Chapter 8: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 8

My wife isn’t the only one who appreciates her own space.

This house has been my sanctuary for the past few years. Brotherhood money is good, and I’ve used almost every dime I’ve made to invest in various successful businesses. My personal fortune’s grown substantially, and my greatest and most prized asset is my home.

It’s the sound of the harbor: the lapping of water against the breaker walls, the noise of the boats, the laughter from tourists, the bustle of locals running along park trails and laughing on benches. This neighborhood is the lifeblood of Baltimore, and it’s the only place that makes me feel remotely calm and at peace.

Now I’ve got a problem living in my own damn walls.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her. Beyond fuck her and get her pregnant. We’re supposed to share a life, at least until the baby comes, and then she can move back to Philly and never set foot outside again.

But until then, she’s my wife.

Which is straight-up baffling.

How the hell am I married? To a little, sweet girl like that?

I’m a black-hearted killer. I’ve got more blood on my hands than a goddamn military brigade in wartime.

And somehow, I’m supposed to coax that sexy little terrified Russian girl out of her prissy little shell?

God, it’s annoying.

I stand outside her door, hesitating. I should just barge the fuck in. It’s my house, after all, but I know that’s the wrong move. She nearly passed out from embarrassment when she walked in on me getting changed. Imagine if she’s naked in there or something?

Wouldn’t that be nice? Seeing her small, tight body stripped bare. Her pale skin would turn bright pink, and she’d mutter something about looking away, and I’d take her by the hair and bury her uptight little mouth with my own. Kiss her nice and deep before fucking her to the hilt. Get her juices all down my big dick. Make her lick it off…

Fuck, I’m having dirty daydreams about my wife.

This is a nightmare.

I bang on the door, forcing myself to calm down. My dick’s half hard, but there’s no helping that. I bang two more times since there’s no answer.

“I’m coming in,” I call out, unlocking the handle with my master key. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to see⁠—”

I step into her living area and stop dead.

The place is a wreck.

All the paintings were torn down and thrown in a heap. Half the drawers were ripped out of the cabinets. Books, photographs, and little decorative statues fill the fireplace. Broken plates cover the floor.

“What the fuck?” I murmur, stepping over a shattered vase.

Dasha’s nowhere in sight. The couch’s pillows were tossed in the corner. I have no idea what happened in here, but clearly, something bad.

My heart rate doubles.

Could someone have gotten to her? Vito says everything’s quiet, but it looks like someone broke in and flipped the place.

I hurry to the windows to make sure they’re still sound. No sign of forced entry. Each is solidly locked in place.

There’s noise in the hallway. I pull my gun, whirling around, a snarl on my lips. If some motherfucker touched my wife⁠—

Dasha stares at me from under sleepy eyes.

For a moment, all I can see is Natalia. My second cousin, but everyone’s a cousin in the Brotherhood. That fierce, dark-haired Armenian viper. My best friend in the whole world and the aching space between heartbeats.

She taught me how to climb a tree, how to pick a lock, but to apply pressure at just the right spot to break a bigger man’s wrist. Fierce and unrelenting and the only person that ever really understood me.

Gone now.

Except it’s Dasha in front of me. My small, blonde, beautiful Russian wife. The opposite of Natalia, but also not, except I catch flashes of that same unrelenting passion, only suppressed and waiting to be unleashed.

Neither of us moves. She’s wearing a big shirt that drapes down to mid-thigh like it’s a minidress. Her nipples are stiff, and she’s not wearing a bra. Her hair’s messy, and the way she’s rubbing one eye makes it clear I just woke her up from a nap.

“Are you about to shoot me?” she asks blearily. “Just make it fast, please.”

I quickly lower my weapon, trying not to smile. That fucking sharp tongue. I could suck it straight from her fucking face. “What the hell happened in here?”

“Nothing happened.” She raises her chin, jaw set. Somehow, she makes herself look three inches taller, even though she’s just a little thing.

It’s that rod down her spine. Probably stuck up her ass too.

I kick at a framed painting of the harbor. “I thought someone broke in and kidnapped you. I was about to make some calls.”

And about to murder a whole lot of people.

“I’m still here, unfortunately.” She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s suddenly aware that I’ve been sneaking glances at her breasts. My wife looks fucking fantastic, and I’m just a man after all. Can’t help myself.

“Did you do all this then?”

She hesitates but then nods. “I didn’t like the decorations, and since it’s my room⁠—”

“You went apeshit on the fucking place.”

Her jaw works. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“Hard to say it any other way.”

“You don’t need to be vulgar about everything, you know.”

My eyebrows raise, and I let my gaze drift to the naked skin on her legs, then back up to her lips. “Says the girl who looks downright fuckable right now.”

Her cheeks turn pink, which was the desired reaction. “I was napping, you—” She takes a breath to compose herself. I swear, she was about to rip into me, but instead she seems to shrink slightly. “If you need me to clean it up, I will.”

The fuck? Two seconds ago, she was going to kick me in the nuts for eye-fucking her into submission.

Now she’s acting like an obedient little bride.

The passion smothered again.

But it’s still there, lurking, waiting, and if I apply just the right pressure…

I might make her explode.

