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I try to think of it, just for a moment. And I know he’s not wrong. I think of the blood splattered across the hotel room walls when I went in to rescue her from Mikhail, the dying gargles of all those men, the teeth on the concrete floor when I tortured one of Viktor’s soldiers to get the location. Would I do that and more if she were dead?
I want to say that I’m not sure. I want to say that I know it wouldn’t bring her back, that I’d think of the good of the family, that I’d remain clear-headed and try to do the same thing I’m doing now—make peace and bring order back to our streets.
But the truth is that I’d murder every last man who so much as thought about harming Sofia, all the way to Viktor Andreyev, and then I’d pull him into pieces and feed them to the dogs.
None of that helps now, though. None of it changes the fact that war isn’t going to fix anything. It’s only going to make it worse.
“I wish Giulia were still here. I do,” I say calmly. “I see your pain, Vitto, and I understand your desire for revenge. But how many civilians were hurt in that explosion?” I pause, looking at him. “We’re going to have the law down on us too if there’s too much collateral damage. And a war with the Russians will mean people dying who have nothing to do with this.”
“The cops are in our pockets or theirs,” Rossi says with a wave of his hand. “There will be no heat, and you know it.”
“There’s always a few who insist on doing their job. And if we escalate this to the point that the Feds get involved—”
“So what? Do you want to roll over and show your belly like a whipped dog? To theUssuri? Fuck that,” Rossi spits.
“I’m not rolling over.” I can feel the last shred of my patience ebbing thin. “You made me don, Vitto. So let me be don.
“I didn’t know I chose an heir who would be so weak.” Rossi’s voice is cutting. “I thought you were your father’s son.”
“I am,” I say coolly. “And in many ways, yours as well. I’m not weak, Vitto. I’m trying to be practical.”
There’s no question that he’s trying to get a rise out of me, to piss me off enough to follow his lead, but I’m not about to take the bait. I hadn’t intended to rise to this position so soon, but I’ve always intended to lead in my own way. I’m not about to change that now.
“Hmph.” Rossi snorts, turning his face away. “I’m tired. Make sure they do right by Giulia tomorrow. We’ll talk about this later.”
It’s a clear dismissal, and part of me seethes at how he thinks he can still wave me off so easily. But I’m not about to dwell on it. I have the ring and the title now, and I intend to proceed in my own way for as long as possible, regardless of how Rossi seems to want to continue to rule through me. That will only happen if I allow it, and I don’t intend to.
I decide to spend the night away from Sofia. I need time to process, to think about everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours. So instead of going home, I send Carmen a message asking to have a fresh suit delivered to the hotel where I’ll be staying. Then, give my driver the location before leaning back in my seat and pouring myself a generous slug of whiskey. I’m not usually one to drink in the afternoon, but I think now is as good a time as any to make an exception.
The hotel room is cool and fresh-smelling, perfectly made up and cleaned, one of the finest suites that they have available. I strip out of my suit immediately and hang it up, pouring another shot of whiskey from the minibar before striding into the large bathroom and turning on the taps in the shower. I down the golden drink as I wait for the water to heat up, enjoying the burn of it spreading through my chest, the smoky taste at the back of my throat.
Finally, some fucking peace and quiet. I feel more drained than I have in years; the load of responsibility on my shoulders increased ten-fold. I need a moment to breathe, remember who I am and why I’ve done all of this for so long.
But the truth is too simple. I was born into it. I know no other life, and I don’t think that I want to. And now Sofia has thrown a wrench into that. I had my future planned—continue my wealthy playboy lifestyle until the day that the title passed to me…and then keep on being a rich playboy, but with more responsibilities. Children had been out of the question, which meant a wife wasn’t necessary. And love?
Love is for other men. Lesser men.My father hadn’t loved my mother. Even as unsure as I am of what love really means, I know that much.
But from what I’d heard of Sofia’s family, her fatherhadloved her mother. And look where it had gotten them—where it gotallof us. Sofia’s father was murdered by the Bratva, my father murdered to avenge him, my mother, dead, Sofia’s mother, dead. Both of us are orphans. And if Sofia’s father hadn’t insisted on marrying a Russian woman?
Maybe they’d all still be here. Giovanni, Marco, their wives. My parents.
Sofia wouldn’t exist, though.Not without all of that.
“This is getting too fucking philosophical for my blood,” I mutter aloud to the empty room, pushing the thoughts out of my head. There’s no point in mulling over the past. What’s done is done, and the dead are dead. They can’t be brought back. All I can do is make certain that the carnage is stalled and that more don’t follow them to early graves. Whatever Rossi says on the matter, I don’t want war.
Rossi believes that we aren’t meant to be men of peace; I’ve always known that. He thrives on it. But I’ve never been that man. I believe peace is possible for all of us if we work together. We have the same interests, after all—Russian, Irish, Italian. We want money, and power, to live life on our own terms and fuck those who want to say otherwise. We want to choose our lives and choose our ends.
So what’s necessary is to find that common ground and work out among all of us how to achieve that without stepping on each other’s toes.Easier said than done.And with Rossi trying to still rule through me, it adds another layer of complications.
I step under the hot water, groaning with pleasure as it rolls down my back, and my thoughts circle back to Sofia. She’s a complication, too. I thought I would be able to neatly shelve her away post-wedding, but it’s clear that won’t be the case now. She’ll remain in my house and my thoughts for longer than I feel comfortable with, and I don’t know how to reconcile that.
It would be easier if I were a man like Rossi. But while I’m not above giving Sofia as good as she gives me, even pushing her to face her own desires like that night that I bent her over the couch, I draw the line at forcing her to sleep with me. That holds no appeal for me. I’m a violent man—but never with women, and to tell the truth, it’s part of what I feel separates us from the Bratva. I would never harm a woman.
Still, Sofia is driving me fucking insane.
Just the thought of her is making me hard. I can feel my cock thickening as I stand under the water, rising stubbornly just at the memory of her warm body under my hands two nights ago, her small cry when I slid into her for the first time, the way she tightened around me, her virgin pussy clenching around my cock like she wanted me in her as deeply as possible. She might have told me to get it over with, but her body had said otherwise.
Fuck. My cock throbs, pre-cum pearling from the tip as my balls tighten with need, and I groan, unable to stop myself from wrapping my hand around my thick length and stroking slowly. It’s just my luck that when I was forced to marry, I’ve been given a bride that refuses to play the part of a dutiful wife. There are so many pleasures I could introduce her to. So many things I could teach her. I think of how soft her lips felt under mine, how they parted as her cheeks flushed when I thrust into her, and how good they would feel wrapped around my cock.
