37
“H ey, Mamma,” Alessandra said, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder.
Her eyes were fixed on the pile of clean clothes in the laundry basket as she pulled out one of Roman's white shirts and folded it neatly before setting it aside.
She'd been at the task for only a couple of minutes before her mother called.
“ Bambina ,” Gabriella crooned on the other end. ”How are you?”
“I'm good, Mamma. And you?”
“Missing you, figlia mia . I thought I'd call and invite you to lunch. What do you say? Your uncle Mattia just finished with the renovations toZio's. He's been pestering me to bring you along.”
Mattia was her mother's eldest brother. Like most men in Alessandra's life, he had pledged his loyalty to the Outfit in his youth, in a time when the organization was run by Alessandra's grandfather.
A true Italian at heart, he was loud, always cheerful, and the owner of a large belly that spoke of the many hours spent in the kitchen cooking his mother's recipes for the restaurant he'd been running for over twenty years.
Alessandra put her mother on speaker then set the phone on the floor. “Today?”
“Do you have other plans?”
She didn't, but she wasn't sure she should be going out when her father-in-law was still in critical condition.
It had been two days since the attack, and even though Vitaly had survived in almost miraculous circumstances, he was still in an induced coma to help with the swelling in his brain.
Not even the doctors could tell them when, or if, he was going to recover from the trauma.
It seemed that the news hadn't yet reached her family, or Gabriella would have already asked her about it. That probably meant Roman was trying to keep any details on the attack from being siphoned off to the wrong people.
Alessandra checked the time. It was twenty minutes to noon. Maybe some fresh air and seeing her family would do her good. Roman wouldn't be coming home until eight or nine, at the earliest, and she needed a distraction while he was busy handling Bratva business.
“No plans. What time should we meet up?”
“Say, one-thirty?”
“That's good. I'll see you at Zio's.”
After ending the call with her mother, she finished folding the laundry and placed the basket on top of the washing machine for Nika to iron later in the day.
On her way to the kitchen, she debated whether to call Roman and let him know about her plans.
The room smelled of roasted vegetables when she entered, the aromas from the pots on the stove drifting past her and into the foyer.
Nika wasn't in the kitchen, but Alessandra's two bodyguards were. Both looked up from their phones when she made an appearance. For a second, she couldn't decide which one looked more intimidating: Vladik with his broodiness and neck tattoos or Vladimir with those ice-cold eyes.
“I'll be going out in a little while,” she announced. “I'm meeting my mother for lunch.”
Vladimir threw Vladik a meaningful look that confused Alessandra. That was until Vladik spoke in his deep timbre. “I'm afraid you can't do that.”
Alessandra frowned, unsure she understood him. “Do what? See my mother?”
Vladik nodded, not offering an explanation.
She let out an incredulous breath. “You're kidding, right?” When both men stared at her with blank looks on their life-hardened faces, she asked with annoyance, “Says who?”
“Boss's orders,” Vladik replied, unfazed by the deep frown pulling on her eyebrows.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. Grabbing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, she dialed Roman, not moving from her spot.
He answered right before the call went to voicemail. ”Yeah?”
“Did you tell Vladik and Vladimir I wasn't allowed to see my mother?” she demanded, not caring that she was speaking to him in that tone in front of his men.
Roman was quiet for a long moment. He seemed to be moving as the voices in the background faded to silence.”It's for your safety, milaya . I can't risk anything happening to you after this Sunday.”
“You really think my mother poses a threat to me?”
“It's not her I'm worried about.”
She was stunned into silence as the realization of what he was implying dawned on her.
When she found her voice again, she turned her back to the men in the room and walked out.
“You've got to be kidding me, Roman,” she hissed, incensed.
“My family would never touch me. My father is an asshole, sure, but he has no reason to harm me.”
Roman let out a deep breath, and she knew he was getting angry.“Just for once, can you fucking trust me and do as I say? I have my reasons for not letting you see your family.”
Reaching the top of the stairs on the first floor, Alessandra stopped, her nails digging into her palm. “You're going to have to explain them to me.”
“I will. But not now.”
“This is ridiculous.”
A muffled voice broke through the line on his end. Someone was speaking to Roman, although she couldn't' hear what the person was telling him.”I have to go. Find an excuse for your mother. We'll talk more when I get home.”
He hung up, and Alessandra stared at the phone in her hand, the urge to fling the thing across the hallway making her skin itch like a bad rash. She reined in the impulse, making her way to the bedroom instead.
She paced the length of the room, not knowing what to make of Roman's behavior.
He'd been acting strange ever since Vitaly's attack, and she couldn't figure out why.
After a minute of nearly walking a dent into the carpet, she stopped in front of the windows and started chewing on her recently painted thumbnail as her mind buzzed with intrusive thoughts.
Sometime later, movement in the hallway drew her attention to the open door.
“What?” she asked Vladimir. He stood with a hand in his pocket, watching her with little emotion on his pale face.
“Tatyana is here.”
She hadn't even heard the doorbell ring. He turned her head, and sure enough, another car had materialized in the driveway. “I'll be down in a minute.”
With a nod of his head, he disappeared down the hall, leaving her alone once again.
Alessandra didn’t think she could deal with her sister-in-law at the moment. The girl's emotions were all over the place, and she just needed some time alone to drown in her own self-pity.
