Chapter 48
Mikhail
She’s elegant, precise, and treats people with grace and charm, her name on everyone’s lips long after the party is over.
They ask for her contact, inviting her over for all sorts of events.
And she just laughs—a joyous, crystalline laugh that lures me in like a siren—telling everyone to arrange it with her husband. With me.
She trusts me with everything, and I take my job very fucking seriously.
On the car ride back home, I finger her pussy through that open slit, making her squirm and swallow her moans so the driver won’t hear. I’ll have to kill him if he does. And like the good girl she is, she covers her mouth with her palm as I pull her across my lap.
She comes hard and fast, a testament to how much I edged her prior to this event. I wanted her reward to feel sweeter than usual, and with how her voice rattles out of her as she convulses in my grasp, I know I’ve achieved just that.
Instinctively, my gaze goes to the rearview mirror, catching the driver’s gaze with a look that tells him what’s to come. Fortunately for him, he pulls out an earplug to show me he hasn’t heard a thing, and I laugh. Looks like our staff learned very quickly the new rule in the house.
When my wife is done making a delicious mess on my hand, I lick it clean and then pull the coin she gifted me a while back from my chest pocket. We’ve been passing it back and forth whenever we have a delicious debt to settle. I place it on her shoulder, and her lips stretch into a lazy smile.
“Oh, I’ll pay.” She twists in my lap, stretching herself out like a cat. “With interest, even.”
I quirk a brow, knowing exactly what that means.
She’ll dress up for me sometimes, or wait for me naked, gagged and tied to the bedpost, a three-course meal for me to feast on.
She surprises me in the best ways, and the debt I’m collecting keeps piling up.
I fucking love it. Love her. And I’ll gladly spend my life trying to settle the score.
She takes the coin and shoves it in the bodice of her dress, against her naked breast. I can’t help but press my lips to hers, heat coiling around my bones, sending tendrils of pleasure all throughout my body.
If the driver hadn’t already pulled into the driveway, I would’ve told him to fuck off so I can spread her wide in the backseat and ram my cock into her tight pussy.
“Go change into something comfortable,” I tell her as we walk into the mansion.
“We’re going out again?”
“It’s barely nine. I want to take you somewhere new.”
Her eyes sparkle, going wide. “The Mediterranean place?”
“You’re too perceptive,” I sigh. “Ruining my surprise.”
She squeals, pressing a quick kiss to my lips, arms thrown around my neck, before skittering to the staircase.
I stand in the foyer, lovestruck and dumb, watching her rush upstairs like a princess in a dark fairytale.
By the time she’s gone, her sweet perfume still lingers.
I close my eyes, hands itching to pull her back into me.
It’s when I open them again that everything shatters.
Because she’s gone now, and I’m alone, and the old familiar guilt I’ve known my entire life seeps back into my skull, tearing through my latest happy memories.
I’m still here, asshole, it seems to say.
Earlier this evening, Wolfgang sent me a message asking me to talk to him.
I’ve been avoiding everything pertaining to the business lately, waiting for the Chicago bullshit to resolve, waiting for my fucking sanity to be restored completely, for the guilt to go away so I can be the man my wife deserves.
Now, as I walk toward the other wing, I’m hoping we can get it over with tonight. That I will have finally settled that old score.
I barge into the Pakhan’s office, and his wife is on her knees, her flushed face staring back at me in shock before returning to him. It’s like she’s in a haze, and so is he. My brother’s jaw clenches, and then he lowers his lips to the top of her head, giving her a kiss.
“We’ll continue this later. Go do what I asked,” he tells her.
I simply plop into a random chair as she hurries past me, leaving us alone.
“Fucking knock next time, will you?” Wolf sighs.
I ignore it. He probably got lost in the moment and didn’t realize the door was ajar.
“You texted. What’s wrong this time?” I ask.
He saunters over to his decanter, picking up two glasses. “Why does something have to be wrong? I called you in here to celebrate. We got Chicago back.”
