25. Vian
VIAN
Iam sprawled in my office chair with a tumbler of whiskey in my hand while I sweep my gaze over my two favorite pictures of us from the past and the present. In both, she smiles with her whole face, her entire heart on display, her eyes shining with love. For me.
All the hell I’ve been through is forgotten because I finally have her.
I wait for her return, every minute passing agonizingly slow, but it will end tonight. She will move in, and I can have her all to myself.
Nothing can take her from me.
Her decision not to pursue the appointment was both surprising and a relief.
The reminder of that time is never far from my mind.
I could conquer the world but not those demons—lashing at me, marring my skin with guilt.
I was a desperate man in love trying to do the right thing, wanting her to forget that day even if I had to remove myself.
Nothing hurt more than that, but for her, I would do it again and endure hell a hundred times over if needed.
She was a wreck—utterly broken and devastated—and I could not bear to watch my woman fade away, slipping into a ghost of herself. Instead, I chose the only way for her to overcome it: making her forget.
With no threat from the past, I can focus on the future. It’s time to let it go, just like she decided.
There’s no need to confess my involvement. I’ll take my crime with me to the grave, living by one truth––my love for her. Nothing else matters.
There’s no need to rip that old wound open and make it bleed again. Why risk our hard-won happiness by coming clean? She would never forgive my involvement. And God, if she relapses, I don’t know what I would do.
Taking a long sip, I brush my finger over her frame, loving this woman with everything in me.
I hear the elevator ping, the click-clack of her stilettos announcing her arrival, and I grab the older picture, shoving it in the hidden drawer with all the memories I will live alone with.
They were loyal companions over the years, warming the frosty nights, reminding me I can’t give up.
I had to persevere, and then she found her way back to me––on her own, as if my wails for her in the middle of the night over so many years reached her and whispered my sorrow and deep-seated longing.
She leans against the doorframe, looking spectacular in a pencil skirt and silk top.
My smile freezes on my lips when I see her eyes harden, something dark shadowing her face. I can’t pinpoint it, but it vanishes just as quickly, making me think I imagined it.
I shake my head to clear it. Guilt can play tricks on you.
Not confessing weighs heavily on me, squeezing my lungs until it becomes hard to breathe—or maybe that’s my regular reaction to her entering a room.
“Troubles, husband?” she says, her tone akin to sarcasm.
Not understanding her sudden animosity, I narrow my eyes at her, and she waves me off, glaring at something behind me before meeting my gaze with a forced smile.
Her contradictory reactions give me whiplash, making me paranoid.
Curling my fingers, I gesture for her to come to me. “Always when you’re not here.”
Her lips press together in a tight line, and she sighs. “You love when I come to you, a fool who can’t stay away.”
“Then let’s be fools together,” I say, rejoicing as she sways her hips toward me, each step dipped in sensuality and stealing my entire focus.
She steps between my legs, and I palm her waist, expelling a harsh breath choked with unbearable longing.
She cups my cheeks, tipping my head to the side with more force than necessary.
“Want to be in control?” I ask, brushing my palms down her thighs, and she sucks in a breath. “Want me to get on my knees for you?” I continue, pushing the hem of her dress up, exposing more of her legs. “Be my guest, but I own you, Zara. Submitting is the only sensible thing to do.”
“I don’t think I am sensible at all when it comes to you,” she says with a bite.
“Are you trying to pick a fight? That’s why we should never be apart. It makes my wife cranky.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” She unbuttons my shirt to reveal my chest. “So mighty that you decide over people’s lives. No wonder you became king of the underworld, gluttonous on all accounts. Will you ever have enough?”
“No. I can’t afford that because to preserve my world intact, I must keep the world in check.”
“Your world?” she huffs, her nails clawing at my chest, piercing my skin and leaving marks.
I grunt, and she smiles as she follows the red streaks. “Yet, you’re not immortal, husband.”
She drops into my lap, slamming her lips into a bruising, punishing kiss––all teeth and tongue, biting into my bottom lip hard enough she might draw blood.
It makes me hot, my brain short-circuiting with her unusual behavior. Lifting her up, I push her onto my desk, the contents rattling just like the lust inside of me.
I rip my shirt off, and she gasps at the angry lines marring my skin. “You mark me. I’ll mark you. It’s only fair.”
