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In the mafia, any type of weakness is like a loose thread. Anyone could tug on that weakness until you unravel, spilling all your contents. That’s why I’ve never allowed myself the pleasure of having a weakness, not until the little raven-haired beauty entered my life.
“Things are going well. I need you to find a replacement for Martha. Turns out, she was a traitor.” I stretch out in my chair and think back to how oblivious Elena acted last night, and still, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with her.
Yes, she took the note from her father, read it, and hid it, but she didn’t disobey me directly, not when I hadn’t asked her a single question about it. Plus, after I read the note, it was clear that Elena didn’t know anything, she’s not trying to escape, and that’s really what I would be angry about.
I am, however, curious to know if she would tell me if directly asked. Of course, I could have done that, but it’s best for her to assume I don’t know, at least for right now. If I tell her I know, chances are she’ll put it together and realize I’ve got a camera in the room. I’d rather she didn’t know she is being watched.
The brunt of my anger was passed on to Romero—who will get what’s coming to him, I’m keeping count of his sins, I’m a patient man—and the now-dead maid who betrayed me. Hurting women has never been a joy for me, and whenever the job needed to be done, I usually passed it onto one of my men, but Martha’s betrayal was personal.
It was me or nothing, so I took my gun out and pressed the barrel to her head. She didn’t beg or plead, and it was over in a flash. Life was given and taken in a single breath.
She expected death for her betrayal, and I delivered.
“What do you plan to do with Romero? We knew he was going to reach out to her, and now he has… maybe he’s trying to distract us so that he can attack?”
“I doubt it, and we’re going to do nothing yet. We wait to strike till after the wedding. If he strikes us first, then obviously, we retaliate. I have it all planned. This weekend at the auction, I will show Elena off. Her father will be there, and I will make sure that he sees how much she leans on me, using the moment to rub in his face.”
“Then what?” Markus questions, and annoyance bubbles to the surface.
“Then I shove my foot up your ass. Don’t ask me stupid questions.” I shake my head and thrust my fingers through my hair in frustration.
A smirk twitches at his lips. It’s as close to a smile as anyone will ever get.
“It’s obvious you’re not fucking your soon to be wife, given the tension rolling off of you, maybe consider going to the strip club to blow off some steam.”
What Markus doesn’t show in emotion, he puts into the tone of his voice.
Blinking slowly, I pierce him with my steely gaze. “Don’t mention my soon to be wife, or me fucking her in the same sentence ever again.”
Markus is my first in command, a friend, and as close to a brother as I’ll ever get, but I’m a possessive asshole, and no one talks about Elena but me, and especially not fucking her.
“I won’t, but I think you should still consider going. You’ve been doing more work than usual, and the men are starting to notice.”
Things were changing a little bit. I was spending more time slitting throats and beating the fuck out of people than I ever had before, mainly to stop myself from taking my bride and to put space between us. In her presence, I could grow soft, and I didn’t want to do that for a second.
The idea of going to the strip club and finding a whore to fuck wasn’t appealing either, not when I had Elena down the hall, but there were very few options right now. I was going to wait until the wedding, but if I was going to make it through the rest of this week and weekend, I needed to let off some steam.
The fact that Markus was right was irritating.
“I should slit your throat,” I grumble.
“You could, but then who would be here to bust your balls or tell you that there are whispers among the men?”
“Shut up and get out of my office. Go kill someone or do something.”
“Are you going to go to the club? If so, I’ll go with you.”
Markus never sought out pleasure, ever. If I didn’t know him personally, I might even think he was a virgin, but I knew he wasn’t.
“What’s there for you?” I cock a brow in question.
