Page 174 of Vicious Intentions
“I’m not as talented as my mother.” I clear my throat, the topic of conversation doing very little to relax me. “But I know my way around a kitchen.”
What I don’t say is that I had to learn to cook if my brothers and I wanted to eat. Ginevra loved being the woman of the house, but such things were beneath her. She had staff to handlethe housework, including a private chef to cook all the family’s meals. But in her eyes, that didn’t include us. We weren’t family, so we were shit out of luck in that department. While my father, stepmother, and older brother ate like kings and queens in the dining room, I made grilled cheese sandwiches for Niccolò and Raffaele in the kitchen.
Very early on, I watched my mother cook during the summer months, memorizing everything she did so I’d know what to do when she wasn’t around. I took notes, paid attention, and on her good days, I would even try making a few dishes while she watched over me.
Maybe that’s why I always gravitated to that part of the house. Like my own mother, the kitchen was the only room I felt safe in. Ginevra would rather cut a limb than ever step inside one.
Perhaps that’s also the reason I became the man I am today. I didn’t wait for anyone to give me anything. I learned how to take care of things myself. Take care of mine when others refuse to.
Sensing I’m not in a talkative mood, we eat the rest of our meal in silence. After we finish lunch and I begin clearing the table, I feel Anna’s eyes on me, studying me. There’s an uneasiness in it.
“What would you like to do?” I ask, stacking the plates. “We could go into town or take a walk on the beach.”
“I’m actually a little tired,” she says softly. “I wouldn’t say no to a nap. Maybe out here by the pool? On one of the lounge chairs?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart. It’s your honeymoon, too.” The words come easily enough, but I don’t miss the way her gaze lingers on me a second too long, as if sensing my head is anywhere but our impromptu vacation.
Without further word, she heads upstairs to change into something cooler, and the second she leaves, my smile drops.
I need to get a fucking grip. I’m not acting like myself, and Anna’s noticing. The steady stream of incoming texts from Niccolò isn’t helping either. He’s pissed that I left. As he should be.
Going on a getaway while theCosa Nostrais on the brink of war with the Outfit isn’t exactly what a responsible boss would do. But I have other priorities. Priorities that Niccolò would never understand.
Maybe if my brother hadn’t sworn off women entirely, and every other matter where feelings are involved, he’d be more sensitive to my plight. But as it stands, Niccolò is the last person capable of comprehending what I’m going through.
After cleaning the kitchen, I grab a book and head out to the pool. Anna is already stretched out on a lounge chair beneath the shade, in a drop-dead gorgeous burgundy bikini, no less. The sight alone should put me in a better disposition, but before long, she falls asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my deepening frown.
I need to snap out of this. This trip was supposed to be about her. Instead, I’m drowning in memories that I thought I had purged out of my mind years ago.
When my suppressed rage starts to burn hotter than the sun above, I decide a cold shower might do me some good.
I press a soft kiss to my wife’s forehead before heading inside. But just as I’m about to leave, a somber thought hits me. What if she uses this moment to leave? What if she only went along with this idea of a honeymoon to lower my guard? And once I’m lulled into that false sense of security, that’s when she makes her escape?
The thought tightens something fierce in my chest, forcing me to hesitate, unable to move an inch, much less leave her out here alone.
No. If I want Anna to trust me, I have to trusther. Trust that, deep down, her love for me would never allow her to do something like that. Anna wants to be with me. She’s just having a hard time admitting it to herself.
Besides… I stole her once. I have no qualms about stealing her again. Even if I had to drag her back into my arms, kicking and screaming until it sinks into that pretty little head of hers that we’re in this for the long haul. Because Anna and I… we’re not temporary. We’re fucking forever.
Another glance at her sleeping face, peaceful and untouched by plaguing trauma, reminds me that a future with her will always outweigh whatever past I had to endure. However, as I head upstairs, passing the carefully curated images of the loving Donato family lining the staircase walls, my fury returns.
Their laughing faces.
Their joyful smiles.
Their polished lies.
By the time I reach our room, I’m wrath incarnate. I storm into the ensuite bathroom, strip off my clothes and step under the cold spray. Unfortunately, it does nothing to temper my anger about the past. My head is still a volatile mess when I finally give up and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. I walk back into the bedroom, reaching for a T-shirt in the drawer, when I hear a sharp gasp behind me.
Porca miseria.
I close my eyes for a moment, dreading what I’ll find when I turn around. My hands are fisted at my sides as I spin around and find my Anna standing there, her hands clasped over her mouth.
“Matteo…” she whispers, horror etched across her face as she takes me in.
However, it’s the moment the horrified look in her eyes fades into agony that really does a number on me. It hits me harder than anything else ever has. I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, even as something inside me coils tight.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “Just let me get dressed.”
