Page 29 of Virtuous Lies

We’re here to protect me.

Not him.

“I’ll make dinner,” I say weakly, feeling hideously stupid.

He nods, dismissing me silently, and I take my exit, pressing my back against his door when I close it behind me.

We ate in silence.I couldn’t find any words to fill the cavernous silence. He looked comfortable in the quiet. He consumed the dinner I prepared, complimented me on my cooking, and cleared the table. We cleaned side by side in complete and utter silence. He washed, I dried, and it seemed ridiculous. Vincent Ferrari, feared mafia enforcer, now advisor to theboss, washing dishes.

“I could’ve done this.” I finally gave in, tortured by the quiet.

“You cooked,” he said.

When the kitchen was clean, he brushed a hand over my shoulder and disappeared back into his office without another word.

Stepping into the shower, I scrub my body harder than necessary.

We’re here to protect me.

He’s not sleepingto protect me.

Vincent Ferrari confuses me. He says he admires me, but he doesn’t know me. He thinks I'm impure but agrees to marry me. I thought him a monster, never once considering he’d be my savior.

The hate I held in my heart for him, simply for being who he is, thaws with every second we spend together. He’s unexpected, and I don’t know how to plan for someone who has caught me so undeniably off guard.

Lying in bed, I toss and turn. He’s not beside me, and I’m irritated by the fact that since we became husband and wife, he has refused to share my bed.

I throw the blankets off, walking through the cabin on soft feet.

His silhouette is as intimidating as he is in the light of day. But he beckons me, the darkness surrounding him calling me closer, and I go without argument.

He sits in a plush armchair with the light of the moon cast over half his face and his eyes closed in rest. He’s not asleep. His body is too alert, too stiff for him to be unconscious.

I let my eyes wander over him, taking in the formidable man who is my husband.

“Go to bed, Bianca.”

The breeze from the window flutters my negligée around my upper thighs.

“Vincent.”

Eyes opening slowly, he looks from his glass of whiskey to me, eyes darkening when they focus on the hard cut of my nipples. Pebbled from not only the cool air but also the heat in his hooded eyes.

“Dolcezza,” he murmurs, the word pained, an endearment growled from the very depths of his throat. “Not tonight.”

He looks ready to drop. Not just tired but utterly depleted. Bluish pockets frame his eyes from lack of sleep. He looks ill at ease, which is realms away from the confident and detached man I married. Vincent is a quiet man, but there’s quiet, and then there’s ruminative silence, and that on the man in front of me is uncomfortable.

I step forward, pausing when his nostrils flare.

Hand pushing into his hair, he pulls at the dark locks roughly. “You can’t give me what I need tonight.”

My nerves push my chest forward. A feigned confidence dying to settle whatever storm seems to have claimed him. “Try me.”

Glass to his lips, he sips slowly, his gaze hard on me over the rim of the crystal. I can’t read him. He’s a master at hiding his deepest thoughts. He’s an enigma, and I long to solve him like an intricate puzzle.

The tip of his tongue drags along the line of his bottom lip, soaking up the remnants of whiskey before sucking it back into his mouth.

He looks bored, breathing unchanged and eyes just as empty. I’m certain he’s going to reject me. To tell me to leave him be as he did just moments ago.

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