“I am meeting…”
“Yes, Mrs. Esposito,” the hostess said, giving me a service-smile. “Your husband is…” she started, half-turning.
“Oh, I see him,” I said, even if I was still reeling from being called Mrs. Esposito and having a stranger refer to Primo as my husband. That was going to take some adjusting to.
Primo’s gaze found me right then, his eyes doing a slow once-over of me before he got to his feet. I swear he did it in slow motion. His hand rose to secure his jacket button. It was such an old-fashioned gesture that I found myself charmed by it despite myself.
He didn’t approach.
Of course not.
He wanted me to come to him.
For appearances’ sake.
And I had no choice but to do so.
I was just moving down the aisle toward him when I felt it.
A hand grazing my ass.
And, honestly, I was just going to keep on moving. I’d confronted handsy men in the past and things tended to get pretty scary when you stood up for yourself. I wasn’t big or strong enough to take on a full-grown man, so I’d learned to bite my tongue and endure the indignity.
See, the thing was, I didn’t really just belong to myself anymore, did I? I belonged, in a way, to Primo. And Primo was big and strong. And he was not someone who tolerated disrespect.
I’d gotten to the table only to have him bark at me to sit while he started marching up the aisle.
Really, I figured he would give the man a few harsh words, using his intimidating stature against the stranger. Maybe even throw around a “do you know who I am?” sort of thing.
So I sat initially.
For all of five seconds.
Before there was the sound of women shrieking and silverware clattering, and something slamming down hard.
My heart leaped into my throat as I twisted around to see Primo’s hand grabbing the back of the man’s neck, yanking his face off of the table only to slam him down again.
People panicked and fled their tables while the staff stood back in shock, doing nothing. But of course they wouldn’t do anything. This was the same community that hadn’t saved a kidnapped woman, either.
I knew enough about the world I’d been born into—and now married into—to know that the mob still had a stranglehold on their communities. Whether they got that mind-my-own-business attitude from fear or respect was anyone’s guess. But either one was equally effective.
And judging by the psychotic display Primo was exhibiting, I had to imagine he ruled with fear, not respect.
I watched with a twisting stomach as he slammed the man’s head down a third time. He showed no signs of slowing down.
He was going to kill the man.
Right there in public in front of dozens of witnesses.
A part of me should have been thrilled. He’d go to jail and I’d be free. But I couldn’t just let him murder a man for copping a feel. Knock a little sense into him? Sure. But this was too much.
“Stop,” I demanded, getting to my feet.
My heartbeat was hammering in my chest, my pulse fluttering in my throat and temples. I wasn’t the bravest of women. And I certainly wasn’t brave in the face of fearsome violence. But everyone else seemed even more terrified than me. So I had to be the one to step in.
“Stop!” I yelled louder as I took a step forward. “Enough. That’s enough,” I demanded, but Primo was in his own twisted head. He wasn’t hearing me.
Blood splattered over the tablecloth.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the man’s face. I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. And I didn’t have the kind of stomach that could handle that kind of thing.
“Stop,” I tried again. “Primo, stop!” I demanded, pressing a hand to the center of his chest.
And that, that barely-there touch, managed to penetrate through his rage where my words could not. His hand held the man’s head against the table as his gaze slid to me.
“That’s enough,” I told him, voice calm even if my insides felt like they were shaking. Because when I tell you that you could see evil in that man’s eyes, I wasn’t exaggerating.
His chest was heaving a bit but I watched as he unclenched his jaw, as he came back down into a more rational version of himself.
“Not quite,” he said.
And before I could react, he was grabbing the man’s hand in both of his, the same one he’d grabbed me with, and slammed it down on the edge of the table with a horrific cracking sound followed by the howling of the man.
“No one touches what is mine,” he announced, loud enough for anyone who was listening—meaning everyone in the restaurant—to hear. His gaze slid back to me then—unreadable—as he wiped his hands down the sides of his stomach. “Come, sit,” he said, waving toward the table.
“You expect me to sit at a table and share a meal with you after that?” I snapped, voice a whisper only he could hear.
“That is exactly what you are going to do,” he said, one hand moving outward toward me.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered to him again, watching as that brow of his quirked up.
He didn’t snatch his hand back, but rather hovered it over my lower back as I turned and marched back to our table since it didn’t exactly seem like I had much choice in the matter.
Back to the scene, I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on behind me, but I heard voices and shuffling as, I imagined, the man’s companions grabbed him and got him out of the restaurant.
“That was too much,” I scolded him as he took his seat.
“I disagree.”
“Because you’re a monster,” I told him. “You don’t beat men to a bloody pulp in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”
“Why not?”
“Because you just don’t.”
“That man put his hand on your ass without your permission,” Primo said, resting an arm on the top of the table and my mind flashed back to him breaking the guy’s hand, making my stomach twist again. “Or was I mistaken, did you give him permission to grab your ass?”
“Of course not,” I said, chin lifting. “But that was an overreaction.”
“Was it? In the old country, he would have forfeited his hand for that.”
“That’s barbaric.”
“That’s the life, Isabella. Were you not born and raised into it?”
“I guess my Family is just more civilized than yours.”
“This is your Family now, lamb,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I grumbled.
“So am I to assume you’ve never had your ass grabbed before. A perfect ass like that, just went un-groped your entire life?” he asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Men always think themselves entitled to a woman’s body when they like it.”
“And your brothers, your cousins, no one has ever made them pay for it?” Primo asked, looking outraged by the concept.
“They were never around when it happened.”
“But when you told them,” Primo prompted.
“I didn’t tell them.”
“And why would that be, Isabella?” he asked, leaning forward a bit. “Because you knew they would react? Your old Family isn’t more civilized than your new one. You just didn’t give them the chance to show you how they conduct their business.”