Page 77 of The Butcher's Wife

Normally, that would make me laugh, but right now, it’s taking everything in me to pass my phone back instead ofchucking it at Riccardo’s head. If she’s going to play hard to get, she’s going to find I play to win. I have my secret weapon in case our talk goes south—all wrapped up in that velvet box in my coat.

I turn back to Giovanni for the second round, and frown when I spot that too-perceptive look on his face. This fucker’s going to be a handful for us, I can tell.

The ref blows the whistle, and we break into our slow circling again. This time, each loop we make around the ring, I glance at Riccardo. After a few rotations, Giovanni seems to notice.

“We can end it here, if you want to be somewhere else,” he calls out to me in Italian.

I snap my attention to him. “No fucking?—”

Right as Giovanni swings at me, I dive.

Blinding pain sears my left eye and nose as he connects his fist with my face. For a moment, I’m dazed, stumbling back to defend myself, but he doesn’t press his advantage as the ref blows a whistle.

“No headshots!” someone from the crowd calls out.

I raise a hand. “My fault!”

Giovanni approaches me, and despite the headache pounding into my temple and the beginning of a black eye swelling my left eye shut, I meet his gaze.

“You good?” he asks.

You’re a good husband.

I grin and spit out a glob of blood. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He shakes his head. “You have other business to attend to. I can see it in your eyes.” He turns and walks to the refs.

After a moment, the MC calls out that Giovanni forfeited and I won, to the mixed reaction of the crowd.

I’m half-tempted to force him to finish out the fight, butfor once, I don’t feel like fighting anymore. I’m hungry. Tired. I miss my wife.

After I gather my coat and phone from Riccardo, I walk up to Giovanni, the crowd parting around me like the Red Sea. He turns to face me, about halfway through the process of buttoning up his eightieth shirt button.

I put out my hand, and he shakes it with a powerful grip.

“You want to spar when you’re in a better state of mind,” he says with a knowing glint to his eye. “Let me know.”

I grin. “Yeah, I will.”

The penthouse isdead silent as I step inside. I’m almost certain Eduardo was dozing off on the couch, but I don’t ride him about it when I send him away.

Feeling like complete shit, I make my way to the kitchen by muscle memory and the dim light of the skyscrapers through the windows. My fucking kidney hurts as I bend down to search the freezer for the old bag of peas I keep to give to the fish as treats sometimes.

I slap the bag on my brand-new black eye, courtesy of Giovanni.

I’m a colossal fucking idiot.

Now that I’ve had the fight driven out of me, I can admit it. She was right. Here I was, thinking I was doing her some great favor by helping her out with her pianist problem, and instead I made it worse for her.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her. Maybe she’ll let me stop by Neil’s place again and fix things, or make a generous donation to her and Valeria’s cause.

I drift out of the kitchen, still restless despite the fatigue settling into my limbs.

Normally, when I get home this late, I like to look out the windows—a whiskey in hand when it’s been an especially rough day—and think about nothing in particular. Tonight, it’s our little gun range that draws my eye.

She practiced more shooting after our argument, and she swept up the stray bullets after—Eduardo sure as hell didn’t do it. She did well in the gym this morning before our fight, pushing herself hard to run sprints, lift weights, and practice her first basic fighting drill—a simple shoulder roll that I had her repeat until her form started to get sloppy. She never once complained. She never complains.

I tap my finger against the velvet box in my pocket. I wish I could take Annetta out on dates, or that she had more need for things. All I can give her right now is myself, and even if I’m fucking great, I can only coast on her need for protection and sex for so long. Eventually, we’ll take care of the Chiarellis, and she won’t need protection. The Barbara twins have never lacked options when it came to sex. She already has status and money, and doesn’t care for it.