: Chapter 7

The options in Greenwich Village, close to Sara’s parents, were limited. There was one place a few blocks from their house, but it was tiny, only 550 square feet with one bedroom. How were we supposed to live there as a family? And even Sara and I alone probably needed more room and another bedroom. It wasn’t as if being close to each other would be easy.

“This place looks good,” Amo said, pointing at another place, but it was too far away. Sara wanted to be able to walk over to her parents’, though I’d obviously never allow her to walk alone.

“Sara wants to be close to her family. I want to give her this sense of safety. She has enough to deal with.”

Amo leaned back. “It’s not Famiglia-owned, but there’s a place on the same block, even the same street. Here.” He turned his laptop around to me.

“Three bedroom, en suite, extra bathroom.” I fell silent when I saw the price. “It’s 2.7 million.”

That was a bit more than I wanted to pay, more than I could afford without borrowing money. I couldn’t just walk to the bank. That wasn’t how we did it. I’d have to ask Amo or Luca. It felt really icky to ask my best friend. Even if I sold my Rolex, I’d get fifteen thousand tops. That wouldn’t help much.

“How much do you need?” Amo asked without missing a beat.

I grimaced and began shaking my head.

“Don’t be stubborn. I have the money, and it’s not a gift. Maybe one day you’ll have to figure out a way to kill my wife in a very inconspicuous way. That’ll be worth many millions.”

I cocked an eyebrow. He’d said it in jest, but I wasn’t sure that there wasn’t a bit of truth in his statement. He loathed Cressida and despised her for having to give up the woman he really wanted. Not that I doubted Amo’s ability to kill Cressida himself, but it would probably get more messy if he didn’t use me.

“I have about a million.” That left me with two hundred thousand dollars for Sara and me to buy furniture and live a little.

“Maybe we can convince the owners to go down on the price,” Amo said with a smirk.

I grinned. “We should give it a try.”

The owners eventually sold it to us for two million.

Now, I only had to hope that Sara liked the place. It even had a small rooftop garden. It was on the fourth floor of a classic brownstone townhouse. The place was actually furnished, but I wasn’t sure if Sara would like the style. The neighborhood wasn’t one I would have usually picked. I felt like an alien compared to everyone else, and the fearful glances I got told me people considered me one too, and a dangerous one at that. The people who lived here worked on Wall Street or in a posh law firm. They had PhDs and went to Ivy League colleges. Those people transplanted hearts to save lives; I ripped them out to kill enemies.

Sara’s parents too lived in a townhouse, but they owned the whole place. Not to mention that Romero and Flavio had the ability to look as if they didn’t have a long kill list.

The moment I bought the place, I called Sara. I hadn’t sent her any information before. Since this wasn’t a Famiglia place, I didn’t want her to like it when there was a—albeit slim—chance of me not getting the place. And I definitely didn’t want to admit that I wasn’t as rich as Paolo’s family. His family was swimming in money. I was working hard and would definitely one day make more than enough money to buy a whole townhouse without threatening the owner, but I was still young and hadn’t planned for marriage yet.

“You got a place?” Surprise swung in her voice.

“It’s on the same street as your parents’ house. It wasn’t Famiglia-owned, so I had to be quick.”

“The same street?” The joy in her voice told me I’d made the right decision.

“Would you like to see it?”

“I’m not feeling so well right now. Maybe you can send me photos? I’m sure it’s great.”

“Sure. I’ll send them right away. Are we still going ring shopping tomorrow?”

“No, I’m sorry. My morning sickness is too bad, and it’s making me feel sick all day. My mother will join you.”

“Alright. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

I hung up, trying not to be disappointed. I had absolutely no reason to be. So far, things were still going much better than I’d ever anticipated. Maybe Sara was really sick, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to spend so much time with me yet, and both were fucking fine. Fuck, she had to grow a baby inside her despite what she’d gone through. I already had trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that I would be a father soon.

I sent her the two dozen photos I’d taken today.

A few minutes later, she wrote me a text: It looks great. Let’s keep the furniture. We don’t need to spend more money.

I looked around the spacious master bedroom with the oak floors, comfortable king bed, windows overlooking the treetops, and the light gray marble en suite bathroom. I wasn’t sure if Sara and I would share this room. I wasn’t sure if we should even try in the beginning. There would be enough obstacles for us.

The weeks leading up to the wedding weren’t filled with anything remotely heartwarming or romantic. The wedding had been planned for a while. My future bride and I didn’t have a budding relationship that needed to be honed. She needed space, and I was more than okay with giving it to her. The only thing I occasionally wished for was knowing more about the pregnancy.

