Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I cry forever, my tears soaking into his shirt. Safe. I feel safe with him in a way I’ve never felt with anyone. The realization settles deep in my bones, warm and wonderful all at once.
The sobs are finally spent. I am sure my eyes are swollen, my face is a mess, and I should be mortified by my involuntary ugly-cry on the second night of our marriage, but I look up at him anyway. Our gazes meet, and something melts inside my chest. He is suddenly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. His dark hair falls slightly across his forehead. The hard line of his jaw is softened with concern, and there is real warmth in his eyes. I’m struck dumb by it. My pulse flutters with nerves. Self-consciously, I push away gently, wiping at my cheeks.
He smiles. It’s just a quirk of his lips, but it’s real, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes. “Thank goodness I came home,” he says quietly. “I must make sure to come home early more often.”
I manage a shaky smile back, the warmth of it spreading through me despite the tears still drying on my skin.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, voice still a little hoarse but steadier now. I need to do something normal, something useful. “I can make you something.”
He smiles, small and real, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes and softens every sharp line of his face. “Let me feed you instead,” he says, his voice low and deep. “You must try my famous grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
I feel a flash of sadness. Grilled cheese and tomato soup is the kind of simple, comforting meal a kid with almost nothing would learn to make perfectly. Something hot and filling that tastes like home even when you have none. The thought of the new Don of the Greco house of crime offering to cook something so ordinary and personal for me makes a strange sensation bloom in my chest.
“Do you need a second Chef’s services?” I ask.
He nods gravely. “Yes… but first, we need to source the ingredients. A trip to the store is in order.”
I can tell he wants to distract me, to gently pull me out of the storm clouds around me. He’s trying to give me something normal to do, and I’m so moved by it I can barely speak. Grocery shopping. With him. The idea feels so ordinary and strangely intimate at the same time that my chest aches with a sweet kind of warmth. I can’t even believe this is my life now.
I nod immediately. “Do you want me to check what we already have? The fridge is pretty stocked…”
“No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “The woman who stocks my fridge and pantry knows nothing about the kind of cuisine I’m talking about. We need to buy poor people’s food for my dish.” He pauses, then adds with a small, almost boyish smile, “Besides, I haven’t been to the store in years.”
“Me too,” I admit, the confession slipping out soft and honest.
His smile deepens, eyes warm on mine, the whiskey gold catching the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. “Then this will be the perfect date for us.”
The words settle over me like a soft blanket, simple and sweet. I feel my cheeks warm as a flush creeps up my neck, but I don’t look away. For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to hide.
Chapter Thirty-Five
RICCI
Grocery store? Date?
The foreign and ridiculous words hang in the air between us. Me — Ricci Santori — offering to take her to the store as if we’re normal people. Like I haven’t spent the last decade clawing my way up the ladder, spilling blood and piling up dead bodies. Like I deserve to do something as simple as push a cart down an aisle and pick out bread with her.
I almost take it back. The instinct is right there on my tongue. But then I see the light in her eyes and that small, surprised spark that cuts through my doubts. I decide against it. It’s worth it. For that one look alone. It’s worth it.
Why shouldn’t I fucking walk down a supermarket aisle with her?
I’ve never lived a normal life. Not once. Not as a kid getting beaten by the uncle who was supposed to protect me, not on the streets, not even after I tricked my way into Salvatore’s world. Normal was always something other people got. But right now, with Viola standing in front of me looking like she might actually give me that thing that was never mine. Something ordinary. God, how I want it. I want this tiny piece of normal so much it hurts.
But it feels strange as hell when we head out together.