She stares me dead in the eye. “You have no clue what fairness is.”
“True, because only winners take it all and gain the grand prize.”
“Am I that?”
Thinking she needs reassurance, I stroke my knuckles along her cheek before I grip her chin. “You’re everything to me.”
It’s a big step for her. Moving in with me and sharing more than a life by becoming business partners is a considerable change. She has been used to doing everything on her own.
I rip her thong and plunge two fingers inside her. “So wet for me already?”
“My body is a traitor,” she whimpers, her lids fluttering closed, annoyance mixing with carnality.
“No, your body simply knows who it belongs to,” I say, taking myself out, and slam inside her with such force the glass tumbles to the floor, shattering into hundreds of mini crystals just like she will on my cock.
Gripping her neck, I apply the slightest pressure as I push in and out of her like a savage. I am more animal than man when I am sheathed inside her fiery core with only one thing on my mind: fuck her and fill her on repeat.
Eyes locked, I lose myself inside her when, from the corner of my eye, I see her reaching for something on the desk. It’s a letter opener.
In one swift move, she presses it against my throat.
“Want to kill me, wife?” I ask, thrusting so hard inside her, she clenches her fingers around the pointy instrument not to let it slip.
Something vicious flashes in her gaze, and she nips my neck. It only makes me harder, and she feels it, her eyes rolling back.
“No, you can’t kill me.”
Her pupils blow out, half in arousal, half in rage. “So sure?”
I lower my head and she lowers the knife, proving me right. Arching up, she licks the droplets of blood from my neck. “Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“There won’t ever be a right moment, mi sol. You know why?” I say, voice hoarse and on the point of breaking apart. Fuck, if this is not the most disturbing yet erotic experience of my life.
I bite her jaw and lick along her cheek, driving inside her with a feral thrust. “You’re a slut for my cock, wife. You’re mine. Heart.” Bite. “Mind.” Lick. “Body.” Thrust. “Not even death could change that.”
She wets her lips, a shaky breath parting her mouth. “Betrayal would.”
“I told you that you could kill me if I ever betrayed you.”
She is about to lift her hand, but I am faster and pin her hands above her head on the desk. The silver letter opener clangs to the floor with a thud, forgotten as we give in to our animalistic sides.
Groans and moans echo, our bodies slapping together in carnal bliss. I am too far gone, pouring everything I have into her until she can’t do anything but surrender.
Anger and passion. Love and deceit. Lies and truths. They are interwoven, silent witnesses to our every fiery encounter.
She writhes beneath me, gripping me so well, my vision blackens for a moment. My balls become heavier with my impending release, both shattering together on a long moan.
Chest panting, I watch her spread on my desk, cum and juices leaking from her pussy and painting her thighs.
Reaching out a finger, I gather it and play with her folds, smearing her pussy with the lines of my tattoo in a V and Z, the same she wanted on her nape, too, but we never got to do it together.
I stare at my mark on her while she catches her breath and leans on her forearms.
Placing two fingers under her chin, I tip her face up. “You’re mad at me. Why?”
“Guess.”
“Stop playing games. You’ve been doing that since you showed up,” I snap, losing my patience, and fall back into the chair.
She stabs me with an angry look as she slides off the desk and straightens her skirt. “I’m tired. I had a long week.”
“Happy to be of help. I feel fucking used,” I grumble.
She pats her chest in mock sympathy. “I’m so sorry. Did I imagine you coming inside of me for so long, it’s a wonder the contraceptive still works.”
A dream.
“You can tell me anything. We can talk about everything.”
She expels a deprecating snort and spins around. Her heels dig into the shards, causing a jarring sound as I watch her leave. I’m about to follow her when my phone rings and my aunt’s sobs pierce my ears. “He’s gone, Vian. He’s gone.”
“I’m on my way,” I say, tucking myself in.
I can’t lose it. I can’t lose it. This is not the first time I’ve lost a loved one, but with him gone, it’s like another piece of me vanishes, hardening me some more.
“Zara,” I cry out, and she rushes back inside, the harsh attitude melting from her as she sees me bracing the desk.
We don’t need words to communicate. I need her. I need her by my side. I need to know we’re good so I can function.
