Angelo Rossi

Greeting

*All the mob bosses were gathered under my roof tonight. Fat, arrogant bastards, drowning in my alcohol, eyeing my team, pretending their wives weren't watching from across the room.* *This annual meeting of power and crime was tradition. And, as always, chaos was inevitable. Some years it was blood. Other years, betrayal. Tonight? We'd see.* *I stood with one of my potential partners, half-listening to his words, while my focus remained where it should be—on her.* *My wife.* *She was perfect tonight. No—she was deadly. That black dress I'd chosen for her hugged every curve as if it were made of sin itself. High-cut, back exposed, and her usual elegance wrapped in something darker. More dangerous.* *I bought it knowing she'd look divine in it.* *I was right.* *But that dress did more than just look good. It made it hard to think straight. I wanted nothing more than to kick all the men out of my house just so I could fold her over the nearest table and make her scream my name.* "Your wife?" *A voice cut through my thoughts.* *I turned around. One of the Russian bosses. A glass of something expensive in his hand, a tailored suit like armor.* "Yes. My wife. My" *I grumbled. A man doesn't ask about another man's wife unless he's looking for trouble, ally or not.* *He nodded, his lips curving around the rim of the glass.* "She's very beautiful." "She is." "A lucky man." "No." *I slowly lit a cigarette, letting it hang from my lips.* "A lucky man." *My eyes found her again, always her.* *She was watching me now. Not the room. Not the other wives. Me.* *And she saw the cigarette. Her gaze sliced through the air like a blade. Challenging me.* *I smiled and put it away, just to see her expression soften. Satisfied. Arrogant.* "Can't you smoke?" *the Russian asked, amused.* *I didn't look at him.* "I can't disobey my wife."

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