Page 21 of Forsaking All Others

“Will you leave us now?” I suggested through gritted teeth and a fake smile that hurt my cheeks.

“No,” he said again, his mouth twitching slightly as I growled low in my throat. “I think I will stay and enjoy the party.”

“Oh goodie,” Katya muttered from down the table.

Lily and Gertie giggled.

The rest of my guests did not.

“Introduce me to your friends,” he demanded as he turned us to face the table and wrapped a heavy arm around my waist to anchor me to his side.

“Everyone, this is my husband Dario Ferretti,” I said with an anemic smile, holding myself stiffly in his embrace.

Bryson was the first to break the silence, standing up from his chair to my left and offering his hand to Dario.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you formally,” Bryson greeted as Dario clasped his hand. “I was beginning to think you were a figment of Fia’s imagination.”

Dario raised one slashing brow. “I’m sure you were,” he replied opaquely. “But I assure you, I am very much alive and well.”

“Yes, I think you demonstrated that for us very well just now,” Bryson said dryly, darting his gaze my way with a wry grin.

I pursed my lips to hide my amusement, because Bryson was right. Dario had effectively marked his territory and virility in front of everyone, including the handful of gorgeous and single men there.

“Good,” Dario replied, seemingly not at all embarrassed as he should have been but instead incredibly smug. “And how is it you know my wife?”

There was a distinct emphasis on my wife that could not be missed.

I pinched Dario’s side in an effort to get him to quit being such a primal bastardo, but he was unmoved.

“I’m your across-the-street neighbor,” Bryson explained. “Fia joins my girl, Maya, and I for our evening walk most days.”

“How quaint,” Dario drawled, but it sounded like a warning rumble. “It’s a shame Fiammetta will be busy in the coming weeks planning the Ferretti Corp.’s annual gala, and thus she won’t be able to accompany you anymore.”

“Yes,” Bryson said, his good nature failing in the face of Dario’s obvious rudeness. “It will be. She’ll be missed.”

“I’m sure I can find the time to do both,” I declared, because until this moment I had not even been aware there was an annual Ferretti Corp. gala.

Let alone that I would want to organize it.

“You’ll be very busy,” Dario argued. “In fact, it’s obvious I’ve left you to your own devices for too long if I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting all your wonderful friends yet. I intend to rectify that tonight.”

Down the table, Katya sighed dreamily.

Fuck.

I tried to avoid conversation about my husband at all costs.

This was because I was raised the daughter of a Sicilian mob boss, and therefore I knew the cardinal oath: Never draw attention to the Family.

It was also because I was, quite simply, embarrassed.

Though I had been prepared to marry at an early age my whole life, I had believed for two years that the man who would be my husband would be Niccolo. A man I loved. More than that, marrying early in Sicily was not at all unusual.

Not like it was in the States.

Here, it was not only strange I had been a twenty-year-old bride, let alone one married to a man in his thirties, but that it was obviously not a love match.

Of course, I never bad-mouthed Dario. I was too good an Italian girl to do something like that, even though part of me, a part that was growing more and more rebellious, ached to tell people the truth about his neglect and cruelty.