The ugliness of that particular thought festered somewhere deep inside her chest and left her feeling like a horrible person. Tatyana needed her. She needed a shoulder to cry on in a time when her only surviving parent's existence faced an uncertain future.
Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped away from the windows and texted her mother.
Sorry, Mamma. Something important came up and I can't make it to lunch today. Rain check?
Gabriella replied a minute later.
Sure, cara . Is everything alright?
Yeah. Don't worry. I'll talk to you soon.
When Alessandra made it back downstairs, she found Tatyana sitting on the couch in the living room.
“Hey,” Alessandra said, her voice softening when she saw the pitiful expression on the other girl's face .
“Hope I'm not bothering you,” Tatyana told her. “I just had a pretty lousy morning and needed some company.”
“You're not bothering me. I just got off the phone with Roman.”
“Is he okay? I haven't seen him since Monday morning.”
“He's... dealing with stuff.”
Tatyana nodded as if she understood all too well. “What's up with you? You look upset.”
Alessandra tried to smooth out the tense lines around her mouth with a forced smile. “I'm good. Do you want some tea? I'll ask Nika to make it for us.”
Not waiting for confirmation, she turned around and headed for the kitchen.
???
Roman arrived home well after midnight. He gave her a brief, brooding glance as he entered the bedroom and started to remove his clothes without addressing a word to her.
One look at him and Alessandra recognized the darkness brewing behind those glacial eyes. Whatever willingness he'd had to discuss about their earlier phone call was now gone―she could see it plainly on his face.
Alessandra spoke first. She put down her book, refusing to be intimidated. She’d stayed up late on purpose, needing to talk to him about the recently imposed interdiction for her to see her parents. “You're home late.”
“And you're not sleeping. ”
“Were you hoping that I was?”
He continued to undress quietly, not looking at her.
Alessandra stared at his back, frustration eating away at the last precarious thread of her patience.
She'd spent the entire day analyzing his reasons for not allowing her to meet up with her mother.
And now that he was home, he was acting so cold and indifferent, it was downright maddening.
“Is this how it's going to be?”
“How is what going to be?” His voice was too calm, contrasting with the tension lingering behind every movement.
“You acting like this, and me having to accept it.”
He stopped working on his belt and turned to meet her eyes. “And how am I acting?”
“Like my father.”
It was a low blow, and she knew it.
His gaze clouded as a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I am nothing like your father.”
Unable to keep still for a second longer, Alessandra swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.
She crossed her arms over her chest as she kept the eye contact.
Had she been anyone else, she would have been intimidated by the dangerous storm looming behind deep-blue oceans.
It was almost unsettling the way his eyes changed color so abruptly, depending on his mood.
But, maybe for the first time in her existence, Alessandra wasn't afraid of the man in charge of her life.
Although she had just compared Roman with her father, they were nothing alike.
Deep in her gut, her instinct told her that she could be herself around her husband, even in difficult times like the ones they were currently facing.
For once, she didn't feel the need to censor her thoughts or the things coming out of her mouth.
“Why can't I see my family?”
“It's a temporary thing until I can figure out some shit.”
“Figure out what, Roman?” she asked, already feeling a little exasperated. When his answer didn't come, a sudden realization hit her, and she wondered how she hadn’t seen it earlier. “Did my father have anything to do with the shooting?”
At this point, nothing seemed too far-fetched. The Outfit and the Bratva had been enemies for many years. Animosity still existed between the two organizations regardless of their recent truce.
Something cold trickled down Alessandra back. If her suspicions were right, more bad things were guaranteed to follow.
“I don't know.”
A lie .
She could read it on his face. Despite being in one hell of a mood, he was still an open book to her―had been for quite some time.
“You don't know, or you won't tell me?”
“I don't fucking know .”
“But you've heard something. Just because I'm not in the business, it doesn't mean I'm stupid.”
Across the room, Roman yanked at his belt, letting it fall on the floor with a loud clank. The sound grated on Alessandra's already frayed nerves.
“What do you want me to tell you, huh?”
“The truth,” she said more quietly. The beginning of a headache already pulsed at her temples, deepening the scowl on her face .
Roman shook his head. He looked precariously close to start a fight.
He answered in a clipped tone. “Someone saw a black Lincoln SUV leaving the club area shortly after the shooting. We still don't know who was driving it, but I'm working on finding out.”
After taking a moment to absorb the extent of his insinuation, Alessandra dismissed it with a flick of her hand. Was that all he had―second hand information about a car that maybe hundreds of people in the city drove? It was absurd.
“It could have been anyone’s car. My father is not the only person in Chicago who owns a black Lincoln SUV.”
Roman went silent again, and that was when she knew for certain he was holding back information.
“There's more to it than someone spotting a car that night, isn't there? Roman, you're scaring me. I need to know what's going on.”
He ran a rough hand across his mouth, his platinum wedding band glinting in the harsh light coming from the TV. “And I need you to fucking stop with all the questions.” He practically spat the words, his voice laced with venom and something else she couldn't pinpoint.
Fire licked at Alessandra’s spine, the throbbing in her forehead migrating to the back of her head to create a halo of pain. She could understand that he was upset and fatigued, but it was no excuse for his behavior. “You're a real jerk, you know that?”
His only answer was a lethal glare, followed by the sound of the bathroom door being slammed behind him as he stormed inside and left her standing there like a fool.