Page 188 of Vicious Intentions
“I’ll make you happy in this one. I promise you.”
Anna raises her head and places a tender kiss on my cheek. “You already have.”
I know she means it, but there’s still too much sadness in her voice for me to take any comfort in it.
We drive the rest of the way in silence, both troubled by our own thoughts. Unfortunately for me, when we finally get home, that happily-ever-after I promised my wife takes a serious detour.
“Glad you finally decided to show up,” Niccolò greets, arms crossed over his chest.
Instead of answering that poor greeting, I turn to my wife and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you go look for my mother in the kitchen? I’m sure she’s missed you terribly.” She nods, throwing a wary glance at Niccolò before bypassing him in search of my mother.
When she’s no longer in sight, I turn my attention to my pissed-off brother.
“I hope getting your dick wet was fucking worth it,” he says, but before I have time to set him straight about talking like that about my wife, he shoves a tablet in my hands. “These are the names of every soldier we lost while you were away. TheCosa Nostrais officially at war with the Outfit.”
“When?” I ask, my eyes scanning the tablet.
“Two days ago. They used the holiday to make their first attack,” he says, somberly. “And this arrived at Moretti’s this morning,” he says, pulling an envelope from his back pocket.
I rip the envelope open and find a small note addressed to me.
Return Annamaria home, and the lives of those you love will be spared.
Yours, however, will not. You forfeited it the moment you took our daughter.
Vincent Romano
And so it begins.
Chapter 42
Annamaria
For the past two months, New York has been a battleground. The news is flooded with reports of gunfire in the streets, of civilians caught in the crossfire, of bodies piling up in a war between mob-affiliated families fighting over territory.
The news is wrong though.
People aren’t dying because of a turf war. They’re dying because of me.
There’s a war outside these walls.But the real danger is in the way he looks at me, and how my heart always skips a beat.
I’ve never been a selfish person. I’ve never wanted someone else’s blood on my hands. However, ending this war would mean having to go back to Chicago. And I don’t want to. Not if it means leaving Matteo behind. New York is my home now. Matteo is my home. But if this war keeps escalating, soon there may be no home left for me to run off to.
These are the thoughts rummaging in my head as I glance at the bedside clock for the millionth time tonight. It’s well past three in the morning, and there’s still no news from my husband.I pace the room, arms wrapped tightly around myself, holding the pieces together before I fall apart. Every time Matteo leaves this house, a part of me breaks.
What if he doesn’t come back? What if someone shoots him? What if he dies?
I shake my head, forcing the horrid thoughts away. No. Matteo will come home to me. He always does. He has to.
Just as the thought settles in my chest, our bedroom door swings open behind me.
“Matteo!” A sob escapes me as I run to him, throwing my arms around his neck.
“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay.”
Still, he doesn’t sound okay. Not even close.
