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It’s late by the time I finally get back to the apartment. Gio is sitting in the leather armchair by the window, nursing a glass of Scotch. His Beretta M9 is lying on the glass-topped table next to him, along with a bottle of my finest whisky. He looks up when I walk in.
“How is she?”
Gio rolls his eyes. I’ve texted at least twenty times since he brought her home from the hotel. I had time on my hands while we sat outside Zita’s strip club waiting for the right moment to go in. Antonio wanted to hold back until they were about to close and most of the patrons were gone. The last thing he needed was innocent people getting caught in the crossfire. Not that anyone who goes to a cesspit like Zita’s leads a blameless life.
“She’s the same as she was ten minutes ago,” Gio says, “sleeping peacefully.”
He gets up, drains his glass, and sets it down on the table. He tucks his gun into the back of his jeans and walks to me. There’s a hint of unsteadiness in his step. He’s obviously helped himself to more than one glass of my Balvenie Portwood. Putting an arm around my neck, he gives me an awkward hug.
“I’ll head home.”
“Get someone to take you.” It’s an order, not a suggestion. “If I find out you drove yourself I’ll kick your ass.”
“Yeah, okay.” He makes his way to the door. “Take care of your wife, Sandro. She’s way too fucking good for you.”
Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know. She doesn’t deserve to have her innocence tainted by this life. I go and check on her, pushing the bedroom door open as quietly as I can so I don’t wake her.
She’s sleeping peacefully, which surprises me under the circumstances. Her arm is wrapped around her pillow and her hair falls over her face, hiding the injury she sustained when I let her out of my sight. Guilt sweeps over me but there’s nothing I can do to make things up to Emilia right now. Letting her sleep, I head for the guest bathroom. I need to wash blood, dirt, and the general stench of today off before I get into bed with my wife.
Stripping off quickly, I leave my clothes in a pile on the floor and step into the shower. I like the water scalding hot or freezing cold. There’s no in between for me. Tonight, I set it to the highest temperature my body can stand and get under the stream of water.
Killing Gianni Conti was disappointingly easy. When we went into the club, all hell broke loose. Half-naked girls screamed their lungs out. Idiot security guards who should have saved themselves opened fire on us. We outnumbered them five to one, our ranks swelled by Piotr Reznov’s crew.
Gianni tried to run for it like the fucking coward he is. I have no idea how the man ever thought he could assume his father’s mantle. As he made for a fire escape, I shot him in the leg, incapacitating him. He cried like a baby as he clutched the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. He begged for his life, promising he would never come after Emilia again, before contradicting himself by denying all knowledge of the plot to grab her. I’ve never wanted to torture anyone more than I did when I cornered Gianni. But, needing to get home to Emilia, I ended it quickly, putting a bullet in his brain. It was a quicker death than he deserved, but I know Emilia will be relieved he didn’t suffer. Though he hurt her, she doesn’t have it in her to wish a painfully protractive end on anyone.
My brothers and Piotr will handle Grigori Balogh. By sunrise, he’ll have told them all he knows about Bianchi’s role in all this. Once we have the information we need, we’ll deal with him.
When I finally feel clean, I shut off the shower and get out. I dry myself and head to the bedroom. I fetch clean boxer shorts from the closet and slip them on before getting into bed. As the mattress dips, Emilia whimpers. I wrap an arm around her, and she shuffles back to press her body against mine.
“Is it done?” she murmurs. “Is my uncle dead?”
“Si, dolcezza. Sei al secura ora.” I don’t know why I feel the need to use her first language to assure her she’s safe but there’s something right about it.
She releases a shuddering breath, and her shoulders shake silently. I hold her close and let her cry out the sorrow and frustration she’s felt since the night her grandfather was killed. Never in my life have I felt so powerless, but I can’t think of a single thing to say that will take away her pain. Perhaps I shouldn’t even try. She needs to purge it by herself.
Eventually, she sniffs loudly and swipes at her face before reaching back and grabbing my hand with hers, now soaked with tears.
“Was it quick?”
“It was,dolcezza. For you, I made it quick.”
She nods, understanding that I could have made him suffer.
“Grazie, Alessandro,” she replies.
“I love you,” I whisper, but her soft, rasping breaths tell me she’s drifted back to sleep. Never mind. There will be plenty of chances for me to tell her how I feel. In fact, I intend to do it every day of my life from now on.
CHAPTER 21
Emilia
Examining my face in the mirror, I decide that enough is enough. It’s been ten days since I was attacked at the hotel and there is not a trace of a bruise left on my cheek. Alessandro has been treating me like I’m made of glass. It doesn’t help that I’ve broken down in his arms several times, the full weight of the horrors that have befallen my family finally hitting me.
He’s told me how sorry he is, that there was no other way for him to deal with my uncle. He’s soothed me as I cried and made love to me as if I was the most precious thing in his life. Though I’ve enjoyed seeing a more tender side of him, I need for him to stop holding back and fuck me the way I’ve been craving. He owes me a punishment for putting myself in danger and tonight he’s going to deliver.
Leaving the bathroom, I head to the walk-in closet where the clothes I’ve bought on shopping expeditions with Livvy this week are slowly pushing Alessandro’s wardrobe into a smaller space. I take the cute red corset and panties I bought for thisoccasion from a drawer. The color will look great on me, and it screamssiren. That’s how I want him to see me tonight, not as the pure, uncorrupted bride he carried off from Italy, but as a desirable woman in tune with her own desires.
I check the time on the smartphone Alessandro bought for me. He’s due home any minute. Quickly stripping off my clothes, I slip on the barely-there silk panties. There’s something so decadent about the fabric. I love how it caresses my skin. Congratulating myself for having the foresight to buy a corset that fastens in the front, I wrap it around my torso. I’d never manage these hooks and eyes if they were behind my back. As it is, it’s a bit of a struggle, but I eventually succeed. When I’ve got it sitting right, so it pushes my boobs up and cinches in at my waist, I slip my feet into five-inch black leather shoes. They’re difficult to walk in, but it’s not like I’m planning to go for a stroll.
