Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
The serious look he gets during meetings, the ruthlessness that settles over him around enemies, and the lethal stillness that makes grown men start sweating when something pisses him off.
But his quieter and gentler side that only exists around me and our family and close friends is by far my favorite.
We stop near the vegetables, and Adriano immediately starts inspecting avocados with terrifying seriousness while I grab basil, parsley, and lemons. As I walk, he sticks near me, his hand brushing over my back or his arm touching mine every now and then.
I notice how the other shoppers carefully move around us, most of them trying very hard not to stare directly at him.
When I see a man lingering too long and glancing in my direction, I suppress a groan.
Here we go again.
The second Adriano notices, the atmosphere vibrates with tension. I’m grabbed by my arm, and my overprotective and way too possessive husband steps partially in front of me while giving the man a threatening look. His tone is frighteningly harsh as he snaps, “Don’t fucking look at my wife, asshole!”
“Move along,” Little Ricky says, gesturing with a lift of his chin for the man to get going.
The poor guy instantly glances away while turning pale, then disappears in the direction of the toiletries.
“Yep, go get toilet paper after shitting yourself,” Little Ricky chuckles.
“Stop it,” I hush him. “You’re being mean.”
He pouts at me in the way that makes it very difficult to stay upset with him. “Sorry, boss lady.”
Not wanting Little Ricky thinking I’m angry, I smile at him before turning my attention back to the vegetables and fruits.
I can feel the tense energy coming from Adriano as he sticks to my side, and say, “You scared the man away, my love. You can relax.”
“He was staring at you,” my husband complains.
Holding a bag of potatoes in my hand, I look up at him. “It was barely a glance.”
Adriano tilts his head, his expression telling me I’m not going to change his mind. I push the bag into his hands and walk to the onions.
There’s absolutely no point arguing with him when he gets like this, especially because I know exactly why he pays attention to things other people would normally ignore.
Danger has shaped every part of his life for so long that vigilance has become second nature.
I pause to give his hand a squeeze, and before I can pull away, his fingers lock with mine.
Making peace with the fact that I’ve lost my left hand to my husband, I continue through the aisles, adding products to the cart.
Adriano grabs a box of fettuccine after studying three different ones, like it’s a life-or-death decision.
Just to get a reaction out of him, I toss the wrong brand of spaghetti into the cart while trying not to smile.
Lifting an eyebrow at me, his tone is low and deadly as he says, “You’re looking for trouble, mia piccola farfalla.”
Chuckling, I take out the spaghetti and grab the right brand. When I put it in the cart, he smacks my butt. “Brava ragazza.”
Hearing him call me ‘good girl’ makes my abdomen clench and heat flood my core.
A woman farther down the aisle notices Adriano and immediately whispers something to the person beside her.
It happens often enough that I barely notice, but every once in a while it still amazes me that my husband, who I’m discussing pasta brands with, is the same man capable of terrifying entire rooms full of people without raising his voice.
It reminds me that Adriano isn’t gentle with the world.
Only with me.
Needing more contact, I lean into his chest and press a quick kiss to his throat before looking at pasta sauces.
“You know I don’t like store-bought sauce,” he says, his tone gentle.
I grin up at him and tease, “Just checking if you’re paying attention.”
“My woman wants attention?” he asks as he tugs me right against him. Not caring that we’re in the middle of a store, he grips me behind the head and crushes his mouth to mine.
Like always, I melt for my husband as he kisses me senseless, and by the time he lifts his head, I’ve forgotten in which aisle we’re standing.
“Let’s finish this shopping trip. I want to be alone with you,” Adriano orders, telling me he’s done and everything is going to start annoying him.
Exchanging a knowing look with Little Ricky, he gives Paulie a chin lift so he’ll go get everything that’s still on the list.
I never push Adriano to do more than he can handle.
Little Ricky takes over pushing the cart while I place my arm around my husband’s waist and lean into his side. He keeps me tucked against him and every minute or so presses a kiss to my forehead or hair.
I’m obsessed with the fact that my love language is the one thing Adriano needs most.