The moment I saw Cleo in that outfit, I saw red. Did she really think I would ever allow anyone to see her looking like that?
Then I understood. She was trying to provoke me again, just like she did when she went on that over-the-top shopping spree. I kept my expression indifferent and quickly made the necessary arrangements. No one would see her showing off the body that I fucking own, and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me riled up.
I’m getting increasingly ready for this game to be over. The sooner she understands her antics won’t get her anywhere, the quicker I’ll get what she’s been denying me.
A female waitress comes over, clearly nervous about serving us. She pours us some champagne and does her best to avoid looking at Cleo as she takes our orders.
Before she hurries away, I pull up the camera app on my phone and hand it to her. “I’d like a photo of me and my wife.”
The waitress gives me a tight smile. “Of course. Where would you like to take the photo?”
Cleo scowls at me. “That’s really not necessa—”
I pull her chair toward me with one hand, lift her out of her seat, and deposit her onto my lap. She makes a strangled sound.
“Right here,” I drawl as I curl my hand over Cleo’s hip. My palm meets warm skin through the gaps in her dress. “Smile, darling.”
The waitress snaps a few quick photos and hands me the phone back before hurrying away.
“I’ll send them to you.”
Cleo scrambles off my lap. “I don’t want them,” she snaps.
Her phone buzzes on the table.
“Too late.”
She shoves her phone into the purse.
I raise my champagne glass to Cleo. She doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, she glowers at me. Her arms are crossed, pushing up her chest in the most alluring way.
I take a moment to admire her body. Her skin is like silk—luminous, soft, unblemished except for a smattering of freckles here and there. So fucking lovely.
So fucking mine.
There’s a hint of muscle in her arms and shoulders, and since her dress is an abomination that covers nothing, I can see an outline of her abs.
They’ll flex beautifully when she’s on top of me, riding my cock.
My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. “Anything wrong?” I ask.
“No,” she snaps.
I lean in closer, savoring her anger and frustration. She’s losing this game, and she knows it. “Tell me, what are you trying to accomplish with all this?”
She turns up her little nose. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t lie. The shopping spree. The dress.” I make a vague wave. “Is this the kind of thing that worked on your parents?”
When she doesn’t answer, I know I guessed right. “Your father is a weak man. When you acted out, he had to hide you away from the world. I don’t need to hide anything, Cleo. I can simply bend the world to my will.”
Her cheeks redden. “You’re way too full of yourself.”
“I’m only stating facts.” I take a sip of champagne. “If you tell me what you want, maybe I’ll give it to you.”
Her gaze narrows. “A divorce.”
“Anything that’s in the realm of possibility?”
“Can’t you just send me to live somewhere away from you?”
“What for?”
“So that I can be happy.”
“Why would that make you happy?”
“Because I can never be happy here with you. I’m your prisoner. I don’t have any freedom, and I don’t do well in captivity.”
“I don’t see how this is any different than what you had when you lived back home.”
Her gaze sparks. “Do you think I liked my life at home?” Anguish slips into her tone. “Do you know how often I wished I was born to a different mother? One that didn’t try to fit me into a mold that I resented with every fiber of my being?”
I know a thing or two about being forced to fit into a mold by a parent, but unlike Cleo, I allowed myself to be poured right into it. There was no other choice for me. Not if I wanted my mother to survive.
I give her a pointed once-over. “It doesn’t seem like she succeeded.”
“No,” she says sullenly. “But I never got what I wanted either. So we both lost.”
“You are my wife, and you belong with me. There’s nothing you can do that will make me send you away, so I suggest you stop wasting your time trying.”
Something crumples inside her eyes. Hope?
Without thinking, I reach for her knee under the table and place my hand on it. Then I realize what I’m doing. I’m trying to comfort her. I can’t remember the last time I comforted anyone.
A prickle of unease spreads over my skin.
No, this makes sense. This might be the quickest way past her defenses, and that’s why I’m doing it. She lets me keep it there for a few seconds before she jerks her leg to the side.
I hold back a sigh. So fucking stubborn. “All right. If you could do anything, what would you do?”
She brushes her hair over her shoulder and levels me with a penetrating gaze. “Before I married you, I wanted to go to college.”
