Page 63 of Sinful Hearts
“They have food in hell?” I attempt to wrangle out of his hold.
This seems to be a common occurrence for us.
Maggie snickers behind me, and Emilio glares in her direction. She breaks into a full-blown laugh, as if wanting to push his buttons.
When he releases me, I rub at my wrist. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going so I can change?”
“L’ultima Cena.”
My jaw drops open. “The restaurant?”
“No, the fucking graveyard.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, the restaurant.”
“Then I definitely need to change.”
He checks his watchagain. “You have five minutes.”
“I need ten.”
“Seven.”
“Eight.” I walk past him, and he doesn’t try to grab me this time. “You should’ve given more notice.”
He rubs at his temples. “You were sleeping.”
I pause, wasting valuable get-ready minutes in favor of arguing. “You could’ve woken me up.”
“You make less trouble when you’re sleeping.”
I wait until I’m out of the kitchen and around the corner before mimicking him. “You make less trouble when you’re sleeping.”
Wait until he learns that I sleepwalk sometimes.
That’ll really throw him off his game.
As I trek up the stairs, I decide that’ll be my next excuse if he catches me running.
I change into a black maxi dress and tan wedges before fixing my hair into a half-up, half-down hairstyle and applying winged eyeliner and black mascara. It’s simple, but with my time constraint, it’ll do.
While I’ve heard of L’ultima Cena before, I’ve never been to the Italian restaurant.
Uncle Yaroslav said it was Mafia territory that we shouldn’t intrude on. He was certain they’d poison his pasta if we were to ever set foot inside. He also called the back private rooms slaughterhouses and said L’ultima Cena translates tothe last supper.
Let’s hope it won’t be mine.
Emilio is waiting for me at the base of the stairs when I come down. I hold back a grin as I watch his gaze travel down my body in appreciation. It gives me that same warm and fuzzy sensation I felt when thinking about him murdering the man who’d hurt me.
I hitch my black purse over my shoulder. “Bye, Maggie!”
“You two have fun!” she calls from the kitchen.
Emilio grunts at her last word.
I hold back the urge to mimic his grunt.
My husband wouldn’t know fun if it kicked him in the balls.
I follow him outside and block the sun from hitting me in the face as I walk toward the SUV.
