33. Juliette
Juliette
“S o, how's married life?” Wynter asked.
It was our weekly four-way FaceTime call. Wynter’s idea of staying in touch. It worked most of the time except that today, I had better things to do. Like torture the man who set my birth parents’ home on fire.
Kian, the man that Autumn Ashford recommended, had come through again. He helped her get out of Afghanistan. The guy was stellar. He searched for my parents’ killers, passed on the names after he dug them up and tracking them down. My body count was about to increase.
Brandon Dole
Sam Dallas
Travis Xander. I didn’t physically kill him, but I’d take credit for it anyhow. Dante promised he’d end him and I believed him.
The above were personal to me. The below were personal to both Killian and I.
Petar Soroko
Raslan Rugoff
Igor Bogomolov
Yan Yablochkov
All four were killed by Killian. The next ones were mine.
Vlad Ketrov
Nikola Chekov
Jovanov Plotnick—not yet dead, but he’d be very soon.
Sofia Volkov would be the icing on the cake.
I stared at the Russian names on the list. Killian handled four; I was about to take care of my third one from our parents’ murder. Between us, we killed seven of their murderers. I wouldn’t be satisfied until we were given all the names to scratch off.
“Hello,” Wynter called out again, interrupting my thinking. “Earth to Jules.”
I tried to remember her question, then recalled it.
“It’s fine,” I answered curtly.
Two days ago, Dante had to fly out. Some emergency in California that he had to handle. Much to my dismay, I missed him. We had barely begun working on the physical aspect of our relationship and then he flew out. It agitated me.
The impatient part of me wanted to test the theory of how far we could go before my panic kicked in. I wanted to expunge the ghosts that plagued my mind and stopped me from having meaningful relationships with the opposite sex.
Not that I’d have any going forward, other than Dante.
My husband.
It still seemed surreal. Maybe I was dreaming and I’d woken up. Alone.
“Jules? Snap out of it.” It was Ivy’s voice. I blinked my eyes, then shook my head. I had to focus on this call or we’d never get off it.
“Yes, I’m listening,” I said, mildly agitated. I really wasn’t, but it didn’t matter.
“So did you know that?” Ivy asked.
My brows furrowed. “Know what?”
“Dante’s 1934 Hudson Convertible Coupe you destroyed,” Ivy started, but I didn’t understand why she was bringing up the ancient past. “It belonged to his grandfather. Apparently, Dante’s very attached to it.”
“Was very attached to it,” Wynter added wryly. “I don’t think it’s drivable anymore. So how is the sex? Rough? Kinky?” Wynter teased. She was the reserved one in our group, so this was definitely her way of payback for all my questions.
My cheeks warmed remembering Dante cuffed to the bed. The way he watched me with burning heat in his dark eyes as I came against his face. That image would be forever ingrained into my memory.
“Ohh, definitely kinky,” Davina chimed in with a devious smile. “Just look at that blush on her cheeks.”
“Don’t tell me your sex lives are so boring you have to get details on mine,” I drawled in a dull tone. “Maybe you should have thought twice before jumping into the marriage bed.”
Snickers came over the line. “Oh, look who’s talking,” Davina snorted loudly. “The girl who jumped into a marriage with the same man she’s been avoiding for two years.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, the alcohol was strong and my friends abandoned me for the night. What was I to do?”
“Not get married,” Ivy grumbled. “Now I’m the last single lady in our group and my family’s nagging me with prospects.”
“Tell them you’re too busy with our school project,” I offered. “It’s a true statement. They broke ground and have started building.”
“Jules, I’d have to be the one digging the ground with my own hands and building brick by brick for that to be a valid excuse. Trust me, I’ve offered the contractor my feeble skills.” Ivy sounded seriously desperate. “I got rejected when my qualifications had nothing to do with construction.”
St. Jean d’Arc School was well on its way to becoming a real thing. It had started with the blackmail and robbing my dad’s safe, then counting cards in Chicago, and ended with robbing an armored money truck from Priest’s club.
Bottom line, when Davina’s ex-boyfriend blackmailed us, it showed us how unequipped we were to deal in the underworld. So we decided to start a school that would prepare both boys and girls for their life in the underworld.
Nobody should be as unprepared as we were.
“Are the prospects at least decent?” Wynter asked compassionately. “I just don’t get it. Why do they demand you marry? You’re barely twenty-three.”
It made no sense to me either.
