What did I tell you? He’s a fucking hothead I should be glad to see the back of, but regretfully, I value the opinion of my wife more than worrying about if our exchange will see me as weak.
I demand respect from my men.
I earn it from my wife.
“I came here as a mark of respect…” My words trail off when our conversation is interrupted by the last person I anticipated seeing. Justine is making her way down the stairs, her sturdy footing buckling when she spots my watch. She looks better than the last time I saw her. She’s well rested, healthy, and the scars on her shoulders are nowhere near as noticeable since they’re sheltered by her long red glossy locks.
Just returning her stare for half a second reminds me of why I left my family under Rocco’s watch this morning. I have to make this right. Not just for my family, but for Nikolai’s as well.
After returning my eyes to Nikolai, I tell him the real reason for my visit. “Words that should have been spoken years ago never were, resulting in an outcome that will haunt me the rest of my life.” I swallow with the hope a bit of spit will lessen the severity of my tone before continuing, “I decided to try a different route today. Don’t have me regretting my decision, Nikolai. We may have the same blood pumping through our veins, but we will never be family.”
I lock my eyes with Justine to ensure she knows most of my statement was about her. I hate what she went through. I hate that she believes I’m solely responsible for what happened to her, but I’d hate myself even more if I disappointed my wife for the second time. “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have allowed you within an inch of Hopeton.”
While Nikolai moves to protect his queen, I attempt to stop Karma’s painful gnaw on my ass. “He has nothing to fear. You may not have paid the debt Col wanted, but you paid more than I wanted you to pay. As far as I’m concerned, you don't owe me anything.” Because I am speaking in my native tongue, Nikolai has no clue what I said.
Justine doesn’t face the same injustice. She doesn’t just understand me, she understands my remorse as well. How do I know this? When she spots Nikolai’s sneaky removal of his knife, she shakes her head, wordlessly demanding for him to standdown.
Nikolai doesn’t immediately fall into step, and neither does my campaign. “Tell him I am not his enemy.”
Sparks of the woman I love are seen in Justine’s eyes when she responds, “Tell him yourself.” She skirts past me like Roxanne does anytime our arguments get a little hot tempered before moving to Nikolai’s side of the den. “He’s right here, willing to listen. You just need to speak to him in a language he understands.”
I almost laugh at her belief men in this industry listen. The truth has to be drummed into our heads for months before we absorb it, twist it until it suits our beliefs, then redistribute it as if it was part of the plan all along.
“That isn’t the way things work in our industry. The only time you become friends with the enemy is when you’re planning to take them down.” As the words of my wife filter through my head, I say, “He may be the devil's spawn, but he's also my brother. I don't wish him any harm.”
Needing to leave before years of hard work is undone in an instant, I dip my chin in farewell before exiting via the front door. Nikolai’s men watch me like hawks, but not one of them move for their weapons. I could thank Clover’s close shadow for that, but I’m too much of a stubborn prick to do that. They’re scared. I can smell it on their skin, see it in their eyes. They know I’m not a man to mess with, and it’ll do them best to convince Nikolai the same.
A storm is brewing, but for once, I don’t feel the need to grab an umbrella. I can’t issue the same guarantee to Nikolai. He’s ruling a kingdom he doesn’t rightfully own. That alone will have his enemies paying close attention to every move he makes.
How do I know this?
I’m doing the same fucking thing.
Nikolai isn’t just my brother. He’s my older brother, and some would say the true heir to the Petretti entity. I just refuse to hand over the reins without a fight.
My daughter was ripped from my wife’s stomach weeks too early, my son was almost killed on the order of my enemy, and my wife was brutalized under my watch.
I faced the carnage head-on.
I lived in hell for years.
So there’s no fucking chance I’ll ever concede my reign without facing a merciless bloodbath first. This war was founded on lies but it will end with the truth.
5
Roxanne
Inappropriate thought after inappropriate thought fills my head when the heavily gruff voice of Dimitri parts the steam surrounding me. “Eyes to the wall.”
He has spent so much time on the field with his men the past four days, the last time we showered together was the night I discovered we were expecting again. It’s been such a crazy week, I’ve hardly had the chance to celebrate the fact we beat the odds again.
I fell in love with the leader of a cartel entity and lived to share the ordeal.
I bet there aren’t many people who can declare the same.
Our relationship is nothing close to ordinary. We bicker, we disagree about almost everything, but that’s all part and parcel when you fall in love with a man who was raised to believe love was only something the weak were blinded by.
Dimitri loves me. Four years ago, I would have never been game to admit that out loud. Now I face no hesitation whatsoever. He loves me so much, when I suggest for him to set aside decades of infamy, remorse, and dishonor, he actually stops and considers what I’m saying. For a man who’d prefer to massacre a bus full of tourists over having a conversation it shows great restraint. He wants to be a good man. He was just never shown how to be one.
That’s where I come in. And our children. We, together, make him a better man.
After leaning into Dimitri’s thick and rigid body, I ask on a yawn, “Did you kiss Fien and Matteo goodnight?”
The side effects of this pregnancy are hitting me faster than it did my first. In between organizing catering and transport for a group of women willing to do anything for a bit of cash for an Arabian event this weekend, I napped.
I never nap. The last time I fell asleep in the middle of the day was after I thought I had miscarried Matteo. I’m not just surprised by how tired I’ve been the past week, I’m also suspicious as to what that could mean. I’ve never been overly good at keeping track of my cycle. I knew of Dimitri’s wish to knock me up the instant Matteo was six months old, and I was a virgin before I was thrust into this dark and dangerous world, so I had no reason to be vigilant, but now I’m wondering just how off track I was with my cycle.
I stop trying to recall the last time I could fasten the button in my jeans when Dimitri hums out an agreeing murmur. “Are you aware our son sleeps with a knife under his pillow?”
As I pivot around to face him, I drag my teeth over my lower lip. “Rocco gave it to him. I was supposed to sneak it out once he went to sleep… I kinda forgot.”
It’s wrong of me to admit I hope he gets angry over my forgetfulness, so I won’t. Usually, I seek any excuse for him to dominate me. I can’t do that this week. The heavy groove between his brows reveals that would be wrong of me to do. He’s struggling, just not all his fight is coming from his brother’s side of the field. He hates the distance his enemies continually place between us. We’re in his thoughts twenty-four-seven. He just can’t stalk us as he has the past four years.