I frown, a swallow working my throat as he hands me a glass of whiskey.
I did it.
I married the Don’s daughter, formed a public alliance neither family can go back on, and got back the thing I bargained with, strengthening my brother’s position as Pakhan and our Bratva.
I’m supposed to clink my glass to his, but I don’t.
Because the thing I was waiting for—breaking the fucking curse, welcoming my relief, my freedom—it never comes.
“Thought you’d be pleased,” Wolf says.
“It won’t ever be enough, will it?” I mutter, looking up at my brother. “No matter what I do.”
Wolf exhales, shaking his head with a faint smile. “I never asked you to pay, Mikhail. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no bad blood between you and me. Our past is ugly, yes, but whose isn’t? You’re my brother.”
My fingers tighten around my glass as I tune inward. Brother…?
What kind of brother does the things I’ve done? I made him suffer, and then, when he needed me, I shut him out, fending for myself.
“I don’t know how to live with this. It’s fucking eating me alive. And my wife…” My jaw clenches. “She deserves me at my best. I want to give her that version of me.”
He sits across from me, leaning forward in his chair, his glass of whiskey dangling between his knees.
“Stop asking me for forgiveness, Mikhail, because you already have it. The things you had to do to keep me alive… Your sacrifice won’t be forgotten.
And what happened after—the rupture between us—it was unavoidable after the shit your mother put us both through.
Not because we didn’t feel like brothers, but because she took our fucking souls, and each of us needed to find our way back to ourselves after.
But look at us now. Look at how far we’ve come.
What more proof do you need that we’re family? ”
Proof…I don’t need any proof. I know he doesn’t hate me, which is what makes things worse. If he hated me, then at least I’d take my punishment. But instead, he says these things to me as if our past doesn’t matter.
“It’s you who needs to forgive yourself,” he adds, and for the first time, I don’t fight the thought.
I know he’s right. I’ve known it for a long time but refused to accept it. Because what the fuck does forgiving myself even mean?
There is no other way, though, and the realization thrums against my heart like a battle cry. My entire fucking body recognizes the validity of what he’s saying, as if it has been waiting for me to come to terms with it at last.
I exhale, long and heavy, downing my drink in one go.
“What happened with Antonio and Remus?” I ask, changing the subject.
Wolf snorts. “He did it. That asshole marched into San Maleno with fifty armed men. Shot up half the compound. Killed a bunch of Antonio’s soldiers.”
“And?”
“And Antonio didn’t shoot him.”
I quirk a brow. “Why the hell not?”
“Because the resemblance is fucking uncanny. Same eyes…same temper. Antonio knew he wasn’t lying when he said he was his son. Besides…” Wolf trails off, giving me a look.
“What?”
“Remus killed another Capo—Angelo something—right there, in front of everyone. Then, half of Angelo’s soldiers switched sides, probably realizing who held the power.”
“What the fuck,” I mutter. “So he’s untouchable now is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much. We’ve got to keep an eye on him. Unless…” Wolf says, studying me. “Don’t tell me—you wanna go back and finish the job?”
Damn right, I want to. Everything in me screams at me to go, telling me this is the last thing I’ll have to do for my brother, the same lie I’ve been telling myself for years.
I shake my head. “I’m done with that. My wife needs me here.”
My brother offers a faint smile. “Well, look at you. Finally got it in your head.”
I roll my eyes. “In any case, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a future threat with Remus being next in line for the Cosa Nostra.”
Wolf nods. “Which is why I need you to be my sovietnik. The reason I haven’t anointed one was because…I was waiting for you to come to terms with what I said.”
I blink, taken aback by his request.
I’ve never been in a position of strategy—never had the brains to pull off complex plans like him. I used my fists and rage to get what I wanted, and those tools have never failed me. For him to ask me this…
“To come to terms with what?” I ask.
“Forgiving yourself. You know it’s the only option, so get it done. And let’s steer this fucking ship together, like we were always meant to.”