The Don and the Wife

(13) a punishment to enjoy ♡

Chapter 13

a punishment to enjoy ♡

Waking up, I am instantly assaulted by the scent of lemons and leather, transporting my mind to the morning after my wedding when I first woke up in Cavallaro's bed.

The curtains are tightly shut so no ounce of light seeps through but that doesn't stop the pounding behind my eyelids or the nausea in my stomach. I remember everything from last night, from dancing with Vi and Luka to getting put to bed by Cavallaro.

My hands reach up and I dig the heels of my palms into my eyelids as though I can somehow physically push the pain out of my head. Rolling over, I spot a note on the bedside table along with a packet of paracetamol; but no water, wonderful. I snatch up the painkiller and use some water from the bathroom sink to swallow it down before I sink onto the closed toilet lid to read the masculine scrawl on the paper.

Come to the office when you wake up.

Great, I am in so much shit.

I shower and change into some soft black pyjama shorts with a matching top that fits like a sports bra before throwing on a black robe which falls to mid thigh but still modestly covers me up. I have every intention of going back to bed after this.

Finishing off my outfit with a neon green scrunchie and matching fluffy socks, I tie my hair into a ponytail before padding over to Cavallaro's office. My hangover makes me feel like my skull is going to split in half and I know that the only thing that will stop my stomach from rolling is a huge bowl of pasta.

But I don't get to eat pasta because my control freak husband has summoned me to his office. Ever since he threatened to kill all my friends, apart from the temporary reprieve of working together, we have stayed out of each others hair and I know that last night will have been a final straw for him. I am going to have to face consequences today, consequences which I have so far managed to avoid.

The guard outside his office offers me a small nod and I barely muster up a smile in response before I push open the heavy set doors which conceal my husband.

He is actually sat on the sofa today, flicking through a large folder, suit jacket and tie thrown off and an image of him leaning back against the black sofa of the club flashes in my mind. Even in my hungover state I can appreciate that Cavallaro is one fine looking man.

His high cheekbones, straight nose and sharp jaw give his face a lethal quality which hints at the darkness within him. His black hair sits floppy on his head, begging to be mussed up further by my hands and those stormy grey eyes of his are absolutely stunning. When I first saw him at the altar, I thought they were like stone, hard, cold and unyielding but I now know they have cracks and fissures which he occasionally lets me see.

The tattoos on his hands expand as his fists clench around the binder he is holding, "Morning, Lyra," he rumbles, still not looking at me even as I fold into an armchair on his left, "Did you sleep well, carino?"

Carino. Pretty.

"Don't label me like one of your whores, Cavallaro," I spit at him, annoyed by the pet name.

A dark chuckle crosses his lips as he finally looks up and cocks an eyebrow at me, "Well, if you hadn't acted like one last night," he leans forwards onto his elbows, resting the binder on the coffee table and I barely resist the urge to kick his leg out from under him, "then maybe I would not."

My cheeks flush but I ignore the natural response as I tilt my head up, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Grey eyes narrow at me and I think he suspects that I am lying, he can see straight through my bullshit. Slowly, like the dangerous predator he is, he rises from the sofa, keeping his gaze firmly locked onto mine, he moves towards me. I tuck my legs up and under me, hoping to conceal as much of myself as possible as my breathing becomes short and my heart rate picks up.