“He’s gone,” I whisper, as if afraid of saying it out loud. As if that could change the outcome.
I just saw him a few hours ago. Denial consumes me. I believed I had more time with him.
“I am here, I’m here, baby.” She rushes to my side, and I fall into her arms, drawing strength from her.
In the garage, I pat my pockets, not finding my keys, but I hear them jingling from her hand.
“You’re in no shape to drive. Scoot over to the passenger side,” she says, brooking no argument.
Then she turns to my men. “No one comes or goes. We’re in lockdown.”
I’ve never appreciated her more than I do right now, when she does what I should be doing—leading.
An influential member of the Mafia dying is the best time for an enemy to enact an ambush.
She slips behind the wheel, finds my hand and interlaces our fingers. “You can break and cry and curse on the inside. I know what he meant to you, who he was to you, but you’re not just a grieving nephew. You’re the Boss.”
She’ll be a fantastic Underboss. Fuck, who am I kidding? She would make a spectacular Boss.
The house is eerily quiet as we walk inside, my uncle’s men scattered around the perimeter with downcast eyes, some smoking, some even drinking straight from flasks.
He was deeply loved. One of us had to be, since I preferred a more ruthless approach instead of a diplomatic one.
Now that he is gone, counterbalancing that will be hard.
I take the stairs to the first floor, following the quiet sobs of my aunt and cousin.
He lies in his bed, eyes open. A fist lodges in my throat as I approach him, looking one more time into his eyes that have lost any flicker of light, the life gone forever.
I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’ll see you again, old man. Until then, I hope you and Pa have the best of times,” I whisper, choking up, my eyes welling as I close his for good.
Straightening, I slide an impenetrable mask into place.
Time slips away, the days blending together. Life goes on, and over the last few days, I’ve been busy dealing with the aftermath of my uncle’s death, ensuring the latest acquisition goes through, and moving from one meeting to another. I have barely slept, functioning on sheer will.
Zara took over the funeral preparations, being there for my cousin and aunt while silently supporting me through the grieving process. If it weren’t for her, I would have embraced darkness, going on a killing spree to ease the shackles of grief.
We’re at my uncle and aunt’s house as today is his funeral.
Hands in my pockets, I stare out the living room window.
Outside, everything blooms under summer’s reign, inconsiderate of the grief coating these walls.
Around me, the high-ranking men of the organization have gathered.
These assholes only think about getting something out of my loss.
Not shooting someone for pressuring me to name my Underboss becomes increasingly difficult with every second.
It will be an immense pleasure to inform them who will be my right hand when the time comes.
“None of you will become my Underboss,” I say, their fish-out-of-water expressions eliciting the only smile I’ve had in days as I search for my wife like she’s my source of light, needing a dose of her to sustain me through the day.
Zara has been the only one to see the cracks, the deep-rooted pain. She’s the only one capable of comforting me.
I find her in the garden, dressed in black, a pillbox hat on her head with a veil falling over her eyes.
She looks ahead, lost in thought. “I didn’t have this. It’s an important ritual for people, saying goodbye. So be grateful you can bury your loved one and grieve him. It’s a gift, not a curse,” she sighs, turning to me.
She fixes my tie before we drive to the cemetery in stilted silence.
At the family mausoleum, I palm the cold, smooth surface, being the last one to leave. The dead will sleep forever. The living will carry a hole inside their chests for the rest of their lives. It’s the price of living. Of loving. Everything ends, as nothing lasts forever.
My wife palms my arm, squeezing lightly, informing me it’s time to go.
Back at the house, people eat and chatter around the wake. While some prefer to numb themselves with alcohol, I’ve always wanted to be present. Pain means you’re still alive. Suffering means you survived another challenge.
Today is about mourning. Tomorrow is about living.
As I stand up, I eye each of them, my gaze as hard as always so they don’t forget I am the fucking Boss and will remain the one in charge. I haven’t gotten softer or less alert with the loss. Betrayal means death, and my word is law.
My wife is in deep conversation with my cousin, but as if she senses my gaze, she lifts her chin, finding mine.
She hugs Noemi, then my aunt, and takes her rightful place. By my side.
In the car, I cock my head, bringing her hand to mine to kiss the inside of her palm. “Thank you, mi sol. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”