Chapter 32
32
Leon
I should be concentrating on work.
Roman entrusted the leadership to me, and he would expect me to be hands-on, but the truth is, our operations practically run themselves.
I didn’t cultivate a reputation as a ruthless boss only to do all the running myself. Especially now that I have such a delicious distraction.
Emery. My wife.
Fucking her was a pleasure almost beyond imagination. I will never get enough of her tightness, her rolling curves, and that thick, grabbable ass.
Physically, she’s everything I’m not—soft, juicy, feminine. The only thing I’ll ever stop her doing is dieting; I wanna drool over every glorious inch of her body for the rest of my life.
But it’s not just her body—it’s her mind, heart, and how she looks at the world. Emery isn’t a distraction; she’s a revelation.
I check on the pork belly that’s under the broiler. Everything else for the ramen is ready, even the tea-stained eggs, which have been marinating all day.
I could have got the best Japanese restaurant in the city to deliver it to my door, but I wanted to make the effort because I had something to prove.
Emery was raised with money. She’s used to luxury in place of attention and care, and I fucking hate it.
I’m rich beyond even her experience, but it’s not who I am—not who we are. I must show her there’s more to me than the empire I built.
I wish my phone would ring, vibrate, anything. It’s sitting on the counter, the silence deafening. I offered to send a car, but she declined, saying she wanted to make her own way. When I asked for an ETA, I got no reply.
Double texting is never a good idea, right? This is the problem with marrying someone before actually dating them; now I gotta go through the anxious phase of getting to know her, learning her quirks, and trying not to be a neurotic, needy idiot.
I remove the pork and put it on the chopping board to rest while I slice the pak choi, almost cutting my finger due to my lack of concentration.
Why am I so whipped? I made her my wife because I wanted to own her, but there’s so much more to it.
Thirty days. Such an arbitrary time limit.
If I’m honest with myself, I thought my obsession would wane once I had Emery in my clutches, but the opposite is true; it’s only deepening, becoming more nuanced and genuine with every minute I spend with her.
Even when she’s not at my side, I feel her influence in everything I do.
Emery is changing me. She’s pulling me toward the light, even if I don’t deserve to be there.
I don’t want to make her stay; I want her to choose to be with me.
With all my wealth and resources, I still have nothing to work with, no tricks or manipulations that might load the dice in my favor.
Either she grows to love me, or she doesn’t, but me? I’ve already got a problem with my heart, and no cardiologist can fix it.
Only one doctor has the medicine I need.
My phone shudders across the counter as it buzzes, and I drop the knife with a clatter. I check the notification and growl with frustration through gritted teeth.
Fuck you, Viktor. Not now. Whatever it is, I don’t care.
As I rinse the noodles a minute later, I hear Emery’s key in the lock. I wheel around to see her standing on the mat, her hair frizzy from the light rainfall.
“ Val’kiriya . Are you okay?” I clock her red-rimmed eyes. “Bad day? I can see that. Would you believe me if I told you I cooked? We may not survive it, but I’m confident.”
I set down the noodles, ready to take her coat and warm her. It’s not until she steps into the light that I see the coldness in her eyes that has nothing to do with the temperature.
“Don’t come near me,” she says. “Stay there, Leon. I mean it.”
I stop in my tracks instantly. What the fuck?
“At least get dry before?—”
“Do you know a guy called Fabrizio?” she asks suddenly. “Because he knows you, or at least he did.”
“No.”
It’s the truth—I have no idea who she’s referring to, but many people know who I am. Apprehension weighs heavy in my gut; where is this going?
“He came in with a gunshot wound,” Emery continues. “He died on my operating table, butnot before saying your name.”
Shit . I get it now; something must have gone down tonight, and because I was too preoccupied with Emery, I didn’t check Viktor’s message.
Big fucking mistake.
“ Moya zhena ,” I begin, holding up my hands. “Let’s sit down and?—”
“I’m not an idiot—rich people often have dodgy connections, but this is different. You destroyed Dante’s business interests and threatened my father, but I thought you were all talk.”
Emery folds her arms, hugging her body defensively. “You wouldn’t be the first wealthy guy who thought he was Batman; that kind of ooh-I’m-so-powerful-and-mysterious thing is a cliché. Most of the rich kids I knew would never see the mean streets of this city, let alone get their hands dirty, yet here’s a dying kid from the wrong side of the tracks saying your goddamn name!”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. I could say so many things and spin this a thousand ways, but none would be true, and I’m lost for a response.