Would Sara even talk to me if she decided to end the pregnancy despite her previous decision? I sometimes asked Romero how Sara was doing or even Amo because he saw her when Sara’s family visited his parents. That way, I always stayed in the loop.

I wasn’t even sure how I would feel if Sara decided to get an abortion. I knew I didn’t have a right to talk her into any kind of decision after what had happened.

I shook my head. I needed to focus. I had a job to do—one that wasn’t usually my style, but I’d talked Primo into letting me handle it. Explosives were usually his area of expertise. He had never been as keen about torture as me. He preferred things with more impact on a grand scheme and less direct contact with people.

I read through Primo’s instructions once more. I too had learned how to handle explosives, but it had been a while since I’d used them. “Don’t fuck up, or Luca will fuck me up” were his last words on the piece of paper he’d handed me this morning.

I had no intention of fucking up. Not just because I wanted to be the one to get this kill and wreak utter destruction but also because I didn’t want to get my brother, or Amo, who also knew, in trouble.

I got out of my pickup and approached the back entrance of the building. The neon sign on the front declared it a brewhouse, which it was by day in its public areas, but at night and in the spacious basement, Jabba’s little brother had a laboratory for designer drugs. I wasn’t supposed to go in. I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. Especially not Kirill. His wife had told us everything there was to know. She was the brain in their marriage, even if Kirill masqueraded as the one who led the business. Luckily, she had sung like a canary at the mere threat of torture. She had no loyalty to her husband or the Bratva. Her loyalties lay with Louis Vuitton and Prada and whoever guaranteed that standard of living. She was dead now.

I peered through one of the windows into the inside. Wooden casks were used as tables, and an array of beer cans and bottles were displayed on shelves on the walls. I broke the door and moved into the deserted inside of the brewery. No flights of beer and loaded nachos were being served now. I wasn’t sure if a silent alarm had been set in motion, but even if it had, there was only one exit out of the basement. I prepared the explosives and set a timer to five minutes. Maybe reinforcement would be here by the time the bomb exploded, and even more Bratva assholes would die.

I was supposed to leave right away. Instead, I watched the flap door behind the bar for signs of movement. I wanted to make sure Kirill was really inside. The flap door lifted, and a head poked through. Not Kirill. “This place will blow up in a couple of minutes. Send me Kirill and I might let you leave.”

The head disappeared, and almost a minute later, Kirill left the flap door. He wasn’t as meaty as his older brother, but they shared the same Jabba-likeness nonetheless. He cursed in Russian, something very nasty about my mother.

The timer was at two minutes.

“My brother should have fucked your future wife too,” Kirill said.

I pulled my knife and aimed it at his loin. The blade hit its mark, and Kirill sank to his knees with a satisfying howl. Matteo had taught me how to throw knives and Dad how to throw axes. Amo and I had often practiced throwing axes for fun. Throwing a knife came in more handy on the job, though.

Ninety seconds.

I pulled the jawbone of Jabba’s favorite cousin from the pocket of my leather jacket and walked toward Kirill’s writhing form. I had carved XO Max into the bone after I’d tortured the guy to death last week. I wouldn’t get to be as thorough this time, nor could I wait for Kirill’s death. I knelt beside him, put the jawbone down beside his shaking form, enjoying his horrified expression, then I rammed my knife into his back in a way that immobilized him so I could carve an M into his still flesh-covered jaw.

My eyes sought the timer. Twenty seconds. Fuck. I shoved to my feet and whirled around, then raced toward the exit. I’d hate to die because I carved my initial into Kirill’s ugly face. I’d hate it even more for Jabba to find my dead body. He was supposed to find the bodies of his family members until the disgusting rat finally emerged from the gutter.

Primo would definitely kill me if he found out I didn’t follow his instructions.

I was halfway to my pickup when the blast of the explosion hit me and tossed me to the ground. My ears rang, and the scent of burnt hair and flesh told me I had been a bit too close to the explosion than Primo would consider safe. I sat up with a groan at the intense pain in my back and neck. The building was up in flames, and debris littered the street. A dent in the hood of my truck indicated I should have parked down the street where Primo had suggested. But he wanted to be professional. I wanted to get revenge.

Who the fuck cared if I burned myself? Not I, that was sure.

I pushed to my feet despite the static in my ears and got in my car. In the distance, I could hear sirens. Soon, this place would swarm with police, paramedics, and firefighters.

I sat straight as I drove home, not wanting to lean against the backrest. It felt as if part of my T-shirt had melted into my skin, and I didn’t want to make it worse by putting pressure on the burns.

I almost passed out twice on my way back home. When I got out of the car, I had to steady myself against the door.

