Vows and Vendettas

Chapter 11

Dante

It’s only been two hours since I f*cked my wife for the first time. The thought of leaving my office to find her to do it again is highly compelling. Just the memory of feeling her wrapped around me, warm and wet, is already addicting. Her back arched. Her voice breaking in a scream and the feel of her body tightening around me as she came. I haven't been able to shake the image of her bent over in the kitchen, making it far harder to concentrate on the mountain of emails that are waiting in front of me.

The paperwork wouldn't disappear simply because I found a far better way to occupy my time.

This is the part of running a successful criminal enterprise that no one ever talks about. All the young guys think it is so easy. Throwing money at anything that you want. But it isn't. It's work. You are not just keeping yourself from going to prison. You're keeping every man who works for you out of one, too. All it takes is one f*ckup, and the entire thing comes crashing down. Reluctantly, I push thoughts of my wife to the back of my mind for the time being and turn my attention back to the screen.

I drag a hand over the side of my face as I read over the details of the new shipment moving through the eastern docks. I barely make it through the first few lines when a new message pings on my laptop.

Atlas: Transfers and accounts information.

"Well, that was faster than I expected."

The moment that I clicked on the email, I couldn't believe what I was looking at. There had to be some kind of mistake on Atlas's part. Even as the thought popped into my head, I knew there wasn't. He is the best hacker in the States; he doesn't make mistakes. There was a long list of accounts, at least a dozen or more, that had been opened months ago, all at different banks with a substantial amount of money in them.

My eyes follow the line to the very end, where the account holder's name is listed. I lean back in my chair.

Blair Moretti.

The name appears again on the next account. And the next. And the next.

Blair Moretti is scrawled across every. Single. One.

The sound of her heels clicking against the marble as she exits our bedroom and walks down the hall. She passes in front of my office, and unfortunately I can't see her with the door closed. For a second, I wonder if she actually opened all of these accounts herself. She very well could have, but where would she have gotten this much money? Plus, from the looks of it, all the accounts had been opened within the same week. It hits me then just how little I actually know about my wife.

I stare at the screen again, doing my best to make it all make sense. There has to be more behind this that we are both missing.

***

The mid-morning light is streaming through the windows in the main room of the penthouse. It bathes Blair’s skin in a soft, illuminating glow even from a distance. She's wearing a simple black dress that hugs every curve on her body, showing it off to anyone foolish enough to look her way. The hem stops just a few inches above her mid-thigh. Long enough to cover her, but not nearly enough to keep my mind from conjuring up exactly what lies beneath it.

Her dark hair is pulled away from her face and pinned up with a few small wisps curled and framing her face. Here she looks like the perfect Mafia wife. And yet, as I watch her now, I can't stop thinking about the dozen accounts bearing her name. Twelve accounts. Twelve questions that I have instructed Atlas to dig deeper into.

I let myself drink in every inch of her from behind, my d**k hardening instantly. She isn't paying attention as she moves through the kitchen looking for something.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

Blair turns, pressing a hand to the center of her chest. "Christ, how are all of you so light on your feet? I didn't hear you walk in." Her pulse beats rapidly at the base of her throat.

"Occupational necessity," I offer simply.

"Well, say something next time. I don't like you sneaking up on me like that."

Blair turns and moves quickly across the room, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply against the marble. She reaches for a bag that had been placed near the front door on a stool. She rummages through it for several seconds, still not answering my earlier question.

"Where are you going, wife?" I asked again. This time, there is no teasing in my voice.

Her spine stiffens as she twists to look at me again. The corner of her lips lifts, flashing her white teeth at me for half a second before she schools her expression once more. Then she lifts her handbag, pulls a dark pair of sunglasses from it and opens them.

“Out.”

Someone is sassy now, I see.

“I gathered as much,” I deadpan. I cross the kitchen, purposely going in the opposite direction towards the coffee maker. I watched her the entire time out of the corner of my eye. The way her hands fidget with her bag, the way her mouth parts silently, like she is disappointed that I didn't approach her instead. “Where exactly?”

