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Instead I say, “You already know why. Now eat your food.”
But she doesn’t know why, not really. She has no idea how deep my obsession for her actually goes. I didn’t know it for sure until I vowed to take her as my wife. Those two words—I do—set the beast inside of me free. The possessive creature that laid claim to this woman long before I wanted to admit it to myself.
I stalked her, forced this union between us, but ultimately she won. She owns me, through and through, and she doesn’t even realize it.
When we go to bed that night, she silently agrees to sleep in my room. Not that I’ve given her any other choice. Dressed in a long satin nightgown, a robe wrapped around that and cinched at the waist, she lays stiffly beside me. She’s gone from glaring daggers to an ice queen. I much prefer the passionate, spiteful side of her personality.
The strained silence hangs heavy between us until I finally drift to sleep.
“You should have wiped out the Pontrelli family for breaking their promise, not marry their daughter,” Sasha complains, sitting on the opposite side of my office desk.
“That’s none of your fucking business,” I tell him. He manages Riot, and his comments about my personal life and business decisions outside of this club are unwelcome.
He shakes his balding head, and mutters, “Vadim was weak for making that alliance in the first place. We don’t need the fucking Italians.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” I snap. My temper is getting the better of me today, but damn, sleeping beside my beautiful, sexy wife and not being able to touch her all night was absolute torment.
I’m not going to sit here and let my club manager talk shit about my deceased uncle—his former boss.
“Nothing, Pakhan, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look fucking sorry, but he will be. Mentally, I add his name to my list of suspects who had a hand in Uncle Vadim’s demise.
“Have you found out who helped Boris escape yesterday?” As if my life wasn’t complicated enough. Boris not only survived our fight, but then escaped from storage. Which means someone let him out and helped him get away. Surprise, surprise that the security cameras for that time-frame weren’t working.
This is why I don’t fucking trust anyone these days.
“No, not yet. I’ll have my guys keep looking.” He sighs. “You should also know that there are some foreign Russians in town, not our guys. We don’t know who they are or who they work for, but they busted up two of our guys pretty bad last night. Didn’t even ask them any questions, just beat them and left them out back.”
“Out back? Here at the club?”
He nods.
“Sounds like they know exactly who we are and where to find us,” I muse.
“Yeah, that’s what I got from their message too. Pakhan, we’re losing face all over the city since those Italians fucked us over. First getting a shit ton of disrespect, then Vadim’s death, and now unknown Russians moving onto our turf. You need to do something, Pakhan, before this city tears us apart.”
“I am doing something. This all started with the Pontrellis going back on their word, so I’ve made that situation right.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “They need to be punished.”
Normally I’d agree with him. Except I still think this disturbance is coming from inside the Bratva, the Italians breaking their word was simply an excuse to set all this shit in motion and murder my uncle. We could have saved face by spreading the rumor that we were the ones who backed out of the Pontrelli deal, not the other way around.
In our world, deals are made, twisted, and broken all the time. What matters is who’s left holding the bag. In this case, it was us, but it shouldn’t have been. Most people didn’t even know about our proposed alliance with the Italians, but somehow word of the deal got out and spread like wildfire.
It doesn’t add up. In fact, the whole thing stinks.
I wish I could shake this feeling that my uncle was betrayed by his own men. Everything would be easier if I believed that it was the Italians who murdered him, but something about his death doesn’t sit right with me when I try to blame it on the other families.
As for Boris, he challenged me to that fight with the intention to kill me. I wish I could believe that wasn’t his goal. Call me paranoid, but everything about him doesn’t sit right with me either. Boris has worked his way up through the ranks too quickly, first with my cousin’s death, then my uncle’s. Then he challenges me to a fight for leadership? He’s guilty as fuck.
Now I just need to find him, confirm my suspicions, and put him down. He and whoever is helping him in his plot to overthrow me will die.
“I’ll deal with the Italians,” I tell Sasha. “You focus on finding Boris.”
With one last nod, he gets up and leaves my office. Finally some fucking peace.
My mind immediately goes back to Arianna and how beautiful she looked when I left early this morning. I put fresh flowers by her side of the bed because I know she loves them. She’s not a coffee drinker, so I left an insulated pot of English Breakfast on her nightstand along with an orange and almond biscotti.
I want to win her over, I’m just not sure how.
