Page 76 of Bitter Poetry

My husband puts his knife and fork down.

“Report.” The snapped order is not directed at me, but I still jump.

So stupid, Carmela.

“A man approached her in the coffee shop,” Christian says. His tone is neutral. “He was being persistent. I took him out the back. She followed and saw me. She started hyperventilating. I either put my hands on her or let her hit the floor.”

This game I have just thrown myself and Christian into is possibly a deadly one.

I’m not usually this reckless, and I’ve no idea why I’m being so now

My husband nods. “Make sure she doesn’t see such unpleasantness again.” He smiles at me and reaches to squeeze my hand, which should be a comforting gesture but really is not.

“Yes, sir,” Christian says.

Ettore picks up his knife and fork and continues his dinner.

I do the same although I need to choke every mouthful down.

This can’t be it.

What did I expect?

CHRISTIAN

The rest of their dinner was very civilized on the surface after Carmela dropped her verbal bomb.

Bitch.I can’t believe she ratted me out to Ettore. Then again, what took her so long? She’s responsible for my brother’s exile. She probably gets off on wielding her power. She gets off on violence, that’s for sure.

I know Ettore. I’ve been his wife’s bodyguard when she needs to go somewhere and shadowing his enforcer for the rest of the time for long enough to anticipate his plays. So when I get the call to report to Bosco’s club where Ettore still has an office, I have a bad feeling it won’t be just a chat.

Jero is waiting for me at the entrance. He stares at me for a beat too long. “Keep your hands down and let it happen.”

The ants start crawling under my skin. “Right, got it,” I reply, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

His next look is indecipherable before he turns around. I fall into step beside him. When we reach the stairs, we head down, not up to where Ettore keeps his office.

Fucking great. At least he doesn’t stop at the medical room, so hopefully, I’m not about to lose a finger… or my left nut.

A laugh wants to bubble up. I shove it back down.

Jero stops at one of the doors, opens it, and shows me inside.

It’s empty except for Peter and his sidekick, Bo. The ceiling has a single strip light in the center, the floor is plain concrete, and the walls are dark gray.

Peter is Ettore’s head of security and is generally wherever his boss is. Bo is just another grunt like me and does what he’s told.

Peter and Bo give me the nod.

I nod back.

This is business, nothing personal.

Jero’s cell dings. He takes it out of his pocket and checks the screen before slipping it back. A few minutes later, the door opens, and Ettore enters.

He’s been alright to me. I’d say he even likes me in his own weird-as-shit way. But his hot younger wife just blithely announced that I’d put my hands on her, and he’s not the kind of man who will let that slide. He’s still wearing his suit, dark hair swept back—he looks exactly what he is: a wealthy don and a powerful man. The door shuts with a dull click. He walks over to stand in front of me.

I maintain eye contact even though the ants are marching up and down between my shoulder blades.