Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
JULIAN
Covered in blood, I make my way upstairs to the apartment I’ve been living in, and walk straight through to my bedroom and then into the shower.
I don’t even give a fuck that I’m still dressed when I turn the water on as scalding as I can stand it and let it soak me through.
It’s been a week of fucking hell.
Every minute without her is torment that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, even Ivanov. And I’m going to kill that fucker.
My brothers have all called me out on my shit, with Mateo even taking me into a boxing ring to kick the hell out of me.
I welcomed it, and I let him beat me until I almost passed out.
And still, despite the bruises and what’s likely a broken rib, I don’t feel a fucking thing.
The only thing that brings an ounce of relief is when I’m in the cell, terrorizing one of my enemies.
I mean, I knew I was a shit human. Might as well play the part.
Finally, I strip out of the wet clothes and wash the blood out of my hair, off my face. Arteries really spray like a motherfucker. Then I dry off, throw the clothes away, and dress in a T-shirt and sweats.
When I walk out to the kitchen to pour myself some whiskey, I pull the gun from the small of my back and aim it at Rome, who’s sitting at my island, already drinking a glass of his own.
He doesn’t even bat an eyelash.
“It’s just me,” he says, sounding completely at ease and not at all intimidated. “Also, your reaction time is slow as fuck. I could have killed you about a dozen times before you noticed I was here.”
Not answering him, I pour my own glass and swallow it down in one gulp before pouring another and then lean my hips against the countertop behind me and stare at him.
“What do you want?”
“First of all, why are you living here? This place is tiny, has nothing on the walls, no view. You like looking at the next building over?”
It doesn’t matter. I’m hardly here.
“What do you want, Rome?”
He blows out a breath and sips his whiskey.
“You’ve missed two family dinners in a row, and you’re hurting my wife’s feelings.”
Wife.
“I love Lulu, you know that, but family dinner isn’t high on my priority list these days.”
“No, disemboweling and dismembering men seems to be all the rage for you.” His ice-blue eyes hold mine as he takes another drink of the whiskey. “At the risk of sounding too soft, I’m worried about you.”
Shaking my head, I push off the counter, but he doesn’t leave it alone.
“If you’re this upset, it’s because you’re second-guessing yourself.”
“No, I’m not.”
Yes, I fucking am.
“We saw the evidence, Julian.”
“I’m not talking about this with you. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. She’s gone.”
“It does fucking matter.” He stands and follows me into the living room. “Because now you’re being reckless.”
“No, I’m not. I’m taking care of business. I’ve let things slide for too long, was too lenient. It’s time the people in this city remember who the fuck we are.”
He nods slowly. “Or, you’re—”
“Stop.” My voice is hard as fucking granite.
“You’re grieving,” he says quietly. “I get it. If it was Eloise . . . I can’t even think it.”
“It’s not Eloise,” I remind him. “And it’s my own fault for buying her innocent doe-eyed act, thinking that she was sweet and perfect and not as ruthless as her piece-of-shit father.”
“Natasha isn’t ruthless,” Rome says, shaking his head.
“Are you telling me that you think I was wrong?” I stare at him, incredulous. “You were fucking there, like you said. You saw it all. I sent you that video of her with her father. She was fucking spying on me. On us.”
I throw my glass against the wall, not feeling any better when it shatters, and then push my hands into my hair.
“I know what we saw,” he says quietly and then takes a deep breath. “I hope we’re right, Julian.”
“We are. Because if we’re not, that means I kicked my innocent fucking wife out on her ass and left her at her father’s doorstep.”
He winces and then nods. “What are we going to do about Ivanov?”
“His days are numbered, but I don’t just want him. I want his entire organization, and to do that, we need to plan. I’ve been a little busy.”
“We’ll all help you,” he reminds me. “Now, really, you need to move the fuck out of this apartment. It’s depressing as fuck. No wonder you want to kill everyone.”
I glance around, taking in the bile-colored, empty walls and plain hardwood. It’s bare bones. No decorations, just the simplest furniture. And like he said, there’s no view.
I took the worst apartment in my building. We never use this unit.
But this is what I deserve after I got my men killed and tore my own heart out of my chest.
This is what I deserve for forgetting who the fuck I am.
I’m not the kind of man who lives happily ever after. I’m the head of the Greek Mafia. That’s my job. My whole reason for being.
“Whatever you’re thinking to yourself right now is bullshit,” Rome says, and I just flip him the bird, making him laugh.
“Are you done?”
“Will you make Eloise happy and come to dinner next week?”
“It’s been one week, Rome.”
“Yeah, but two Sundays.” He shrugs. “When my wife worries, I’m sent out to make sure the people she loves are okay. And you’re not okay.”
“I will be.”
Another lie.
“Yeah, you will be. Come to dinner next week. In the meantime, come to the club. Get laid. If nothing else, let Mariah give you a blow job.”
“Get the fuck out,” I growl, and Rome shakes his head, a smile spreading over his face as he glances down at my hand, the one still wearing a wedding band.
Yeah, I need to take that off, but every time I do, I put it right back on again.
“It was just a suggestion.”
When I’m alone, I sit on the couch and lean my head back with a sigh.
I could go to the club. Rome was right, Mariah was always my partner of choice. She gives one hell of a fucking blow job, and she doesn’t look anything like Natasha.
But the mere thought of another woman anywhere near me makes me sick to my stomach.
I’d rather kill people.
I’m a sick fuck.
And I miss my wife.