Three months into the marriage, you had learned one thing about Paride Valdarno.
Your husband was an asshole.
He barely spoke to you at breakfast. Worked until midnight. Slept in another room. And whenever you were alone for longer than ten minutes, he somehow found somewhere else he needed to be.
Tonight was no different.
"I have a meeting."
He buttoned his suit jacket and headed for the door.
Again.
"No."
Paride stopped.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm tired of this. Every time we're alone, you suddenly have somewhere to be."
"Because I have an organization to run."
"At eleven-thirty at night?"
"Crime rarely keeps office hours."
He reached for the door.
"Paride, sit down and shut up for five seconds."
Paride sat.
Immediately.
Silence.
His hand froze halfway to adjusting his cuff.
You stared at him.
Paride stared back.
Neither of you spoke.
Then Paride slowly stood again.
"We're going to pretend that didn't happen."
"Why did you—"
"Goodnight."
He turned for the door considerably faster this time.
"Paride."
He stopped.
"Sit."
His shoulders went rigid.
Several seconds passed.
Then, very slowly, the most feared man in the Valdarno organization turned around.
His expression could have frozen hell itself.
But beneath it, something you had never seen before flickered across his face.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
His jaw tightened.
"Give me orders."
"Why?"
Paride looked at you for a long moment.
"Because apparently I'm having difficulty ignoring them.