And by all that’s fucking sinful and unholy, I want her to shatter all over me.

“Decorate the place however you want,” I say, tearing my gaze from her eyes. I shove my gun back into my belt and step over some ruined pottery. “Tell Vito what you need, and he’ll make sure you have the budget.”

“Wait, what? Budget?”

“You’re going to need money. You know, to buy new stuff?” I gesture all around. “Unless you want to live like this?”

“No, I just—” She shrinks back slightly. “I thought you’d be angry.”

I stare at her. I’m not remotely surprised. I come off like a piece of shit because the majority of the time, that’s what I am. A killer, a beast, a monster.

For most people in my life, I’ve got just about zero patience.

I’m known to go from smiling to stabbing faster than most men can light a cigarette.

Except for some reason, this girl itches at me. It’s like I want to make sure she’s happy, and if I can’t make that happen, at least I can make her comfortable.

“This is your home now,” I tell her with total sincerity, which is very rare for me. “Do what you want with it.”

That seems to stun her. For a second, her mouth hangs open, before she finally nods. Her voice breaks slightly. “Thank you.”

“I don’t care how much money you need. Rearrange this place however you want. Furniture, paintings, color the walls, it doesn’t matter. This is your space.”

“My dad never really let me change anything,” she says, staring down at the floor. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I recommend starting with a broom.” I grin slightly at the embarrassed look she throws at me. “But you’ll figure it out. Now, I need something from you.”

She gathers herself. The touched, vulnerable girl dissipates, leaving the straight-backed prim Lady Asshole in her place. There are three sides to this girl, and she uses each one with precision. “Here I was thinking you were being altruistic.”

I was, but she can think whatever she wants.

“Nothing’s free,” I tell her and move closer. “There’s a meeting of the Brotherhood leaders. You have to come with me.”

Her eyes widen. Just a little hint of fear. “I can’t do that.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“But I only just got here. I don’t know anything about Baltimore. I barely have any clothes. I just can’t.”

I walk toward her. She backs away, chin up but with simmering panic in her eyes. She bumps into the wall, and I stop inches in front of her, looming over her like a beast. Let her see the mobster. Let her think I’m a demon and a brutal savage. What does it even matter? Everyone else looks at me and they know what I am.

Bloodthirsty fucking killer.

In my world, the line between sinner and saint is a blurry mess.

Dasha might as well get used to it.

“This is not optional,” I say, my tone dripping with malice. “After the meeting, if you want to hole up and hide away again, that’s your business. But I have to show you off. Let the other heads of the family know you’re just a girl and not some scary Russian viper. Do you understand?”

She nods meekly. Fuck, I want her to fight. Where’s that goddamn passion? I wish she’d try to knee me in the crotch or scratch out my eyes. I know that’s in her—but whenever I nudge just the slightest bit, she crumbles.

“I understand,” she whispers.

“And you’re not going to do anything about it?” I say between my teeth, almost desperate for her to push back.

She only shakes her head and stares at the floor.

Fuck. I want to grab her hair and pull. Make her meet my eye.

I want that defiance again.

But maybe it’s better this way. Most men in my position want a quiet, meek little wife to suck their dick and do their bidding, right?

That sounds miserable to me.

I’ll just have to be patient until one day she’s ready, and I’ll be fucking waiting, hungry for whatever she has to throw at me.

“And there’s one more thing,” I say gently, still standing over her. “You saw the door at the end of this hall?”

She nods, surprised, and looks up. “I didn’t know where it went,” she admits. “It’s locked right now.”

“That door connects to my rooms.”

She licks her lips and glances to the side. “Seriously?”

“You don’t have the key, but I do.”

“That means… our rooms share a wall?”

“The head of your bed is right up against the head of mine.”

Her cheeks turn pink again. “I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

“Feel comforted that there’s a wall separating us.” I linger for a beat longer, tempted to reach out and touch her.

Instead, I tear myself away.

“When’s the meeting?” she blurts out.

“A few days. Get this place straightened up. I’ll send clothes for you to wear.”

“You’re dressing me now?”

“Might as well since you act like such an obedient little doll.”

I look back over my shoulder, grinning viciously, and her jaw is locked in a rage glare. Hell, yes, that pissed her off. She steps forward, hands balled into fists.

Now, finally, that’s the spicy little spitfire I want.

Come on, baby, let me have it.

Tell me what a bastard I am.

Tell me all the ugly truths we’ve both been thinking.

I’m a monster. I’m disgusting.

“Get out of my room,” she says, her voice shaking.

I wait, and there’s nothing else.

How much harder do I have to push before she explodes?

“Don’t forget about the deal,” I say as I head to her door. “The sooner we start trying to make that baby, the sooner you can get pregnant and get out of here.”

“I’m not interested,” she snaps at me.

“If you change your mind, all you have to do is knock on that door. Middle of the night and feeling lonely? Go ahead and summon me.” I stop and look back at her, licking my lips. “I’ll come when you call, my little doll.”

“Asshole,” she barks, picking up a book and flinging it at me.

I dodge, grinning to myself.

There’s the little spirit I’ve been missing.

Now we’ll see how long it takes before she comes begging for me to slip myself deep inside of her.