Page 40 of The Sicilian Billionaire's Neglected Wife
Pure, molten rage poured through his veins as he took in the scene. Somebastardowith his hands on Sienah, trying to guide her toward the elevators. His wife, swaying on her feet, glassy-eyed and clearly drugged out of her mind. Her lipstick was smeared, a pink streak across her cheek like she’d tried to wipe her mouth and missed.
“I said,” his voice dropped to subzero, the same tone that made rival drivers move aside on the track, “get your hands off her.”
The man stepped back, hands raised. Up close, he reeked of knockoff cologne and bad decisions. “Hey, she was asking for company—”
Aivan’s fist clenched, knuckles going white. One hit. That’s all it would take to shatter this bastard’s jaw. His muscles coiled, ready to strike—
“Signore.” Eusebio’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “Allow us.”
His men appeared like shadows, flanking the predator. The scent of leather holsters and barely leashed violence filled the space.
“Bodily remove this piece of shit. Throw him out. Make sure he understands never to come near her again.”
As they dragged him away, Aivan caught his wife as she swayed toward him. She weighed nothing, bird-bones and designer dress, but she hit his chest like a wrecking ball.
“There you are.” Her words slurred together, breath sweet with champagne and something chemical. “Done with your interview? Did she show you both of them? They were very...prominent.”
His jaw clenched harder. “Eusebio. Report.”
The older man’s face was grim. “She approached several men at the bar, signore. Asking about...fidelity. Looking for someone ‘better’ than her husband.”
Several men. The words echoed in his skull like gunshots. His vision hazed red at the edges. She’d been talking to other men, looking for—
“I need a new husband.” Sienah tried to pull away but nearly fell, her heel catching on nothing. “A faithful one. Do you know any? Someone who won’t leave me for secretaries with big boobs and stolen money?”
What the hell was she talking about? He scooped her into his arms, her head lolling against his chest. She smelled wrong—bar smoke and fear-sweat overlaying her usual vanilla perfume.
“Put me down! I need to find a better man!”
“Like hell.”
His arms tightened around her possessively. The thought of her talking to other men, advertising herself as available, asking strangers about fidelity while drugged and vulnerable. It made him want to go back and break every bone in that predator’s body. Made him want to find every man she’d talked to and make them understand she was taken. Claimed. His.
“You can’t stop me,” she mumbled against his neck. “You’re too busy with Miss Exclusive and her exclusive exclusives.”
He carried her through the lobby, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. The night manager tried to approach, probably about the scene they were causing, but one look from Eusebio sent him scurrying back. She kept muttering against his neck, each word a hot brand on his skin.
“Told that nice man at the bar all about you,” she confided, her lips brushing his throat. “How you collect trophies but can’t say three words. He seemed shocked. Everyone’s shocked when I tell them Aivan Cannizzaro doesn’t know how to say he loves his wife.”
Each word was gasoline on the fire of his fury. She’d been telling strangers about their marriage. About him. Looking for someone else while he’d been—
“Going to find someone faithful,” she continued. “Someone who won’t make my mama cry. Won’t make me cry. Someone who smells like home instead of other women’s perfume.”
The elevator ride to their suite felt endless. Mirrors on every wall reflected her pale face, his murderous expression, the way she’d curled into him despite her words. She kept muttering about other men, about being abandoned, about her mother crying into vanilla-scented pillows. Each word made his hold on her tighten, made the possessive rage burn hotter.
In their room—temperature controlled, sterile as a hospital, nothing like the chaos in his chest—he laid her on the bed. The Egyptian cotton sheets seemed to swallow her whole. Got water from the mini-bar, the bottles sweating condensation in the climate-controlled air. Made her drink, though most of it dribbled down her chin.
Held her hair back when her body rejected everything, the sick splashing into pristine porcelain while she sobbed apologies. Her spine felt like a string of pearls under his hand, delicate and breakable.
Stayed beside her until she finally passed out, curled on her side like a child, one hand tucked under her cheek the way she always slept when she dreamed badly.
Then he sat in the chair beside the bed, leather creaking under his weight, watching her sleep and trying to make sense of the possessive rage still burning through him. The thought of her with another man—looking for another man, telling strangers she needed someone better—made him want to destroy things. Starting with every man who’d looked at her and ending with himself for caring so much.
Several men, Eusebio had said. His hands clenched into fists. How many had looked at her and thought she was available? How many had she touched while asking about fidelity? How many had heard her say she needed someone who could love her properly?
But why did it matter? This was a business arrangement. She was his wife on paper, in his bed, but not...
Not what?
