Page 127 of The Viper's Wife

“You want me to leave, take it up with your papà.” He relaxes into his seat and folds his arms over his belly, with the sort of reassurance that comes from having a higher power on your side.

My fingers itch for a knife. I scrub my hand over my jaw, pricking my palm with my short stubble.

This plane is probably crawling with my father’s men. There’s nowhere I could go where he wouldn’t follow.

“You want to keep your eyes in your head, keep your ugly fucking mug out of my sight.”

“You got it, boss.”

A sweet,balmy ocean breeze curls into the room as Valeria slips from the bed. She picks up the white robe I’d thrown to the floor hours before, slips into it, and steps outside onto the balcony.

I rest on my back for a while, watching her from under my eyelashes as she settles into the wide daybed facing the ocean. Fiery orange waves crash against the surf in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. A few stragglers stroll through the sand, soaking every last drop of golden sunlight before night falls.

We’ve fallen into an unspoken agreement not to talk about what comes next.

The threats on her life, moving to New York, becoming a don, my father. Instead, we talk about the sand in her bathing suit, the taste of yellowfin tuna, the scent of plumerias.

Valeria saves scraps of anything she can get her hands on—receipts, menus, and magazines—cheap memories to use for her collages later. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.

I should probably stop her. She doesn’t need to remember the good parts. She shouldn’t have anything that drags her back to me. But I don’t, because anything changes—if Father dies early—and I can be with her?

I would.

She sighs, the soft sound barely audible over the rolling surf. I stand and drift to her like she’s called my name.

Bamboo covers two walls of the balcony for privacy, creating the illusion that it’s just us and the open ocean.

Naked and unashamed, I lean against a wall. From this angle I can see her long, slender legs resting on the daybed, but only a sliver of her face.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask.

The curve of her cheek lifts.

“Waiting for you.” She tilts her head back, her dark eyes widening when she sees me unclothed.

“Well,” I say, enjoying the weight of her gaze on me, enjoying the game of reliving our first meeting like it’s a fresh start. “I’m here.”

She glances between my legs, a tiny smirk on the corner of her mouth. “You cold?”

My cock’s already growing long and thick under her attention. I palm myself, stroking once. “Do I look cold to you?”

Her smirk grows. “Maybe a little.”

I take two steps and ease myself onto the mattress next to her, fighting the stabbing pain in my side.

Her smirk dies, twisting into a grimace. I must not be hiding the pain as well as I think.

“Nico,” she says in a slow warning, like she’s going to mention any of the things we’ve been ignoring this trip.

I lean forward to kiss her. Her lips, pink and naked without her red warpaint, match mine, her mouth opening for my tongue. She hooks her thigh over mine, weaving our bodies together, and I suck on her lip, her tongue, before dropping my face to her neck to suck there too. She tastes like the ocean.

“I swear to god,” she gasps. “You better not leave any more hickeys.”

She’s right—I don’t need to leave any more marks. I drag my mouth away like I’m forcing myself away from a lifesaving breath.

Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are swollen and pink. My cock is leaving a mess on the daybed.

Her gaze flicks back and forth between mine.