“No. This is.” He turned his other hand where a small scar marred his palm. “That,” he said with a nod toward the scar I was still touching. “…happened in a fight. I had to stave off a knife attack with my hand.”

I wanted to ask him about the first time he killed a man, but he curled his fingers around my wrist and led me toward the bed. My throat became too tight for words when he sat on the mattress and pulled me between his legs. I tried to relax into his kiss and when he made no move to take things further I actually felt the tension slip away and began to enjoy his experienced mouth, but then he lay back and pulled me onto the bed with him.

His kisses became more forceful and I could feel his erection pressed up against my thigh. Still I didn’t pull back. I could do this. I knew it was coming. His hand cupped my breast and I stiffened despite my best intentions not to. He didn’t remove it, but didn’t move it either. His kisses made thinking difficult. Would it really be so bad to sleep with Luca? He drew back a couple of inches and trailed kisses toward my ear. “I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman as much as I want to fuck you right now.”

I froze. His words made me feel cheap. He was my husband and he had a right to my body, if you asked anyone in our family anyway, but I deserved better than that. I didn’t want to be fucked like he was used to doing with other women. I was his wife. I wanted more. I turned my head and pushed my palms against his chest. After a moment, he relented.

“I don’t want this,” I said, not bothering to hide my disgust from him.

I didn’t look at him but I could practically feel his frustration. What did he think? That I would suddenly feel comfortable enough to sleep with him because he’d taken me out for dinner once? Was that how it worked with his other girls? For a long time he did nothing but stare at me, then he untangled himself from me.

He shut off the light without a word and lied on his side of the bed. I wished he’d at least hold me. This was my first night so far away from my family. It would have been nice if he’d at least comforted me, but I didn’t ask him to. Instead I pulled the covers up and closed my eyes.

***

When I woke the next morning, Luca was gone. There was no note, not even a text on my phone. He was really pissed. I shoved my blankets off. Bastard. He knew I didn’t know anyone in New York and yet he didn’t care. I grabbed my laptop and opened my email account. Gianna had already sent me three new emails. The last one was almost threatening. I picked up the phone. Only hearing her voice was enough to make me feel better. I didn’t need Luca or anyone else, as long as I had Gianna.

The scent of coffee and something sweeter eventually drew me out of the bedroom and downstairs. Pans were clanking in the kitchen and as I turned the corner, I found a small, plump woman who looked old enough to be my Grandma at the stove, making pancakes. Her dark grey hair was secured with a hairnet. Romero was perched on a stool at the bar attached to the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in front of him. He turned when I approached, his eyes taking in my nightgown before jerking his head away. Really?

The woman turned and smiled kindly. “You must be Aria. I’m Marianna.”

I walked up to her to shake her hand but she pulled me into a hug, pressing me against her ample chest. “You are a beauty, bambina. No wonder Luca is smitten with you.”

I swallowed a snide comment. “That smells delicious.”

“Sit. Breakfast is ready in a couple of minutes. It’s enough for Romero and you.”

I sat beside Romero on a stool. He was still pointedly looking the other direction. “What’s your problem? I’m not naked,” I said when I couldn’t take it anymore.

Marianna laughed. “The boy is worried Luca finds out he ogled his girl.”

I shook my head, annoyed. If Romero insisted on being a coward, he’d have to eat with closed eyes. I wasn’t putting a bathrobe on because I needed a bodyguard in my own home.

***

I was already dozing off when Luca came home that night. While he’d spent his day outside doing God knows what I was a prisoner in this stupid penthouse. The only people who kept me company were Marianna and Romero, but she’d left after preparing dinner and Romero wasn’t exactly the most communicative company. I watched as Luca emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered. He barely acknowledged me. Did he think I cared? When he lied down beside me and extinguished the lights, I said into the darkness. “Can I walk through the city tomorrow?”

“As long as you take Romero with you,” was his short reply.

I swallowed my hurt and frustration. When he’d taken me to his favorite restaurant I’d thought he’d try to make this marriage work but it had only been a ploy to get me into bed. And now he punished me with the silent treatment.

But I didn’t need him, never would. I drifted off to the sound of his rhythmic breathing.

I awoke in the middle of the night from a nightmare. Luca’s arm was wrapped around me, my body spooned by his. I could have pulled away, but his closeness felt too good. A part of me still wanted this marriage to work.

***

I missed Gianna and Lily so much, it was almost a physical thing.

Romero tried to be invisible but he was always there. “Do you want to go shopping?”

I almost laughed. Did he think shopping made everything better? Maybe that worked for some people, but definitely not for me. “No, but I’d like to grab something to eat. Gianna sent me an email with a few restaurants she wants to try when she visits. I’d like to go to one of them today.”

Romero looked uncertain for an instant, and I exploded. “I asked Luca for permission a couple of nights ago, so you don’t have to worry. I’m allowed to leave this prison.”

He frowned. “I know. He told me.”

This was ridiculous. I left him standing in the middle of the living area and hurried up the stairs to the bedroom. I quickly changed into a nice summer dress and sandals, grabbed my bag and sunglasses before heading back down. Romero hadn’t moved from his spot. Why couldn’t he pretend he was something other than my bodyguard?

“Let’s go,” I ordered. If he wanted to act like my bodyguard, I’d treat him that way. Romero pulled a jacket over his shirt to hide his holster, then pushed the elevator button. We didn’t talk during the ride down. This was actually the first time I saw the lobby of the apartment building. It was sleek, black marble, modern art, white high gloss counter behind which a middle-aged receptionist in a black suit sat. He inclined his head toward Romero before his eyes zoomed in on me with obvious curiosity. “Good day, Mrs. Vitiello,” he said in an overly polite voice. I almost stumbled at hearing him call me that. It was easy to forget I wasn’t a Scuderi anymore. After all, my husband was never present.

I nodded in acknowledgement, then quickly rushed outside. Heat blasted against my body as I left the air-conditioned building. Summer in the city, nothing to be excited about. The smell of exhaust and garbage seemed to carry through the streets like fog. Romero was a step behind me and I wondered how he could bear the heat in his dress-up.

“I think we need to take a taxi,” I said, as I stepped toward the curb. Romero shook his head but I’d already raised my arm and a taxi swerved to the side and stopped beside me.