I pause to give his hand a squeeze, and before I can pull away, his fingers lock with mine.
Making peace with the fact that I’ve lost my left hand to my husband, I continue through the aisles, adding products to the cart.
Adriano grabs a box of fettuccine after studying three different ones, like it’s a life-or-death decision.
Just to get a reaction out of him, I toss the wrong brand of spaghetti into the cart while trying not to smile.
Lifting an eyebrow at me, his tone is low and deadly as he says, “You’re looking for trouble,mia piccola farfalla.”
Chuckling, I take out the spaghetti and grab the right brand. When I put it in the cart, he smacks my butt. “Brava ragazza.”
Hearing him call me ‘good girl’ makes my abdomen clench and heat flood my core.
A woman farther down the aisle notices Adriano and immediately whispers something to the person beside her.
It happens often enough that I barely notice, but every once in a while it still amazes me that my husband, who I’m discussing pasta brands with, is the same man capable of terrifying entire rooms full of people without raising his voice.
It reminds me that Adriano isn’t gentle with the world.
Only with me.
Needing more contact, I lean into his chest and press a quick kiss to his throat before looking at pasta sauces.
“You know I don’t like store-bought sauce,” he says, his tone gentle.
I grin up at him and tease, “Just checking if you’re paying attention.”
“My woman wants attention?” he asks as he tugs me right against him. Not caring that we’re in the middle of a store, he grips me behind the head and crushes his mouth to mine.
Like always, I melt for my husband as he kisses me senseless, and by the time he lifts his head, I’ve forgotten in which aisle we’re standing.
“Let’s finish this shopping trip. I want to be alone with you,” Adriano orders, telling me he’s done and everything is going to start annoying him.
Exchanging a knowing look with Little Ricky, he gives Paulie a chin lift so he’ll go get everything that’s still on the list.
I never push Adriano to do more than he can handle.
Little Ricky takes over pushing the cart while I place my arm around my husband’s waist and lean into his side. He keeps me tucked against him and every minute or so presses a kiss to my forehead or hair.
I’m obsessed with the fact that my love language is the one thing Adriano needs most.
Once we have everything, we move to the side with Marco while Paulie and Little Ricky pay for the groceries.
Adriano engulfs me in a hug and rests his chin on top of my head. I inhale a deep breath of his addictive scent and let him hold me for as long as he needs.
“Let’s get out of here,” I hear Little Ricky say.
“Clear,” Paulie calls out, and then we’re on the move.
Adriano shifts his left hand to my lower back while his right disappears beneath his leather jacket, and I know it’s resting on his gun so he can grab it in a split second.
I’m bundled into the back of the SUV, and when Adriano slides in beside me, he exhales a sigh of relief.
While the other men load all the bags, I take hold of my husband’s chin and press a grateful kiss to his mouth. “Thank you. I know you hate shopping.”
“I don’t hate it.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I love watching you fuss over picking the right tomatoes.”
“I can see it’s stressful for you, though.”