Chapter 24
“Report!” I bark as I barge into my office, Brahms following on my heels.
“The perimeter is secure.” He halts just inside the room and clasps his hands behind his back, standing straighter. “Sir, I’d like to apologize and accept full responsibility for what happened today.”
“You sure as shit are responsible!” I snarl. “But you’re also too fucking valuable for me to snap your neck. I want details.”
“The entire estate has been thoroughly checked. Twice. My team also surveyed the two-mile radius around the grounds. Nothing out of the ordinary was found. No threats. Nevertheless, I’ve doubled the guards and given orders to shoot at will.”
I nod. “Good. Now, tell me what the hell happened at the church.”
“Only guests who were on the preapproved list were in attendance. Invitations were checked at the door. Outside of the don’s team, no other weapons were permitted inside. No suspicious activity was reported in or outside the venue two hours before or during the ceremony.”
Brahms clears his throat, shifting his stance slightly.
“We thoroughly swept the cathedral for explosive devices and unauthorized personnel yesterday evening and then again today. That included a utility room that housed the heating and air-conditioning system that was the cause of today’s incident.”
He looks me straight in the eye, and I know I’m not going to like what he is about to tell me. “Sir, Max, he…uh…his background is in mechanical engineering. He got a good look at what was left of the HVAC system before reporting in. And he believes it was tampered with.”
“He believes?”
“He’s fairly certain. Something about safeguards being disabled, which caused a pressure buildup.
There’s a possibility the sabotage was caused by the HVAC repair crew that showed up early this morning.
According to the rector, their visit was expected, prearranged a few days earlier.
With the ceremony taking place in the late afternoon, he didn’t think it would pose any issues. Not for the bishop, and not for us.”
My fists close on the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white. “What kind of repair needed to be completed today?”
“Oliver Olsen oversaw the team on duty at the cathedral at the time, sir. He did not get the details on that. Oliver did note that the crew consisted of two men—an older fellow, the driver, and a thirtysomething man who went inside to complete the job. He was in and out in under five minutes while the driver remained in the vehicle, filling out paperwork.”
“Did he get the plate?” I growl. “The name of the HVAC company?”
“Oliver didn’t think those details were relevant. And the rector’s records about this matter appear to be missing.”
“Anything on the CCTV?”
“The cathedral has no cameras that cover that side of the parking lot or the exit to the street used by the HVAC crew.”
“Mm-hmm.” I pluck a platinum fountain pen from its stand on top of my desk and lift the gleaming, silver tip before my eyes. “Where is Olsen now?”
“The entire security team that handled the church assignment is waiting for you outside the garage, sir. Would you like to speak with Oliver beforehand?”
“Yes. I would like that very much.”
“Of course, sir.” Brahms nods and pulls out his phone.
Five minutes later, Oliver Olsen rushes into my office. “You asked to see me, Mr. Ruffo?”
“Tell me, Oliver,”—I slowly walk toward the man whose negligence placed my Little Iris in danger—“what was your task this morning?”
“Location security, sir. I led the advance team, responsible for establishing a secure perimeter until Mr. Brahms arrived with the rest of our forces.”
“Exactly.” I strike, burying the pen in the side of his neck, piercing his carotid artery. “And you failed.”
The man gasps, clutching his neck while a geyser of blood spews between his fingers. I step back, not willing to be splashed by the spray of blood, and watch the man who jeopardized my wife’s safety first fall to his knees and then topple over.
I don’t enjoy killing. On the contrary, I loathe it.
It is a sordid, graceless business—bloody, brutish, and beneath me.
As a rule, I leave such necessary actions to men better suited to that way of life.
There are, however, occasions that call for my personal attention.
They are rare, but they do exist. Particularly when the situation concerns an intimate matter.
Concerns me. And nothing, in my view, has ever needed my personal response more than the imbecile who endangered my wife.
“Roll the body up in the rug and get rid of it where it won’t be found.” I bend to extract my pen. “And see if any of the staff can get the rug cleaned, though. I kinda like it. It’s Persian.”
