Page 106 of Handsome Devil

“No. Then again, I’ve never had to walk a day in your shoes.”

This simple acknowledgement encouraged me. Tate’s childhood seemed far from perfect, and I knew he had a humble beginning, but he never looked different.

“Diversity is not very common in your circles,” I said matter-of-factly.

“It’s becoming more common than you think. Even if it wasn’t, ignorance is a terrible reason not to do something.” He was quiet for a moment. “Besides, they’ll have you.”

“One person is not enough.”

“One person is more than enough, when it’s the right one.”

Liquid heat filled my chest, and something dangerously close to deep affection took over me. “I reckon any woman—anymother—of a child who is a person of color needs to come to terms with the fact that she must be a lioness. You have to advocate for them more, always have your finger on the pulse. I think, for a lot of children, evil is an abstract concept. But for children who must know history well, whose grandparents experienced atrocious inequalities, evil is just another facet of human nature. The world can be a very unkind place.”

“If the world is cruel to them,” he said wryly, finding my fingers across the seat, lacing them with his so I’d stop fumbling, “I will be crueler. You can quote me on that.”

Row and Cal were now talking animatedly between themselves, paying us no heed. I dropped my voice to a whisper, “Do you think if we had kids, you’d be able to love them?”

He considered my words. “If I could feel love…I think I’d love the hell out of our kids.”

The limo pulled in front of the hotel, and we poured out.

I shielded Gia until we were well inside the ballroom, not taking any chances. Vello was the boss. This Callaghan fuck would never dare touch one of his guests in his territory. Row and That Thing finally fucked off to the kitchens, and I was able to tap my numbers in my pocket, thusly calming my quick heart rate.

Gia and I were immediately surrounded by ass-kissers, wishing to congratulate us on our nuptials.

I let my wife do the talking. She was good at peopling. By contrast, I was good atunpeopling. This yin and yang situation reminded me that I needed to put a stop to the killing spree as soon as I was done avenging Daniel. This killing people shit was addictive. I half understood why Achilles, Luca, and Enzo were married to their jobs.

I still bathed in the aftermath of fucking Gia. I planned to do it at least until my dick fell off. I’d happily try to override the 98 percent effectiveness of birth control by constantly copulating.

Scanning the room for potential security breaches, my eyes landed on Achilles. He seemed in good spirits, joking and mingling with underbosses in the corner of the room. The hideous motherfucker should know better than to gloat. He was next in line, surely. Vello was going to marry all his deranged sons off before he picked a successor.

Speaking of the big boss, Vello stood a few feet away from his son with his wife, Chiara, by his side, chatting with President Wolfe Keaton and his wife, Francesca. Not only a president but plenty of senators, congresspeople, and billionaires rounded out the list of attendees. The turnout was impressive, and I barely stood out.

Francesca had a belly full of baby under her lacey dress, and Wolfe reached to splay his fingers over the bump, stroking it absentmindedly as he no doubt pretended to give a shit about whatever Vello had to say.

An internal fit of jealousy consumed me. What a fantastic way to trap a woman. Although by the shit-eating grin on Francesca’s face, I suspected she’d be with him even if she wasn’t knocked up.

Across the room stood Luca and a girl in her late teens. His expression suggested he was attending his own funeral. She held the grave expression of the coroner. Fuck, and I thought Gia and I had it rough.

Woodenly, the girl extended her slim wrist to well-wishers who wanted to see her ring. Showing theanello di fidanzamentowas big at Italian engagement parties. They didn’t exchange a word. I gave this thing between them one tax season. Tops.

“Wow,” my wife breathed out, “Francesca Keaton is stunning up close.”

Maybe she was. Sometime in the last few years, I had stopped paying attention to what women looked like. I just fucked the ones others deemed attractive while pining for my PA.

Gia and I grabbed our seating cards and approached our table. “Stay by my side, and don’t go anywhere without me.” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Callaghan won’t touch a hair on your head in this ballroom. Anywhere outside it is fair game, though.”

Her spine stiffened. My wife didn’t like to be told what to do. Especially when she had to live like a caged songbird because of my fuckups.

“Is he here?” she asked.

“No.”

My presence here was contingent on Callaghan being disinvited. Somehow the idea of sharing hors d’oeuvres with the asshole who wanted to kill me didn’t appeal to me.

We ended up sharing a table with hedge fund moguls and a congressman I’d seen frequenting the Forbidden Fruit Club. The club was owned by the Ferrantes and served as a high-end brothel during the daytime. My wife seemed determined not to speak to me more than absolutely necessary after I fucked her in front of our friends, and she instantly struck up a conversation with an elderly real estate developer.

Enzo slipped into the seat next to mine and started yapping happily. I tuned him out and found myself scanning the room again, looking for signs of Callaghan soldiers. I couldn’t find any, but I found Vello and his extended family, sitting at a never-ending table.