Page 20 of The Butcher's Wife

“N-no, sir.”

I strike into the car, clamp my hand around his neck, and squeeze.

“Then how the fuck you gonna watch my wife with your fucking nose in your phone?”

Mauro tolerates it for all of two seconds before he’s scrambling at my fingers, but even with his life literally in my hands, he’s not so stupid as to reach for his gun. When purple blotches start to color his face and therealpanic sets in, I toss his body to the side.

He hunches over, gasping for air.

“Next time I see you on that phone while you’re supposed to be watching my wife, I’ll shove it up your ass,” I say, without dropping my grin, and adding loud enough that he can hear me over his heaving. “And I mean thatliterally.”

Mauro catches his breath enough to choke out a “yes, sir.”

I leave the man to his job.

As I walk back to my car, I exhale, waiting for that familiar feeling of satisfaction to wash over me. Instead, I’m more pissed off than ever as I slam my car door shut.

6

DOM

I hadto stop for fast food, and after a week of eating dirt and gnawing on half-cooked venison, it’s doing a number on my intestines. The drive to Turi’s house is long enough that if I didn’t grabsomething, I’d complete my transformation into a giant, hungry, hairy man-beast. No one wants that.

Most of the usual vehicles are missing as I pull into the lot next to Turi’s house, which doesn’t bode well for the amount of work waiting for me. My boots crunch across the gravel as I approach the front door, and I wave at Eduardo, who has an AR-15 strapped to his back as he patrols the house perimeter.

“Hey, Dom! Where’s my deer? I’ve been going hungry over here,” he calls out over the dark lawn.

The image of my new wife with that hunk of raw venison in her bare hands flashes in my mind.

“Better not let Conchetta hear you say that!” I let out a slightly forced laugh and grab my dick, thrusting in his direction. “But don’t worry, buddy, I got a mouthful for you right here.”

Eduardo bursts into laughter as I enter the house.

I like Eduardo. He’s a simple, reliable man. If a joke involves farts or dicks, he’s going to laugh.

I follow my nose into the kitchen for a quick detour before I check in with Turi.

Conchetta, the tiny, ancient grandma Turi employs as his head chef, drops a ladle into a big soup pot with a splash when she sees me. Tonight, it’s just her and the other cook, Nola, which means the rest of the men must be out on the streets. Nola gives me a beaming smile and a friendly wave before returning to the huge bowl of garlic in front of her. Conchetta scurries down from the step stool she uses to reach the stove and darts over to me.

“Little Dom!” she says in Italian, even though she comes up to my nipples.

I lean over so she can pull me into a hug, and as I stand back up, she snipes a sharp pinch on my belly fat.

“You’ve lost weight,” she says in the same tone a parent would use to admonish their kid for getting a tattoo.

“Yeah, Mother Nature’s a cruel bitch sometimes.”

Conchetta swats me. “Language!”

I gesture to one of her huge pearl earrings. “You got a man, Conchetta? Or just one of your many admirers?”

She touches one of the earrings fondly. “A gift from Marisol. She’s a sweet girl.”

I glance over at Nola, who’s also sporting a new set of diamond earrings. Figures Turi’s foodie wife would set herself to bribing the kitchen staff. I can’t tell if I’m impressed or pissed I didn’t think of it first.

Conchetta waves me to the stools at the kitchen bar. After all that shit at dinner, my soul rests a little lighter knowing Aldo died in this very kitchen. Junior died in Turi’s basement, but sometimes in life, you gotta accept compromises.

“I made your favorite, fava bean soup,” she says, although she literally says that about every meal she cooks for me, and she’s never wrong. “Sit down, I’ll bring you a bowl.”