Page 145 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. “Mm, just full. I ate my body weight in pasta. And dessert,” she adds meaningfully.

I chuckle, remembering how she’d practically moaned over her linguine alle vongole, and then struggled to stifle her moans at said dessert. “You certainly indulged.”

“It was . . . torture.” A flare of heat burns in her green eyes no doubt remembering her silent orgasm.

“I enjoyed watching you,” I say.

“I bet you did.” Addy chuckles, and I can’t help the shit-eating grin on my face as we make our way inside, silently making it a point to do it again—and soon.

Addy immediately kicks off her flats as soon as we cross the threshold. I watch her walk barefoot across the hardwood floors, the short red dress she’d worn swishing around her thighs. Even after all this time, the sight of her in our home, so at ease, so . . . mine, does things to me.

“You’re staring,” she calls over her shoulder, a smile in her voice.

“Can you blame me?” I move to join her by the windows overlooking the shore. The last rays of sunlight dance across the water, and I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder.

She leans back into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine. “Do you really have to go to Philly tomorrow?”

I sigh, tightening my hold on her. “You know I do, amore. The leftovers and stragglers have gathered again. It’s time to put them away for good.”

“But does it have to be you?” She persists, turning in my arms to face me. “You have more than twenty soldiers under you, not to mention Capos. Why do you always do the heavy lifting?”

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing her cheekbones. “You lead from the front, tesoro. That’s how it’s done.”

Addy groans, but I can see the understanding in her eyes. “Besides,” I add, my voice dropping lower, “this is personal. You were married to him.”

It doesn’t get more fucking personal than that.

“Sean Hall is dead, baby,” Addy points out gently.

As if I need a reminder.

The mention of Hall’s name makes something twist in my gut. The image of Addy, my woman, saying vows to that motherfucker . . . it makes me see red. Those are words I want her to say to me, and only me. Vows I want to hear from her perfect, pouty lips more than anything in this world.

Yeah, I’m jealous. Sue me.

Addy must sense the shift in my mood because she rises on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips. “Hey,” she murmurs, “I’m here. With you. Always.”

I’m about to show her just how much I appreciate that fact when the crunch of tires on gravel catches my attention. Headlights sweep across the room as a car pulls up outside.

“Are we expecting company?” Addy asks, peering around me.

I shake my head, already reaching for the gun I keep in the entryway drawer. “Stay here,” I tell her, moving toward the door.

But as I take a look outside, I relax. It’s only Nico’s Lambo.

What the hell is he doing here without calling first?

I open the front door as Nico steps out of his car, the cool evening air rushing in. His face is unreadable, which immediately puts me on edge. Something’s up.

“Fratello,” I greet him, stepping aside to let him in. The familiar bergamot scent of his cologne mingles with the crisp breeze. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Nico’s eyes scan the room methodically, a habit ingrained from years of cautious living. His gaze lands on Addy, who’s hovering uncertainly by the windows, her silhouette framed by the last rays of the setting sun.

“Addy,” he sends her a warm smile, his usual stern demeanor softening slightly. “You look well.”

Addy’s hand instinctively moves to her barely visible baby bump. “Thanks, Nico. How’s Sophie?”

“Exhausted, cranky, and beautiful as ever,” Nico replies with a fond chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, as if remembering why he’s here, his expression sobers. He turns back to me. “We need to talk.”

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