Hunter
HUNTER
I stalked into the kitchen, Marco already there, leaning against the counter like some goddamn Greek God . Frigid air seeped from the open fridge, reminding me of Rosalind's cold withdrawal from me. From herself.
" Shit's fucked up," I grunted, thumbing the scar that ran down my arm—a nervous tick I hadn’t had for a long while.
" Rosalind ?" Marco asked, not missing a beat.
" Who the fuck else?" I slammed the fridge shut, the sound echoing off the stainless steel. " She’s been holed up in that room like a damn prisoner. Doesn’t eat. Barely speaks. It's like she's given up on breathing. "
Marco pushed off the counter, muscles rippling under his shirt. He moved closer, the scent of his aftershave a sharp contrast to the grease and grime of our daily sins.
" Patience , ," he said, voice steady as a blade. " She's strong, but she just killed her dad. Give her a minute to grieve, even if he was an asshole, we all need to grieve sometimes. Keep loving her; that's the key. She'll come back around."
" Love . I’ve never loved, Marco . I do protection and dominance. I keep my shit and my people safe. But her… it’s like she’s making me a whole ‘nother person, and I fucking hate the fact that she’s made me vulnerable again. I have a weak spot. That’s a fucking dangerous position."
" Love is just another weapon, brother. Use it right, and it'll bring her back."
" Fuck patience." I smashed my fist into the wall, plaster crumbling under my knuckles. " But if it's a weapon... then I'll wield it like I do a gun or a knife—until it fucking works."
" Good ." Marco clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. " Just remember, we need her with us, not just alive. Alive and kicking, ruling by your side."
The silence after Marco's words hung heavy. She wasn’t just ruling by my side, though, was she? She’d also picked him. Goddamnit . I can’t even believe I’m thinking something like this, but… I paced the kitchen. The idea churned in my gut. Rosalind … her spirit dimmed with each passing day, and I missed my fucking light.
" Brother ," I said, gritting my teeth. I hated that I even had to ask this, much less that he’s fucked my wife, but I was grasping at straws. " Tonight , I want to be with her."
His eyes widened, a flash of surprise that he quickly masked. " You serious?"
" Deadly . If I can’t pull her out, maybe you can. She ain't just some broad; she's my wife. My fucking queen. Treat her right, and I will continue to allow… whatever the fuck this is."
A long pause. A nod. " Alright , man. If you’re sure, I don’t wanna wake up with your knife in my gut."
I chuckled at that. He wasn’t wrong. I had contemplated gutting him after I gave her over to him. I’m not even sure what stopped me. Maybe the fact that she’d have been lost to me forever if I’d followed through.
L ater in the afternoon, we all met up at the warehouse. Inside , Rat and Stilt lounged on empty crates, smoking cigars and chugging beer.
" Angelo DeMarco ," Rat said, jumping down from the pile of crates he’d been on and butting his smoke on the cement. " The bastard crowned himself king of The Black Hands ."
" Son of a bitch." Heat flared in my chest, anger coiling tight. " Vitto's lapdog thinks he can run the show?"
" Seems so," Stilt muttered, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.
" Means war, then. They coulda just dissolve. Can’t say I won’t enjoy poisoning the bastard and watching his skin crawl as it burns." I savored the memories of the past. " We strike first, hit where it hurts. They’ve got that warehouse down Eastside . Burn it to the fucking ground."
" Strategic ," Marco added. " Cold , calculated."
" Damn right." My lips twisted into a half-smirk. " We'll rain hell on Angelo's parade. Make him wish he never left his mother's tit."
The tension broke, replaced by a grim resolve. Rat was the best with infiltration. Greasy little motherfucker, but he got places I couldn’t. He’d handle the logistics, and Stilt would handle clean-up .
Stilt cleared his throat. “ I don’t think Angelo is stupid enough to start something right now… not with Vitto fresh in the ground.
“ Come again?”
He stuttered as he saw fury creep onto my face. “ I … I just mean it’s not what I would do.”
“ Right , and that’s why you don’t lead the mafia. I do. Rat , get this idiot in the loop. I have better shit to do than explain it as if he’s a child.”
Stilt cowered under my stare before nodding. “ Got it, boss.”
I’d have to keep my eye on him. Something didn’t feel right. The warehouse door slammed shut behind us. Marco strode beside me, his towering frame a silent pillar of support. Didn't need words between us; we’d done this a few times. Just another fucking day. Brothers in arms, ready to bleed the world dry if it meant safeguarding what was ours.
The ride home was similarly silent. I kept trying to push the image of my brother fucking my wife out of my mind, but it wasn’t working.
“ Put on some fucking music, damn.”
Marco looked at me before pressing the radio. Some stupid ass country song played, and it only made me more angry. Slamming the button, the station changed to some rage metal. Finally . Music to match my mood. I knew she needed this. Needed him. Goddamn , I was trying! What the fuck else could I do? Is this why she wanted him, too? He could give her everything I couldn’t? What kind of shitbag was I that I couldn’t even drag my own damn wife out of depression?
What kind of leader?
The gates groaned open, revealing the estate, windows dark, bar one small light. She was in there, probably curled up in bed, her soulless eyes staring at the wall. A surge of protectiveness clawed its way out, but I knew I wasn’t the man for the job. I was relinquishing control to Marco . Just for this.
Stepped through the front door, the air thick with the scent of anticipation. I knew Marco was trying to be patient, but he was itching to get to her. He made his way to his room, and I told him I’d send a message when she was ready for him.
I made my way to our room. The door creaked open, revealing her silhouette against the moonlight. As predicted, her back was to me, and she was staring at the wall. I leaned onto the bed, kissing her forehead, informing her that Marco would be staying the night in here and I’d be taking the couch downstairs. She nodded, curling further into a ball. Maybe this was a fucking mistake .
I stripped off the leather jacket and tossed it on the chair before grabbing my good booze. I’d need it to get through the night. Messaged Marco to meet me in the kitchen as I closed the door and went back downstairs.
Poured a glass of whiskey, liquid fire that burned all the way down. Needed the edge gone. Took another swig, felt it carve through the tension. Marco sat across from me and just watched, knowing better than to say shit.
" Tonight ," I grunted, "we fix her."
Marco just nodded, his silence an agreement. He shifted awkwardly before reaching for a glass. “ So … uh…”
“ I don’t wanna know what you two do. Just … fix her.” I hated how pathetic I sounded, but it didn’t matter anymore. I couldn’t lose her, not after I’d finally won her over.
“ On it, boss.”
“ Brother .” I sighed, standing and grabbing his massive shoulder. “ If my wife had to pick anyone… I’m glad it’s you.”
Yet , even as the words fell and Marco nodded, downing his drink in one gulp before heading up to where she lay, I had to work to unclench my gut.