All this girl knows about me is who my cousin is. That and whatever details she can glean from the mansion, I suppose.
I work on a need-to-know basis, and people like Daniella simply don’t need to know. The more of them involved in my business, the more opportunities there are for shit to hit the fan. People are liabilities, stupid people doubly so.
The only people that I check in with regularly are the ones that work for me. Aside from that, everyone else stays an arm’s length away. Or farther, if I can manage.
Flipping through channels on the television mounted on the wall across from us, I pass the news station and turn back after catching a glimpse of one word.
“—vigilante.”
It sends a ripple of anger coursing through me. This motherfucker again. I’ve been hearing about him for the past few weeks. He’s been causing trouble, creating panic, and—most impressively—pissing off the city police, who look more and more incompetent with each evening broadcast.
The news anchors, of course, are having a field day with it. They can barely contain their Botox-fused smiles as they breathlessly recount the latest escapades of the lunatic vigilante. They’ve even taken to calling him “The Justice Killer.” Apparently, he draws the scales of justice with the blood of each of his victims.
Lunatic and melodramatic. He must have a fucking death wish.
But, like it or not, I cannot deny that he’s making a name for himself, whoever the bastard is, by killing people he deems too corrupt to deserve the comforts of a jail cell. I watch the breaking news alert blare on the screen as the female anchor urges women not to wander alone at night.
I wouldn’t give a damn about this ‘Justice Killer’ if it weren’t for the fact that he has begun to intrude in places he ought not to be messing with. Places like my businesses, for starters.
A few of my guys have found traces of his activity inside the bounds of our turf. It’s beginning to look like he’s stepping into my space.
Which means I may just have to show him how territorial I am.
Daniella turns my chin towards her again, and I hold back the urge to slap her hand away. “…You’re not listening! Wasn’t it so romantic? Oleg’s suit was so sharp, and Zhanna looked like she stepped right out of a movie. Aren’t you excited to get married one day?”
“I rue the day,” I say sarcastically.
“Huh?”
I turn to fix my gaze on her. “Would you like to flip a coin, darling?”
She crooks her head and tries to smile through it, but she’s confused. “I … I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Flip a coin,” I repeat. “Heads or tails.”
“I thought we were talking about, um … like, weddings?”
I nod. “That’s exactly what we’re talking about, Daniella. Flip a coin. Heads or tails. That’s what marriage is. Say you’re lucky—you get heads. You fall in love, raise a family, pass through your golden years in matching rocking chairs on the front porch. Then, surprise surprise: you get a front row seat to watch your life partner wither and die before you. Is that the happy ever after ending you find so endearing?”
She’s frowning now, her brow wrinkled as she tries to process what I’m saying.
But I’m not done yet. “Or let’s say you lose. Tails. The person you choose turns out not to be who you thought they were. You change, they change, the whole thing changes, and it crumbles to dust in your hands. You cheat, you lie, you learn real fast how to hate each other. Is that the better option?”
“I, I …” she’s babbling, trying to interrupt, but I just lay a soft finger over her lips to shush her.
I lean in close, almost nose to nose, to make my final point. “Listen to me—you lose either way, Daniella. The game is rigged. The house always wins. Pick your metaphor. So, to answer your question, sweetheart: No, I am not excited to get married. The whole thing is a fucking joke.”
When I’m finished, I settle back against my seat and turn my attention back to the television. Daniella looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“I think love exists,” she says softly. “I know it does. My parents are still together. They’re happy.”
“An anomaly, I’m sure,” I drawl.
“Alright then, Mr. Angry Bachelor, if you’re not interested in getting married anytime soon, what are you interested in?” she asks. She leans forward and grazes her lips over my ear sensually. “I think I have an idea.”
My eyes remain on the television. According to the latest reports, the vigilante has now killed a crooked cop and drawn his trademark scales on the man’s bedroom wall.
“Stop watching TV and look at me,” she whispers. She tries to tug at my chin, but I shake her off. “I’ll treat you exactly how I know you want, Matty. I’ll put porn stars to shame for you.”
Her blunt attempts at sex appeal fall on deaf ears. This mystery unfurling on the television screen has captured the entirety of my attention.
All I can think about is what I would do to this Batman wannabe. It’s not just hypothetical—given the reach of the Bratva Syndicate, it is only a matter of time until he makes a scene somewhere that I control.
With all this going on, I don’t have the patience to pretend I’ll enjoy robotically fucking Daniella upstairs in my bedroom. Something tells me she’s one of those girls who starts moaning like a stuck pig from the second you enter her.
I also have to wonder if she’s just coming on strong because she’s desperate or because she has ulterior motives. I can’t be sure anymore. My enemies are everywhere, and even when they’re not around, Oleg is trying to set me up with every girl he knows. I can’t say for sure which motive I fear more.
My phone rings. I grab it from the other side of the couch and see my brother Dmitry’s name pop up on the screen.
“You should go,” I tell Daniella.
She frowns and tries to straddle my lap. “But—”
“Now,” I growl. I am losing my patience with her. I need to take this call.
“C’mon, Matty, I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
I take a deep, steadying breath and shove myself up from the couch. Daniella stumbles back, nearly falling flat on her ass. I grab her arm and drag her to the front door, opening it and pushing her through.
“Wow, seriously, Matvei?” she cries, adjusting her dress to cover up the flash of lacy panties peeking from the crest of her exposed thigh.
“I told you no. I’m not the kind of man who likes to repeat himself.” Before she can say anything else, I slam the door and lock it.
I don’t have patience for people who don’t follow orders. She doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. She’d do well to remember that.
I retreat back upstairs to my office. As I settle behind my desk, I glance out the window to see her march outside and dial a number on her phone. A minute later, a luxury sedan with darkly tinted windows pulls up and she climbs inside.
I frown. I don’t like that. Something about the girl and the car looks wrong. Mismatched. But maybe I’m just being paranoid. It’s been a long, miserable day. I force myself to breathe and let her go.
When she’s gone, I sit down and rub the bridge of my nose. I need to stop offering to host events. I’m always the one left cleaning up. I’m the one dealing with wasted guests. Oleg’s wedding is the last thing I’ll do for anybody else for quite a long time.