“Marry Priest,” I offered jokingly. “Then every one of us will be married to a DiLustro. Well, except for my stepmom.”
Davina glared at me through the small screen. “Shut up, Jules.”
I grinned mischievously. “Yes, Stepmom.”
Twenty minutes later, distractions started happening. My little half brother wailed and that distracted Davina. Basilio must have gotten home because suddenly giggles and blushes started, next thing I knew, Wynter excused herself. It left Ivy and me alone at the end.
“Are you okay?” I asked her. Davina and Wynter were always the reasonable ones in our group. Ivy and I were more on the reckless side. “If you need me, I can visit Grandfather and then rescue you from your family home.”
She chuckled. “Only if you come dressed as a boy, ready to marry me.”
This time I chuckled too. “I’m afraid it’d be considered bigamy.”
She locked her eyes on me through the screen.
“What the fuck happened in Vegas, Jules?” Nobody had bothered to ask me.
Not that I had much to tell them. I woke up married.
I didn’t remember anything aside from dancing with Dante, then doing shots.
“We’ve gotten plenty drunk in the past,” she continued softly.
“We’ve drunk hardcore stuff, and you never blacked out.
We’re Irish for Christ’s sake. We can hold our liquor. ”
I sighed. It made no sense to me either.
“We danced. We had shots. After that, everything’s a blur,” I told her. “I woke up married.”
Ivy shook her head. “The video you sent out was wild. Like you were on steroids or something.”
I let out a small laugh. I couldn’t remember a thing from that night, but it wasn’t exactly something I was proud of. Although in the grand scheme of things, it worked out. So all was well that ended well.
“Forget me and the idiotic stuff I did,” I told her. “Tell me what I can do to help you. ”
She rolled her eyes. “Find women for my Irish prick brothers so they can be busy with their own shit and forget me.”
Another few words and our call ended.
Glancing at the clock, I hurried upstairs into our bedroom and changed into the clothes I preferred to torture men in. It was a small world, because the man who lit the fire to my parents’ home was actually in Chicago.
During a blizzard.
My lips curved into a cruel smile. “Nowhere to run, old man,” I whispered as I pushed the key into the ignition of Dante’s Land Rover. Seemed the best choice of vehicles out of all his collection.
My phone dictated the directions past the city and into the industrial part of Chicago.
I parked in front of the shabby three-story building close to the tracks.
I blew out a harsh breath, then waited for my racing pulse to calm.
I put my gloves on and switched my flats for snow boots.
Well, it was the next best thing to combat boots.
My dear husband didn’t think I’d need a pair of my own, but I’d correct that immediately.
I strapped the backpack on my shoulders.
It held guns, ropes, and knives. A tranquilizer.
I wished I could take the credit for the tranquilizer.
I’d never used one before but I happened to see the needle in Dante’s safe and decided it wouldn’t hurt to have one on hand.
Breaking into Dante’s safe wasn’t a small effort but I succeeded.
Of course, he’d have to replace the entire thing.
Opening the door of the car, I stealthily walked toward the house. I picked the lock and slipped in, silently moving through the house. I noted the door to the basement and was careful not to make noise as I made my way downstairs. My lips curved into a harsh smile. It was perfect—all stone.
Lowering my backpack onto the floor behind the steps, I pulled out a single knife and the tranquilizer. The information on my target was that he was an older and not-so-bulky man. That told me nothing. I didn’t want to have to fight him and drag him down the stairs. It’d be fatal to both of us.
Next, I headed back up the stairs. I couldn’t believe how shitty this place was, but according to Kian’s intel, this guy had a gambling problem. He probably pissed it all away. Not that it mattered to me. It made it easier to break into this shitty place than a fancy manor.
Careful to ensure no creaks woke up my prey, I made my way up, ignoring my racing heartbeat.
When I reached the bedroom door, my eyes darted to the bed. A man slept soundly, soft snores breaking the night air. Anger simmered through my blood. He slept like a baby, enjoying his time on this earth while my parents and who knew how many others had lost their lives.
Because of him. Because of Sofia Volkov.
* * *
Sitting on the concrete step, I took deep breaths, then slowly exhaled. Repeat.
Thank fuck for the tranquilizer.
The damn information on my target was way off. Yes, he was old but he was thick and broad-shouldered. My muscles still shook from his weight. I had to drag him down the stairs. I might have dropped him a few times.
Okay, so I pushed him. But fuck if I was going to break my back carrying that fucker down two flights of stairs and then further into the basement.