Her mouth closes as she looks at the door to her right. “My friend’s birthday is in a few days. I need to find her a gift. Rocco promised we could go shopping again today.”

The mention of his name is like a bucket of ice water being dropped over my head. Rage burns through my veins again. He left his f*cking post. Without saying anything to me. What if something happened and he wasn't there? I had been livid the second I opened the guest room door the other night to talk to him, only to find the room empty. I purposely made sure that I was the first one he saw when he walked back into my house. And if that wasn't bad enough, Blair stood up for him. Ordering me to leave him alone.

I have known Rocco for years. He is one of the few people that I would dare to call a friend. And friends in this world are rare. Now, I want to put a bullet in his head because he seems to have developed some sort of friendly relationship with my wife while I was gone.

“We should be back in a few hours," she says with a smile.

I don't like it. I don't like the way she says his name. I don't like the way her lips pull upward on one side, like she is actually excited about spending time with her guard. Christ, I am not sure if I hate her talking about Rocco and her shopping or her still bringing up her ex. Both are highly annoying. I spun around, completely forgetting about the coffee I had just been about to pour, and crossed the room and stopped directly in front of her.

“I thought this morning made it perfectly clear whose wife you are?” The words came out of me in a deep growl as I tugged her into my chest. “Do you need a reminder, wife?”

Her eyes flutter closed as a small shiver rolls through her body. The soft scent of her perfume invades my senses. Vanilla with a hint of something soft and floral underneath. When she opens her eyes again, I can see the embers of our earlier fire flickering to life once again. Blair lifts her hand to my chest. The warmth of her palm feels as if it is burning straight through the fabric of my shirt and branding my f*cking skin.

She drops her eyes at the same time that her fingers trace along the planes of my chest. “Careful,” Blair lifts her gaze to mine and smiles. “You are starting to sound jealous, husband.”

Jealous? I can feel my smile widening, something that I don't do often, but it seems like the woman I married knows exactly how to get me to do so. I'll show you just how f*cking jealous I can be, wife.

Thirty minutes later, I am following a short distance behind my wife as she moves through the aisles of designer purses. With no Rocco in sight. He hadn't said a word the second Blair and I walked out of the penthouse. I simply informed Michael that he would be accompanying us while we were out. Michael's eyes had immediately darted toward Rocco, probably expecting some kind of reaction. Rocco didn't bat an eye at being put on the sidelines. Not a word. Not even a raised brow. He simply stepped aside and let Michael take his place.

I watch as her white-gloved fingers lightly caress one of the Louis Vuitton bags in front of her. She tilts her head slightly to the left like she is scrutinizing the bags' every stitch for some hidden imperfection. The light catches on the exposed section of her neck where a faint purple, thumb-sized bruise is hidden beneath a thin layer of concealer.

The store is empty, except for the two saleswomen who are standing nearby waiting to step in when needed. Just like I requested. Their overly white smiles are almost as fake as the rest of them. The younger woman has been slowly inching her way in my direction since we arrived. She finally steps beside me, her shoulder brushing against mine. If she believes that she is being subtle, she clearly doesn't know the meaning of the word.

I turn my head slightly, catching the coy little smile she flashes in my direction. The message is obvious enough. She's interested, if I am.

I'm not.

My attention drifts back to Blair, much to the saleswoman's chagrin. She has moved to the next display, her gloved fingers trailing over the rows of bags as she studies each one. I push away from where I'm standing and cross the few feet between us. I stop directly behind her, close enough that the faint scent of her perfume reaches me. Blair doesn't seem to notice at first. She's too busy examining a black leather bag, tilting it slightly to catch the light. My gaze drops to the delicate curve of her neck, and then to the faint mark hidden beneath her makeup. The bruise I put there.

My fingers itch to trace it. I wonder what she would do if I did? If I brushed the strands of her hair that had come loose from around the nape of her neck out of the way so that I could press my lips to it? To feel her pulse start to race beneath my lips.