Primo stepped out on the porch and shook his head with a look of exasperation. He stalked toward me and helped me inside the house. I gritted my teeth when his arm pressed against the burns on my back. He sat me down in the kitchen and returned with a first-aid kit shortly after. “How badly did you fuck up?”

“I didn’t fuck up. I blew up the brewery, and Kirill is dead.”

“I’m sure that’s the whole story.” He dumped what felt like a whole bottle of disinfectant over my back, making me groan in pain.

“It won’t be pretty getting the fabric out of your wounds. You better bite down on something.”

“Give me a bottle of moonshine.”

He handed me the strongest liquor we had, and I downed a considerable amount. Then I gave a nod to show Primo I was ready.

It still hurt like hell, like being skinned alive, which was kind of the case, considering part of my upper skin had become one with my shirt.

“Most of them are second-degree burns. The fabric in the wounds is the main problem. Your neck looks the worst, could be third degree. You should go to the doc tomorrow.”

“He’s obligated to tell Luca about this.”

“Then take Amo with you. Nobody will ask questions then.”

That was true. I simply didn’t like using my best friend’s power for my own advantage, but in this case, I might have to make an exception. I needed to get the visible burns on my neck treated before the wedding.

I wondered if Sara would be happy if she knew I was getting revenge, that I was killing the people Jabba cared about.

I wasn’t sure how much of our quest for revenge Romero shared with her. Maybe it was best if she didn’t know too much, especially not the gory details.

I wore the wedding dress I’d picked out a year ago. The flowers and food were the ones Paolo’s and my mother had picked. Everything was exactly how I’d planned it in the past eighteen months. Everything except for the groom and the new wedding ring Maximus would later slide on my finger.

That, and the baby in my womb.

Today, I would marry Maximus Trevisan, a man I’d never considered husband material.

There were fewer guests than planned because Paolo’s huge family was no longer attending—naturally. Maximus didn’t have much family, at least not family he was on speaking terms with.

I was glad. I wanted a small affair. The big wedding I’d desired in the past now only made me nervous.

And we still had eighty guests. More than enough attention in my current situation.

“How do you feel?” Mom asked as she came up behind me, her worried face reflecting in the mirror.

I gave a small shrug. “Nauseous.”

The morning sickness everyone talked about was an all-day sickness in my case. I was eleven weeks along and was waiting for the nausea to finally stop.

“Take a sip of lemon water.” I accepted the glass Mom held out to me and took a gulp.

“And mentally?”

I wasn’t sure what I felt. Definitely nervous. But not in a way I’d hoped I’d feel on my wedding day. I was nervous about how things would be between Maximus and me. I still barely knew him. We’d talked three times and seen each other twice since he’d agreed to marry me. He seemed to be doing okay with what happened. Mostly, I tried to pretend I did too. But especially at night, the memories haunted me.

“Try to enjoy today, even if it’s not the day you’d originally planned. You only marry once.”

“You married twice,” I said with a teasing smile.

Mom pursed her lips. “You know what I mean.” She paused, narrowing her eyes in thought. “You know you can always return home. This isn’t like my first wedding.”

“I know, Mom, and I won’t have to kill Maximus with a letter opener. It’s going to be okay.” I said the last part for Mom’s reassurance as much as my own.

Mom shook her head. “I told you to show you that life can become beautiful even after a bleak time, not so you can make fun of it.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just such a crazy story. It’s just nothing like you. I can’t imagine you stabbing someone or risking an affair with a bodyguard.”

“Your dad and I were always meant to be.”

I bit my lip. “That’s true. You’re perfect together.”

Mom touched my cheek lightly. “Maybe you and Maximus can be better together than you expect.”

Mom and Dad didn’t have the same baggage as Maximus and I did.

A knock sounded, and Dad slipped inside. “Are you ready to go?” He froze when he saw me in the dress. “You’re stunning.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I still loved the dress. It was a satin piece with long laced sleeves and a scalloped neck. The flared skirt protected the very slight bump that only I noticed. A floral tiara with small crystals sat atop my head, and my hair was in a low updo at the nape of my neck.

He stared at me for a while longer, then toward Mom, and they exchanged an emotionally charged look, which made me emotional too. Something I really didn’t want. I needed to keep my emotions bottled up today if I wanted to appear as a somewhat content bride. “And are you ready to go?”

I didn’t feel ready. Mostly, I felt nauseous despite the medication I’d taken. My pregnancy was still a closely guarded secret, so I really couldn’t risk throwing up anywhere public today. Of course, everyone would know about it soon enough, and it would be obvious that the child hadn’t been conceived after our wedding. Still, I was glad for every day that the truth wasn’t out.