Page 42 of Vicious Secrets
After a half hour, the adrenaline in my system winds down, and a shiver runs down my spine. I flush when several chins turn in my direction.
“You stole the Boss’ chill,” the wife of the Boise Underboss, Leda, jokes.
I chuckle under my breath. “I doubt that.”
“We watched you chip the ice at your wedding.” Cirilla’s beaming smile highlights her rosy cheeks and doll-like features.
“And during Reg’s speech, Siro’s eyes kept twitching to the left. He really wanted to stare at you,” someone chimes in from behind me.
A wave of chuckles rolls through the room. I uncross and recross my legs. Covering up my embarrassment with a forced smile.
“After your wedding, Alic told me he’d never seen Siro smile before,” Cirilla snickers. “My brother looked like he was about to piss himself in fear when you smiled back.”
A hollowness in my chest brings up the urge to confess how fake those smiles are. The only real emotion we share with each other happens mid-orgasm or during conversations to settle disagreements. In general, showing the truth between us is rare.
The literal pain in my ass becomes obnoxious. So I excuse myself from the room and step into the wide hallway. The bodyguards of the other families mill about. Few of them pay me any mind as I pace about, stretching out my legs.
Fabi loiters at the top of the stairs, leaning against a column and keeping watch over the foyer.
“Spot anything interesting?” I ask as I take up residence against the banister and scan the floor below us.
“I think you should ask your husband on a date,” he says without looking at me.
I lean over the railing and scan the space below for any signs of what the hell triggered this topic. There is nothing but spotless light fixtures and bland tones of brown.
“So you can have a night off?” I ask slowly, trying to parse together Fabi’s logic.
“So you and Siro can have a night of normalcy before duty consumes your lives,” Fabi grunts. “Go out to dinner, go to a club, slut it up on the Strip, or whatever.”
I do not smell burnt toast, but I am having difficulty understanding speech.
“Can I quote you directly?”
Fabi clicks his tongue against his teeth and casts an unamused look in my direction.
I hold up my hands in defense. “Only asking ‘cause I can’t see Siro in a club or—what did you say, Fabi? Slutting it up?”
His eyebrows raise and then knit together. “Siro owns a pool club, three dance clubs, and three strip clubs.”
I jerk my head back and scoff to hide my surprise. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how little he shares with me. Siro probably thinks strippers bother me.”
Fabi leans around the column and checks our surroundings. He straightens up and says, “How are you two simultaneously so bad and so good at communicating with each other?”
I cross my arms over my chest. The bodyguard is right, and I fucking hate it. Of course, the man whose job it is to watch over us, who spends twelve-plus hours of the day in our penthouse and lives a floor below, picked up on the intricacies of our relationship. But none of the logic stops anger from drying my mouth or my stomach from tightening.
A door creaks open, and a flurry of male voices echo into the foyer. The Underbosses slowly appear in the foyer. Some climb the stairs and turn in the direction of the upstairs sitting room. Others talk in small groups. None of them notice my presence.
“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” I mumble and eye Fabi.
He shrugs. “Nah, meeting’s over. Siro got a clean sweep.”
I step closer to him and move my hands to warm my upper arms. “You and Siro expected dissenters?”
Fabi lets out a sigh. “That’s not a question for me, and you know it.”
Frowning, I fight to keep my eyes from rolling. “If I go downstairs, am I violating any rules?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t open closed doors. Avoid interrupting conversations, and you’ll be fine.”
