Page 155 of Brutal Revenge

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Grief is different for everyone.” Sipping his coffee, he adds, “Not all of us are built for multiple DUIs and days in county lockup.”

I choke on my crepe when laughter bursts out of me. It is unexpected but undeniably genuine.

Matteo grins, satisfied, but inside, I still hate myself a little. If I hadn’t been so broken, perhaps I could have told him more about Antonio’s plans. Does Matteo know that the Adamis were packing up and leaving the country? Or was he too worried about me to make sure he didn’t need to cross continents to exact revenge?

He squeezes my hand, silently demanding my eyes back to his. “Stop. Nothing you’re thinking about right now matters. It’s my job to support my wife when she needs me. One day, you’ll do the same for me.”

I snort. “That better not be anytime within the next year. I promised your father I’d keep you on a short leash when he approved my plan for us to fake a relationship without your input.” I snap my mouth shut two seconds too late. “Forget everything I just said.”

“No fucking chance.” His mouth falls open before it cracks into a panty-wetting grin. “I knew he conspired to get us together. He’s got some stupid notion his sons will fall in order.”

I twist my lips, lost as to why he’s acting as if his father hasn’t achieved precisely that.

“Too bad he hasn’t realized Cupid’s arrow homed in on Nico’s ass years ago.”

I mimic his earlier shock. “Do tell.”

As we eat, he shares a story as wild and reckless as ours.

It’s also just as heartbreaking.

When we finish eating, I stand to clear away our dishes. That’s when I notice the massive gift hamper on the dining table. It’s overflowing with everything imaginable: chocolates. Feminine products. Bubble bath. Sketchbooks. Pencils. Markers. And a giant fluffy pink tutu.Huh?

“What is that?”

Matteo rinses our plates before filling the sink with sudsy water. “My brothers dropped that off when your brothers brought supplies to last us another week… or ten.” My heart warms. “There’s no rush, Azra. We can stay here forever if that’s what you want.” He hooks his thumb to the overflowing woven basket. “The drawing stuff is from Camille, and all the girlie shit is from Valentina and Lucia. I have no fucking clue who the tutu is from.”

My cheeks hurt from the rapid incline of my smile. “It’s also from Camille.” I carefully pluck it out of the hamper before holding it up against myself, smiling when Matteo gags. “I told her I’d wear a tutu all day if I had one as pretty as the one she was wearing. This is identical to the one she was wearing.”

He shakes his head, amused. “That kid worships you.”

Happiness spreads across my chest. I love how thoughtful his family is, and I am warming to my brothers’ unexpected support. We’ve been eating like kings on food they bought, but not one of them encroached on my personal space when they delivered it.

That was unheard of only months ago.

My fingers brush the sketchbook, and a familiar ache stirs in my chest.

“Matteo?” I say softly.

He slots a soapy plate into the drying rack, then twists his head to face me. “Yeah?”

“Can I draw you?”

Drawing was one of my greatest loves. When I was a teen, it wassecond only to Hattie. It won’t hold a light to Matteo, but the thought of doing something I once loved without feeling guilty seems like the right direction to continue finding myself.

Matteo’s expression shifts between awe, surprise, and something tender. “You want to draw me?”

As my teeth catch my lower lip, I nod.

“Should I change?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper. “You’re perfect like that.”

Barefoot and shirtless, with the soft morning light on his skin, is pure perfection.

There’s only one way the visual could get better.

“If not a little overdressed.”