A mound of boxes tumbled out. I laughed as I tried to straighten them up. She walked toward me, chewing her lip, and nodded.
“What is all that?”
“Presents.” I gave up trying to corral the stuff and stepped back. “What do you think?”
“Is that for real?”
I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. “You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t pick it out myself. I had someone else do it.”
She walked over and gingerly touched a Dolce and Gabbana box. I had no clue what was inside since I vastly overpaid some skinny white lady to do all my shopping for me, but I figured she was worth it.
“Why?” The word sounded more surprised than anything else.
“I noticed you didn’t have a lot when we moved your stuff over.”
Another flash of anger, but she wrestled it back. “Not all of us rob people for a living.”
I snorted. “Your father does.”
“Just because my father’s a wealthy gangster doesn’t mean I have a dime of that money.”
“I guess that’s true.” I tilted my head to the side. “I just figured—”
“Don’t figure.” She turned back to the boxes. “My relationship with my father isn’t exactly great.”
“Why not?”
She paused as she lifted off the lid of the D&G box. She lifted out a light sweater, modest and gray, that shimmered slightly in the light. Based on the way it draped over her hands, I’d guess cashmere, and really good cashmere at that. She sucked in a breath and held it up, pressing it against her chest, letting the fabric drape over her breasts and body—and I had the sudden urge to see her wearing nothing but that damn sweater.
“He’s an asshole,” she said, as if that explained much.
“Go on.”
She hesitated, put the sweater back, opened another box from Steven Madden. Gorgeous, supple brown leather ankle boots were inside, and she seemed delighted as she took them out and held them up to the light.
“My father wasn’t an easy man to live with, especially after my mother died. After she was gone, it was like he had permission to go through woman after woman, and he always brought them home like they were going to be my new mom, but they never lasted more than a few weeks. I got used to it, then I got bitter about it, and eventually we started fighting.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked. Most mafia families aren’t full of gentlemen.”
She gave me a look. “What’s that say about you?”
I grinned back at her. “I’m not in a mafia family.”
“What do you call—” She gestured at me. “Whatever it is?”
“The Volkov Crew. We’re a loose conglomerate of affiliated gangs.”
She put the boots back and stared at me. “That sounds like something you just made up.”
I sat down in a chair and crossed my legs, my coffee mug perched on my ankle. “Hedeon brought us all together. Some of us had our own groups before he got his claws into us, and those groups melded into the greater whole. Those that didn’t have a crew already were given some guys. We worked independently of each other and still do to some extent—but Hedeon’s the head of it all. Without him, we’d break apart.”
“Sounds fragile.”
“In some ways, it is, but it also makes us strong. Even if one crew falls, there are ten more to take its place. In that way, we’re pretty difficult to pin down, you know?”
She shrugged. “You’re still a bunch of mafia assholes whether you act like a mafia family or not.”
“You’re a little biased.”
“I have reason to be.” She looked back at the clothes, reached for another box, then stopped herself. “Why should I take any of this stuff?”
“Because you like it and I like that you like it.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“Sure it is.”
“I’ll owe you, and I don’t want to owe you anything. I want to get through this and move on with my life once it’s over.”
I took a deep breath and tried not to let myself lose my temper. She was pushing me and she knew it—and I had a feeling she did it on purpose.
“Look, whether we like each other or not, it doesn’t matter. We’re still stuck together for a while, so we might as well try to make the best of it, yeah? Let this be my wedding present to you.”
I saw her expression soften. She looked back at the boxes on the floor then at the boxes piled up in the closet. They were all designer brands, expensive brands, and she’d probably scream if she knew exactly how much I spent on her.
But she shook her head and stood up. “No, I can’t take it.”
“Cora.”
“No.” She walked toward the steps. “Maybe you’re really trying to be nice here, but I can’t.”
I watched her walk upstairs and slowly shook my head.
I let another day pass.
She didn’t want to take my peace offering— that was fine. I couldn’t really blame her. From her perspective, I was another mafia asshole trying to bribe her with presents and money. Which I guess could’ve been worse, but hey, she had her morals.
So I returned all that shit. My shopper lady wasn’t happy about it—until I told her I had a different plan in mind and gave her an even bigger budget. Then she shut up since she was too busy calculating her commission.
That night I sat on the couch and watched football. I should’ve been out doing rounds on my turf but I decided my pretty new wife was more important. I had my legs kicked out and my feet on the coffee table when she came downstairs hunting for something to eat for dinner.
I let her get halfway to the kitchen before I spoke up.
“I got you another present.”
She stopped and slowly turned to face me. She wore exercise gear, tight yoga pants and a tank top, and she had a sheen of sweat on her forehead. I guessed she was upstairs doing some kind of workout.
“What did you say?”
“I got you another present.”
“I thought we agreed we’re not doing that.”
I shrugged, turned off the game, and stood. “You said you didn’t want what I got you, so fine, I returned it all.”
She chewed her lip. “All of it?”
I grinned at her. “Don’t be greedy.”
“Whatever. I don’t want anything from you, okay?”
“Just look in the closet.”
She took a sharp breath and rubbed at her temples. “Are you going to leave me alone if I say no?”
“Absolutely not.”
She let out the breath and marched over to the closet. I moved closer and watched as she pulled it open—
And a mountain of Victoria’s Secret boxes and bags tumbled out.
She stared at it all. Panties, nighties, lingerie—even a few sweatpants and workout stuff—fell out on top of her and all over the floor. She took a few seconds to stare at the pile before turning to me.
“What the hell?”
“You didn’t want clothes, so I got you something I’d enjoy instead.”
“You fucking… you asshole.” She kicked a box and sent it spinning toward me.