Emery stares at me, and her frustration spills over.
“Oh, for crying out loud! Tell me a sweet lie, Leon. Don’t make me hate you and myself. Anything will do. Just don’t let whatever we have—what we’re making between us—crumble in the face of reality!”
I sink to my knees. God knows why, but it seems right. It’s not her that should be pleading for anything.
“Emery, I’m sorry,” I say. “It was only a matter of time before you found out. I wanted to pretend it would be okay, but I knew where this was headed.”
She sits on the couch, never taking her eyes off my face.
“You’re some kind of criminal?” she asks.
Devastation pulls at her voice, making it tremble, and her strength strikes me.
She could have run away, avoided the subject, and let fear power her choices. But here she is, facing it down, afraid but not a coward.
I cannot cheapen her bravery with bullshit and avoidance. Whatever happens next is meant to be, and I must accept the consequences of the path I chose all those years ago.
“Yes, I am a criminal.”
I tilt my head back and close my eyes, unable to bear the anguish on her beautiful face. “When my parents were killed, I went to live with my uncle, Josef. He was very protective of me, but I was deeply traumatized and angry, and I made his life Hell. I was disillusioned with society and the corruption of law and order, so I started running with the Russian boys. They were building a bratva presence in New York, and the whole thing worked up into a full-scale mob war.”
I draw a deep breath. How can I make her understand?
“I was angry at the world, Emery. I’d lost my parents to violence, and the people who were supposed to uphold justice didn’t care. They filed reports and moved on. I was drowning in hate, and the bratva gave me something to focus on. They told me I could bring order to the chaos and be strong where others were weak. And I believed them because I needed to believe in something.”
I glance at Emery. She’s frozen in place, her expression an unreadable mask.
“Amid all the chaos, dyadya Josef was beaten up by some two-bit punks with a grudge against me. My poor uncle went into shock and had a severe stroke. He’s been in a care facility ever since, and I committed fully to the bratva after that, determined to clean up the fucking cesspit this city had become.”
“The bratva.” Emery’s voice has a sharpness I didn’t expect. “The Russian mafia. You, the son of wealthy philanthropists who kept their business clean, are part of the?—”
I force myself to look her in the eye. “I’m not just a gear in the machine. It’s all mine, val’kiriya . I’m the boss.”
Emery says nothing, and the room grows still, the atmosphere thick with regret.
I wish I’d never gotten her involved.
She’s too good for a scumbag like me, a man who scorned his privileged life in favor of working for change from the inside.
Or at least, that’s always been the line. Lately, however, I’ve wondered what my parents would think of me.
It’s true that Roman, Viktor, and I spearheaded a shift from the dehumanizing activities that characterized the wilderness years of the NYC underworld—trafficking, prostitution, predatory drug-pushing at kids, all that nasty shit.
We cleaned up and imposed a code of honor that safeguarded innocent people and kept all the squalid dealings amongst those who knew what they were getting into.
That doesn’t mean my parents would be proud. And, deep down, I wanted to cause some havoc of my own, to channel my rage and shame into something I could at least pretend had a purpose.
Emery is getting to her feet, her purse in hand.
I’m a man with unlimited power, especially over people. No one tells me no; they don’t get to walk away. Always, without fail, it’s my way or the highway.
But not this time. I will let the woman I adore leave me because I care more about her needs than mine. And if she needs to get away from me, so be it.
I could own the world, but I don’t feel like the king of anything right now. I’m broken, with no one to blame but myself.
Emery pauses, her hand on the door handle.
“Have you nothing to say?” she asks, turning to look at me. “You stole me from my life and forced me to be part of yours, and all the while, you hid yourself from me.”
Her eyes shimmer with tears. “You took so much, Leon. Things I gave willingly but can’t take back now that I know you tricked me.”
Defensive words die on my lips. How can I tell her she’s wrong? It would be another lie.
I open my mouth to ask when—or if —she’ll return. Will she let me explain, soothe her fears, make her understand me?
The words I say instead are a shock to both of us.
“I love you, Emery.”
She stares at me for a long, painful moment. Then she’s gone.