Page 29 of Dragonfly

I run my finger along the hilt of my stiletto, drawing her attention to it, and trying like hell not to preen when she focuses on the way the muscles in my chest flex first.

“Let’s just say, you’re not the only one who knows how to wield a knife, ragna mia.”

I thought I would have to head upstairs to find Genevieve. Hoping that I’d put enough fear into Savannah to keep her from trying to leave the manor, I was prepared to take the stairs as quickly as I could without aggravating my stitches—but that wasn’t necessary.

Not when I find Gen in the hall, with her back to my door, forehead pressed to the wall opposite me.

When she was younger, my sister had a bad habit of putting her ear against my door, trying to listen to what I was doing. I know from experience that hormones are a bitch, and sex is a mystery when you’re a teenager.

I was twenty-five when I took her in to live with me after our dad was killed. She was only ten then. I didn’t think she had any idea what I was doing with the women I brought home, but once the thirteen-year-old smartass that she was asked me why she heard my date screaming my name the night before while we were eating breakfast, I found out I was wrong.

I also choked on my toast that day, but from that moment on, I refused to let any women come over when Gen was round. Eventually, it just became easier to have sex in a hotel, then head home when I was done. When I had a relationship, I would spend time at her place, but anyone who tried to get close to me had to deal with the fact that Genevieve will always be the most important woman in my life.

She’s grown up knowing that her big brother will always be there to protect her. And because I’ve been careful to shield her from both syndicate life and my sex life, it probably never dawned on her to knock on my closed door before she let herself into my room.

That was my mistake. So distracted by my new wife, I forgot to lock the door. I only have one on the inside—which isn’t helping me now that I have someone I’d like to see stay in there—but if I’d have turned the lock before I whipped out my cock, I wouldn’t be talking to the back of Gen’s blond head right now.

“Gen? Sorellina?” I ask, slipping into Italian. I don’t often do it because I’ve always felt like it made me a walking stereotype, the Italian gangster, but sometimes—like when I slipped and referred to Savannah as ‘my spider’—it just comes out. Like now, calling Genevieve my little sister. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. Just willing myself blind.”

Willing myself blind… I sigh. “Really? Because you decided to walk into my bedroom without knocking, it’s my fault that you?—”

“Saw my brother getting his dick sucked by some stranger? Yup. That’s your fault alright. What the fuck?—”

“Language,” I say mildly.

Without even turning around, my sweet sister flips me her middle finger.

“Genevieve…”

“What? In all the years I’ve been living under your roof, you never brought a woman back here. Not even when you were dating that golddigger, Damien. You spent the night at her house. How was I supposed to know you were busy?”

She’s not wrong.

Well, not about that.

“Besides, she’s not a stranger. She’s my wife.”

That gets her attention. Pushing away from the wall, she spins around, her eyes—light blue like mine—going fucking huge.

“Wife?” She folds in on herself, looking even smaller beneath the winter jacket she still has on. “What do you mean, wife? What… are you telling me that my brother… my only brother… had a serious relationship behind my back, then ran off and got married… and he never told me?”

“Genny—”

Suddenly, those baby blue eyes fill with tears. “I rarely get to leave the manor, and the one time I would’ve loved to… to see my big brother get married… and you kept that from me?”

If there’s one thing I can say about my sister, it’s that she got most of the emotions in the family. While I’m a stoic bastard most of the time when I’m not turning on the charm, she can turn on a dime.

I’m not surprised she’s hurt to think I hid something so significant from her. Mainly because she’s so used to being iced out on the day-to-day Family business, that she’s at least sure I’ll tell her about the things that truly matter.

Like, oh, being engaged.

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t know I was getting married until a few hours ago.”

“How does that make sense?”

Admittedly, it doesn’t. Not to anyone but me, that is.

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