I leave Brahms to deal with the dead man in my office and head to the east wing of the house. In the foyer, I notice Iris’s purse on the console table. One of the guys must have fetched it from the church. I grab it as I make my way toward my wife’s bedroom suite.
In the three hours since we got home, I haven’t been able to calm down.
I haven’t been able to sit still. Despite having security complete a thorough check of the house and the grounds before we even arrived, I did it all myself after I had Iris settled in her rooms. The rooms that I searched every nook and cranny of before allowing her to set foot inside.
After leaving her with instructions not to come out until I return, I set off on my mad dash to personally secure the premises.
Inside and outside. Twice. By this time, my migraine was a raging inferno, a thermonuclear flash behind my eyes.
Probably because I barely got my essential dose of her nearness today.
The door to her suite is unlocked, so I let myself in.
The faint smell of fresh paint still lingers, especially in her sitting room.
I had the entire space renovated before she could move in.
I wanted her to like it. To be comfortable.
And the thought of her enjoying nice things in life filled my chest with warmth.
I refuse to acknowledge that the last part actually happened or what it means.
As I venture into the suite, I find her bedroom empty, but the sound of running water comes from behind the closed bathroom door. The image of my wife, naked, in the steamy shower turns my cock to granite in an instant.
Most matters in my day-to-day are intentional and planned.
There’s very little unpredictability. Even desire is something I have always controlled.
I do not succumb to impulses, and I’ve never been ruled by baser instincts.
Sex is definitely something I’ve always approached with purpose.
I prefer to choose when I will want a woman, just as I choose all other aspects of my life.
My Little Iris has made a mockery of my discipline.
The mere knowledge that she is behind that door, stripped bare beneath the hot stream of water, is enough to fill me with lustful need. It’s staggering. Primal. A fucking immediate response to her.
I grit my teeth, trying to shake off these unwanted thoughts. Dangerous thoughts of my wife. Under me. Wanting me.
She is the only weakness I have permitted myself. I must find a way to restrain these urges. Keep them at bay, or I risk deteriorating further.
The cracks Barty spoke of are getting harder to ignore.
As my hands fist at my sides, I spin around. On my way out of Iris’s bedroom, I call the housekeeper, ordering a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade to my wife’s suite.
A white silk scarf covers my eyes, yet I can still see somehow.
Every luxurious detail of the library-like room at the Annex is crystal clear.
I stand in the middle, surrounded by an airy, bluish fog that hovers above the polished hardwood floor.
Once in a while, tendrils of that fog rise, wrapping around my naked body.
I’m not alone. My silent guest is right in front of me. Despite the brilliant light illuminating the room, his face remains hidden by shadows. Neither are any of his other features discernible. But I know it’s him. I can feel it.
I stand before him unashamed, not hindered by shyness or anxiety about my nudity.
It’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling. I was with Kyle for a couple of years, and even after all that time with him, I insisted on keeping the lights off during our intimacy.
It felt like I was revealing a lot more during those moments than merely my naked body.
There are no similar uncomfortable feelings in me now. Not as I face my silent guest.
Boldly, I reach out and, grasping a handful of his shirt, pull him toward me.
When our mouths clash, the earth moves under my feet, shaking violently.
But I am not caught in an earthquake. It’s him.
Turning my world upside down. I throw my arms around his neck, holding on tight as if he alone can keep me tethered and keep me from plunging into a bottomless abyss.
I kiss him. Lose myself in the rapidly spiraling fog.
Clinging to the man as if he were the sole source of my air. Breathing in that crisp, oceanic scent.
I need him. My whole body is burning with that need. Every molecule in me is on fire.
I want him. Desperately. Want him inside me.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a wind blows, and the fog grows thicker.
The scene morphs, and I am now lying on an enormous bed.
One that simply materialized out of nowhere.
My body is covered by his, and I am screaming.
Screaming in ecstasy while he slams into me over and over.
The intensity, the power of his thrusts—I can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of his touch.
I wrap my arms around his massive shoulders, bowing my back off the bed, as another orgasm hits me. While his hot breath fans the hypersensitive skin of my neck below my ear. Just before his soft lips ever so gently graze the point of my pulse.
“Little Iris.”
My eyes fly open.