Sending her to college is out of the question. She’d be a target if she went, and I have no desire to send her somewhere where other men can ogle her.
“What for?”
“To study business. I wanted to be a music manager.”
“Music manager?”
“Yes. The people who manage the careers of singers and bands.”
“Why that?”
“Because I wanted to help make sure artists don’t get taken advantage of. Haven’t you heard what happened to Britney Spears?”
“I don’t make a point of staying up to date on gossip.”
She looks offended. “It’s not gossip. She’s one of the biggest stars in the world, and for years, her family took advantage of her and controlled her life. If it could happen to her, it could happen to anyone. My friends and I used to go to marches in support of her, trying to bring attention to the situation.”
“Your parents allowed you to do that?”
“Yes, after they got sick of my whining. But I would have gone anyway. Britney needed our help.”
My lips twitch. Maybe she saw parallels between the pop star’s situation and her own.
God, she really is a bit strange. And she’s got that youthful idealism. Sometimes I forget how young she is. I was never idealistic, not even at her age. My father showed me the ugliness of the world before I reached puberty. But I like her passion. Maybe there’s a way to channel it somewhere more productive.
“I have someone you can help.”
“Who?”
“One of my cousins. Her name is Loretta. She owns a custom clothing store, and it’s not doing well. I can’t keep bailing her out forever. She’ll have to close down if she can’t turn it around. She’s not a celebrity or a musician, but she could use some help.”
Cleo’s eyes flicker with curiosity. “Really? What kind of help?”
I shrug. “An extra set of hands to help at the shop, and someone with a new perspective on how she’s running things there.”
She glances down at her lap and refolds her napkin. “Are you sure she’ll want me there?”
“She doesn’t have a choice. She’s got enough money to pay for the next three months of rent, and then she’ll have to vacate the space.”
“You’d let her fail like that?”
“Failure is the unavoidable stepping stone for success. Me treating Loretta’s business like a charity isn’t doing her any favors.”
Cleo tips her head to the side. “Wait, so you allowed her to start this business?”
“Yes, when I became don. She’d asked my father for permission for years, but he always refused her.”
“Why didn’t you refuse? It goes against your family’s traditions, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t believe traditions should be immutable. It’s been more than a century since my family came to America, and the world has changed since then. With every generation, certain traditions fall by the wayside. And I’ve seen how women operate in the Camorra now. They are allowed to get involved in the business if they so wish, and many become powerful assets. Why deprive my family of that kind of potential advantage?”
No one in the Cosa Nostra would argue that the Camorristas in Italy have set up a formidable operation, and a lot of that has to do with their willingness to adapt their methods to the changing world instead of blindly sticking to tradition.
I smooth my hand down my tie. “If a woman comes to me and has a plan for how to contribute to the business, I am willing to consider it. But the situation with my cousin hasn’t gone well. I took a risk on her, displeasing her parents in the process. If she can’t turn her business around, it will make it harder for me to give other women a chance like that again.”
Cleo’s looking at me like I’ve grown antlers.
I’ll admit, the arrangement with Loretta is an experiment that’s on the verge of failure. She’s unmarried and her parents don’t like that I allowed her to delay getting paired off to someone, but I wanted to give this a try. When Loretta approached me initially, I thought she had what it took to make the business a success. But it’s been nearly a year since she opened the shop, and things are not looking good.
I top off Cleo’s champagne. “So? What do you think?”
She picks up the glass and takes a long pull. “I know what you’re doing. Helping your cousin isn’t the same as going to college, no matter how you present it to me.”
I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Spend the rest of your life being miserable and wishing for something you can never have, or you can attempt to make the most of the hand you’ve been dealt. I already said I have no intention of keeping you caged. The only cage you’re in is the one you’ve got in your own head.”
She drains the rest of her champagne and mulls that over. I wait. I think I managed to get through to her.
At last, she gives me a stiff nod. “I’ll try to help.”
Finally. “I’ll let her know to expect you on Monday morning.”
Something unexpected happens. Cleo smiles at me.
It’s not a full-blown grin, but it’s enough to make something shift inside my chest.
A warm feeling washes over me. And as I’m admiring how that smile lights up her whole face, the window shatters.
