Which is how he’d be viewed by some people, given what he does for a living. Somehow, I’ve never seen him that way, though. Right from the beginning, he’s always been Seb. It doesn’t matter that he’s part of theCosa Nostra, or that he’s one of the Sovranos, that his reputation precedes him in this city… He’s just someone I noticed and connected with. He and I may not have exactly hit it off in the beginning but I never could have ignored him. Not then; not now. Not when he looked like a model about to walk a Milan runway, and not now, when he looks like he’s going to star in the next instalment ofJohn Wick.
He rakes his gaze across my features, down my chest, my waist, my legs, before he raises his head and meets my gaze again. A frown mars his forehead.
"You look terrible," he says flatly.