Page 64 of Mafia Princess


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Chapter Twenty-Three

It was a rainy, fall day, which was perfect for the sad event Dom and I were attending. It had been a week since the explosion, and the young man who I had watched die in the ER, Matte, was being laid to rest.

I squeezed Dom’s hand as the priest finished his words. They were drowned out slightly by a combination of the rain, and the man’s mother sobbing. I knew that this was a difficult time for Dom. He had barely spoken since he’d been released from the hospital. He’d been in meeting after meeting whether with his men, the police, or the insurance company. I was worried about him, but I knew that he wouldn’t appreciate my voicing that.

“We should go pay our respects,” Dom said once the priest finished and the casket was lowered down into the ground. Dom’s eyes hadn’t left the shiny, black box once, and I wondered what he was thinking. Was he worried about his own mortality? Did he feel guilty? I had no idea because he hadn’t told me.

As we turned to walk towards Matte’s mother, Marco stepped in front of us.

“Why don’t I take Sasha back home?” he suggested.

I raised a brow. “Why? Isn’t there a wake?”

Marco ignored my question, and his eyes looked immediately at Dom. They seemed to have some sort of silent conversation, which ended with Dom nodding at his brother. I hated when they had silent conversations. I also hated that Marco seemed to win over me more times than not.

“I’ll be home in a few hours,” Dom said. He pressed a small kiss to my head. We’d barely talked about our marriage, but it seemed that since I’d denounced my Petrov roots, he was more at ease around me.

“Be safe,” I said. I hated leaving him out of my sight. Normally, I would have argued, but this didn’t feel like the time or the place. So instead, I turned around and followed Marco back towards the car.

“Why don’t you want me paying my respects?” I asked Marco. My heels were sinking into the soft mud, and I wished that I had worn flats. I’d worn my best black dress and heels in an effort to impress those in attendance, which made me feel silly in hindsight.

“Do you think that Matte’s mother wants to see you considering your father likely ordered the hit that took her son's life.”

His words stung, which I believe was the point. The small truce Marco and I seemed to make was gone. Ever since I left the hospital, Marco had been making snide comments about me.

“I’m not responsible for the actions of my father,” I muttered as I slipped into the front seat of the car.

“Despite what you might think, I’m doing this to keep you and Dom safe. People are mad, and you are the only Petrov that they can get their hands on right now.”

Whatever response I had prepared in retort died in my throat.

I laid back in my seat and closed my eyes.

“Dom said you’d been having trouble sleeping,” Marco said.

My eyes flew open, and I looked over at him. “Does Dom tell you everything?” I asked, annoyed. Nikolai and I hadn't been close enough in age to share secrets. He had taken on the role of protective brother more so than confidant, and watching Marco and Dom sometimes made me jealous.

“Not everything,” Marco said. “He didn’t tell me about your marriage until the deal had already been done.”

“Is that why you hate me so much?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I don’t hate you. I hate your family.”

“And you blame me for their actions.” It was a statement more than anything else. I didn’t need to guess at how Marco viewed me. He’d made it pretty clear.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you look like shit.”

His words would have stung, but I was too tired to care. Plus, I knew that I did look like shit. I’d spent a ton of time on my makeup this morning trying to cover the bags that were becoming a permanent display under my eyes.

“It’s natural to experience some sort of trauma after what happened,” Marco said, his voice quiet. For a moment, I wondered if he actually cared about me.

I said nothing. I looked out the window and allowed the coolness of the glass to sooth the headache that was forming in my temples. I didn’t want to talk about trauma or anything else with Marco. He’d made it clear where we stood with one another, and I was too tired to do much pretending.

Marco sighed and made a turn so quick in the car that I had to grab the handle to keep from smashing my head into the glass.

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