My men sought my closeness, especially those who had never met me before. They had only ever talked about me, and now they could talk to me. I gave them what they were looking for. Talked, listened, clapped shoulders.

Mansueto, Underboss in Philadelphia, who supported his weight on a cane, approached me later, his son Cassio towering over him. I shook Mansueto’s hand then Cassio’s. “Your wife brings splendor and light to New York. In my almost seventy years I’ve never seen beauty like hers. Truce or not, you are blessed to have her in your bed.”

I tensed.

“Father,” Cassio said in warning, sending me an apologetic look.

Mansueto gave me a smile and nodded. “Protective as you should be. I’m an old man. Don’t mind me.”

I knew Aria was beautiful. Had she been born in the past she would have been queen, given to a king for her gorgeousness, and even now she was meant for the stage, meant to be admired by millions. She would be the wet dream of millions of teenage boys, would haunt the fantasies of millions of married men who couldn’t get off with the images of their own wives—if she weren’t my wife. But I was a possessive asshole, and that’s why she’d always only be mine. Every inch of her.

“I know today isn’t a good time but I need to discuss my succession with you,” Mansueto said.

Cassio’s mouth tightened. “You won’t die today, Father.”

“But maybe tomorrow,” Mansueto said.

I leveled my gaze on Cassio. “You will take over from your father.”

Cassio inclined his head. “If you give your assent. I am young.”

I smirked. “Not as young as I. The Famiglia needs young blood.” I turned to Mansueto. “No offense.”

“No offense taken. There are certain forces in the Famiglia that are holding us back. But I have faith that you will burn the problem by the roots.”

Mansueto’s gaze moved to the center of the hall where Giovanni had bled out. Nobody had come to his aid. “I will.”

ARIA

Romero and I had been driving around New York for close to two hours. I was starting to grow restless and Romero’s grip on the steering wheel tightened with every passing moment. This wasn’t a simple meeting of the Famiglia, or Luca wouldn’t have put these kinds of precautions in place. My eyes were drawn up to the Flatiron Building as we crept past it in traffic, trying to distract myself from my growing panic—in vain.

“Luca is strong, Aria,” Romero assured me again, but his words didn’t quiet my fears. He’d managed to dishevel his brown hair completely from running his hands through it so often, and his blatant sign of nerves made me all the more nervous in turn.

Two hours.

What if he didn’t return to me?

Romero’s mobile beeped and he pulled it out, eyes darting down to the screen before they returned to the windshield and the tension slipped off him. He smiled. “Everything’s fine. We can go home.”

I slumped in the seat, pressing a hand against my lips as I closed my eyes to fight tears of relief. When I opened them again, Romero was watching me with a hint of surprise, but then he turned back to the front.

“Why?” I asked quietly. “Why are you surprised?”

“Few thought you’d deal well being married to Luca. Many think you’ll celebrate his death,” he said carefully.

“And you what do you think?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Romero, I think I deserve the truth.”

“When I first saw you when you were only fifteen I felt pity for you. Don’t get me wrong. I respect Luca more than anyone else. He is my Capo, but I’ve fought at his side for years. I know what this life does to people, have seen what Salvatore Vitiello did to Luca and Matteo both. Luca was born and bred to be Capo.”

“I know what he is,” I said firmly. “And I love him.”

Romero gave me a small smile, brown eyes gentle. “I know. When you caught that bullet for him that became pretty clear, but it still surprises me sometimes.”

“Me too,” I admitted with a small laugh, because a few months ago I was still one of the people who thought becoming a young widow would be the best thing that could happen to me.

“He will do anything for you, you know that?”

I frowned. “Not if it hurts the Famiglia.”

Romero’s lips twisted in an ironic smile, but he didn’t say anything.

Darkness lurked in Luca’s eyes when he returned from the meeting with the Famiglia late in the afternoon. I was reading a travel magazine that featured the south of Italy on the couch in the living room but rushed toward him the second Romero disappeared in the elevator, threw my arms around his middle, and buried my face in his chest. I smelled blood, but beneath it lay Luca’s comforting musky scent. Luca held me for a few moments until I drew back to look at his face.

“Are you all right?” I asked him, my voice breathless.

He didn’t say anything, only stroked my hair. Smiling, I grabbed his hand and brought it to my lips, kissing his knuckles. When I pulled back I noticed the dried blood that had gathered in the fine lines between his fingers. I stiffened before I could control the reaction. I had seen blood before. On Luca’s shirts and body, and on every inch of the floor in the mansion after the Bratva attack, but this came unexpected.

Luca grimaced and pulled his hand away.

I searched his eyes. “What happened?” When it became clear that he was reluctant to tell me, I grabbed his hand again to show him that a bit of blood didn’t bother me and moved closer to him. “Please tell me. You can trust me.”

“I don’t want to sully you with the horrors of my life.”

“Your horrors don’t scare me. I’m here to help you deal with them.”

He didn’t look convinced but he answered nevertheless, “I had to make a bloody statement at the meeting today.”

“Bloody statement,” I echoed. I’d heard the term before. “You killed one of your soldiers?”

He raised his other hand and trailed it down my cheek to my throat, then over my shoulder. “So innocent,” he whispered darkly.

I pursed my lips. “Not that innocent anymore, thanks to you.” It was meant in a sexual way, meant to lighten the mood, but Luca nodded, eyes flickering with remorse.

“I still remember the first time I saw you. Fuck, you were a child.”

“I wasn’t that young, Luca,” I contradicted him. “And you are only five years older than me. You make it sound like you are an old creep.”

“Even on our wedding day you still had that childlike innocence. You had been sheltered, protected. You were pure and I was anything but. Perhaps I’m not that much older but I’ve done so much, seen so much.”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the things he’d done as a Made Man or as a sought-after bachelor. I knew he’d been with many women. One look at the press and that much became clear. And I wasn’t quite sure where he was going with his words. “You never seemed bothered by my lack of experience…”

“I’m not. You know how possessive I am. I would have had to kill every man you’d been with in the past, so it’s a good thing I’m the only one.”