“We just received several new pieces this morning, if you’d like to see them, Mr. Lazzari?” The younger saleswoman offers before I can give in.

Just hearing the sugary tone of her voice, let alone the way she blatantly undresses me with her eyes while my wife is just a few steps away, is enough to disgust me. Blair's back goes ramrod straight when I place my hand on her waist.

“If Mrs. Lazzari wishes to see those pieces,” I said softly, letting my breath brush across the side of her cheek, giving Blair the final say. It's the first time I have openly called Blair Mrs. Lazzari to anyone outside my organization. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the younger woman's eyes narrow into tiny slits at my wife. "Would you like to look at them, Amore?" Love.

Blair finally turns, her blue eyes burning with a scorching fire when they meet mine. “Why not?” she offers with ice in her voice.

Both saleswomen scurry away to the back of the store to fetch the newer items. One a little more reluctant than the other. I can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of my lips when a light scoff echoes throughout the room as my wife grumbles under her breath and tries to put a bit of distance back between us. I close it again.

"Would you stop!" Blair whispers-yells at me, which only amuses me more. Her gaze darts over my shoulder in the direction the others went. "They are going to be back any second, and when they do, they are going to find you pawing at me like some kind of starved animal."

I bite back a smile as I let my hands settle on her waist again and pull her in close. Her breathing picks up; the quick rise and fall of her chest is quite distracting. Leaning in until my lip's barley brushed against the corner of her lips. "Can you blame me? After this morning, it's difficult to think of anything else."

She's cute when she's flustered. The pink tint spreading across her cheeks gives her an innocence about her. An innocence I now know isn't nearly as soft or sweet as it looks—not after hearing the things she said to me this morning.

"Here we are. These are all from a brand-new collection, and only a few stores have them in stock at this time," the more professional saleswoman says as she steps out from the back with several dust-bag-covered purses.

Blair steps back and makes her way to the nearby display table as the women begin arranging the bags across the top. She studies each bag carefully, picking them up, turning them over, examining the details before setting them back down. I don't say a word. I simply watch. Eventually, her fingers settled around a light cream-colored handbag with a polished gold chain strap.

“This one,” she says. "Mia will love it."

The younger saleswoman immediately says with a smile. “Excellent choice.” She takes it from Blair's hands while focusing on me. “Would you like me to have this wrapped up for you, Mr. Lazzari?” The woman is absolutely tactless.

Blair's expression shifts as she finally takes in the woman. My wife looks her up and down several times before shaking her head as she turns and looks at me. Her arms are folded on top of the display case as she waits to hear my answer.

Clearing my throat, I looked at both saleswomen. “You’ll have to ask my wife?”

My tone is sharp, and it is clear that I am growing annoyed with this woman's shenanigans. She has pushed past basic flirting and outright ignored and disrespected Blair. The second saleswoman, the older one and clearly the only one within this store with a fully functioning brain — jabs her elbow into her coworker's side. Hard.

“Jessica, you can go in the back now. I think that Calvin is here, and he is going to need help,” the first woman orders sharply.

“But…”

“Go. Now!”

Jessica flickers her eyes in my direction one last time before she disappears with a displeased huff. The other woman apologizes and quickly wraps the bag up, hands it to Blair with a gentle smile. “Thank you for shopping with us, Mrs. Lazzari. We hope you will visit us again soon.”

Well, at least one of them had manners. I guess I don't have to call for both of them to be removed after we leave. It's now late afternoon when we step outside again. The blacked-out SUV sits at the curb waiting.

“The utter lack of professionalism. She seemed very eager to help you pick out a bag,” Blair mumbles when I reach out and open the door for her.

Reaching out over the top of the door, stopping her from entering the car. I smirk down at her. “Now who sounds jealous?”

Her eyes narrow before she slips inside the car.

And suddenly, I don't mind the idea of making this ride a little more interesting.