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“What the hell was that, Sandro?”

“Hello to you too, wife.” I didn’t pause and walked straight to her. I grabbed her by the elbows, hauled her against me, and slammed my mouth on hers in a quick but devouring kiss. Quick enough so she wouldn’t be able to bite off my tongue, but fierce enough to brand her as mine. I set her aside, and she speared me with a lethal glare and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her defiance was making me hard, but I was supposed to gain her cooperation, not further alienate her.

“I needed to make a few things clear with Miller.”

“Oh, that I’m your willing wife and not a captive?”

I prayed for patience. “No. That I’m a jealous son of a bitch and I will cut out his eyes if I catch him staring at you like a lovesick puppy.”

Sticks coughed a laugh, while Miller gave a strangled sound.

“That wasn’t how he was looking at me,” Bianca whispered.

“You have no idea about your effect on men, Sunlight.” Men like Miller, like me, had lurked in the dark for so long, we starved for the sun. Bianca’s light was forged in a morally gray world and still had the resilience to remain pure. “So Miller gets a pass. But I want to make it clear to Sticks.” I gave my head of security a look. “None of the men are to be in a room with you without him.”

“Because I’m immune to your charms,” Sticks deadpanned.

“Get out, both of you. I want to have dinner with my wife.”

“Oh, but I made enough for an army,” Bianca protested.

“Is the food ready?”

“Almost.”

“Then they can come back when it is.”

I stared pointedly at Sticks again and he took the hint and left the house with Miller.

I nodded to the minestrone soup. “Your husband is here. Aren’t you going to offer me a taste?”

Bianca huffed and spun away from me. “You are such a Neanderthal. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

She uncovered the pot and took a spoon to dip in the soup. She blew on it a bit before offering it up for a taste.

Her cheeks were flushed, probably from laboring over the hot stove, but I couldn’t help noticing her hitched breathing. Our eyes met, and as I lowered my head, her eyes dropped to where the spoon disappeared into my mouth. When she withdrew it, I licked one corner of my lips. “It’s as tasty as I remembered.”

The whole scenario was familiar but also different.

As if knowing where my thoughts went, she asked, “When was the last time you came to our house?”

“The one on Tenth Street or the De Lucci mansion?”

“Either, the last time.”

“Before Russia, Tenth Street.”

“My fifteenth birthday?”

“Yeah.”

Chapter

Eleven

Bianca