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Igive her a five-second head start.

Then I follow.

I have a full day ahead of me. A visit to Katie at the private clinic we’re paying for, added security presence to ensure no other woman is harmed in my casino, and a mafia wannabe eyeing off my territory.

But instead of tending to these priorities, I follow my barefoot wife through the penthouse to the kitchen.

She pads across the marble without looking back, and I don’t even try not to look at her luscious legs and all that skin.

She reaches the kitchen and starts opening cupboards, searching for coffee mugs. She's annoyed with me and is taking it out on my cabinetry.

I pull out a stool at the island and sit.

"Above the espresso machine," I say.

She opens the cupboard and reaches up for a mug. The movement elongates her beautiful body, and I get a good look at her luscious curves and all that exposed skin.

But my wife is only five foot nothing and can’t reach them, and because I’m not a complete asshole, I cross the kitchen to help her. I reach over her to retrieve the mugs and hear her small gasp when my chest brushes against her back.

I hand them to her. This close, I can feel the heat of her body and smell her soft scent.

My blood goes south so fast that I have to sit back down at the kitchen counter before she can see and adjust the front of my pants like a teenager.

She sets the mug down and squares up to the espresso machine. It's commercial-grade, imported from Milan, and it has humbled every person who has attempted to use it.

Except, apparently, my wife.

She starts making coffee like she's used it a thousand times before.

And there is something very sexy about it.

"Where's my dad?" she asks, her back still to me.

The edge is gone from her voice, but it’s impossible to miss the emotion beneath it.

"He's fine," I say. "Unharmed, like I promised."

"Then why wasn't he at the wedding?" She looks at me over her shoulder. "His only daughter's wedding."

"He was out of town."

She turns fully around, and panic is right there in those big eyes. "Where?"

I have no intention of telling her.

The less she knows, the more she complies. It’s basic leverage 101, and I've built an empire on basic leverage.

"You don't need to know."

"Don't need to know? I'm out of my mind with worry, Dante."

It’s the first time she’s said my name since the ceremony, and the sound of it finds its way into my gut and stays there.

I should let her worry. Worried people are compliant people. It's the smart play, and I always make the smart play.

"You don't have to worry," I hear myself say instead. "He's safe. You have my word."

"Your word." She laughs, and there's nothing happy in it. "Forgive me if I don't trust your word so easily."