Page 30 of His Queen

“Fucker had it coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Mirabella and this wedding she’s planning? When it comes to this family, I need to know everything.”

“I have it handled.”

“Nicoli, do you know how many mob families will be guests at their wedding? Mirabella would be an open target to anyone who wants to take a stab at us.”

I balk and force my face close to his. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not aware of the dangers if my wife is present at a wedding filled with criminals?” I slant my head. “And honestly, do you really think I’ll allow it? That I’d let my wife be anywhere close to that wedding?”

“Then why are you allowing it?”

“I’m not.” I storm out the door, and the cold chill slaps against my cheeks. “I told her she can’t do it.”

“But she’s doing it anyway?”

“Mirabella is unaware that I know she took on the project after I told her shouldn’t.” We reach Alexius’ car. “So, now I’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“She’s going to give you hell if you fuck this up for her.”

I shrug. “She won’t know I’m behind it.”

“You’re going to lie to Mira?”

“It’s not a lie. It’s a secret. There’s a difference.” I open the passenger side door. “And turns out, I’m a pro at keeping secrets from my wife.”

CHAPTERNINE

NICOLI

“What is that smell?”Alexius points his nose upward as we enter the foyer. “Is that…Is something burning?”

“Oh, shit,” I curse, closing the door behind me. “Mira.”

“What about her?”

“That smell is Mirabella cooking.”

Alexius frowns in confusion. “Mira? Cooking?”

“Yeah,” I say as I start down the hall toward the kitchen. “I’ll go make sure she doesn’t burn down the house. You go and check if the insurance is up to date in case I fail.”

I reach the kitchen the size of a small apartment, the air filled with the thick, pungent aroma of something charred. In the middle, there is an enormous oak table piled high with onion skins, shredded lettuce, and used spoons. There’s no staff in sight. It’s only Mirabella fanning a dishtowel vigorously around the stove, trying to get rid of the smoke coming from what I assume was once a piece of steak in the skillet. I can still hear the meat sizzle and pop as it continues to cook to oblivion.

Instead of rushing in like a knight in shining armor, I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe, admiring the sight of my wife among the chaos, scurrying around the kitchen and wielding utensils. I’ve never seen her wear an apron before, and I’m kind of disappointed it’s not the only thing she’s wearing. Her honey-kissed hair is tied in a messy bun, wisps of it clinging to her flushed cheeks, red from the stovetop heat.

“What a beautiful mess you are,” I say, smiling when she abruptly turns and finds me staring at her.

“Nicoli, you weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.” She exhales a rush of air that rustles the strands of hair falling over her face.

I shrug. “I decided early to call it a night.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“Done with what?” I ask with a raised brow and a tongue-in-cheek chuckle. “Burning down the house?”

“That’s not funny,” she snaps, pulling the apron off and throwing it on the floor.

“Even when you’re attempting to burn down the house, you manage to take my breath away,” I say with a smile, finding the entire fiasco amusing.

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