Chapter 12
I’m already a shit husband.
Though not for the same reasons as most men.
Not for another woman, a drink, or gambling.
More along the lines of murder and business.
We took Leo home, and while Damien stayed with him to make sure the idiot didn’t bleed out, we disposed of the two men responsible for his stabbing.
I gave them quick deaths. Not out of mercy, but because I was fucking exhausted and gave no fucks about them.
It was Leo’s fault that he had been stabbed. We’d banned the men from Lucky Kings, and they snuck into the casino. Instead of calling for backup, Leo decided to handle it on his own.
Lesson fucking learned for him.
My phone rings when I slide into the Range Rover, and Antonio’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hello?” I answer.
“I haven’t received your RSVP to Gigi’s birthday brunch.”
“I didn’t know we formally RSVP’d to shit,” I grumble.
“I expect you to be there.”
“Can’t. I’m a newlywed.”
“Fuck off with that shit. Liliya can meet the other wives. Maybe it’ll make her feel better since the man she married most likely acts like she doesn’t exist.”
Antonio knows me well.
“Unlike you, I wasn’t given a choice on my wife.”
“I almost died for marrying mine. I don’t recommend it. Be there. If you don’t bring Liliya, I won’t be happy.”
He ends the call, and I drop my phone in my lap, massaging my temples.
Defying a mob boss is dangerous. While Antonio is a killer, we grew up together and were friends before he became the boss.
Some bosses treat their men like shit. Those bosses either die at an early age or their men hate them. Loyalty is easier to break when your boss is a cunt.
When you don’t trust him.
I trust and respect Antonio.
When my phone rings again, I debate throwing it out the fucking window.
This time, it’s Maggie.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Liliya isn’t eating,” she tells me. “I’ve tried all day. The same yesterday. She’ll drink water, but that’s it.”
My wife starving herself is the last fucking thing I need.
“Keep trying,” I tell her. “I’ll be home in a few hours.”
If she hasn’t eaten a bite by then, I’ll force it down her throat if I have to.
I won’t have my new wife starving on my watch.
At first, when Aleksy approached Antonio about a marriage proposal, Antonio rejected the idea.
But then Aleksy sweetened the deal, offering peace with the Russians and a portion of their New York–based businesses.
That second addition is why Antonio said yes.
He didn’t give two fucks about peace with the Russians. They aren’t strong enough to beat us in anything—not power, not wealth, and sure as fuck not street smarts.
We also don’t need the money. Lucky Kings, along with many of our illegal ventures, brings in plenty of revenue, but who doesn’t want more money?
We’re men. We’re fucking selfish.
So, Antonio agreed, knowing the Russian businesses would give us more avenues to funnel our illegal money through as well.
We also knew if the Russians owed us something, they wouldn’t come after Genesis for murdering their boss. Though Dima’s death was his own fault. The idiot made the mistake of kidnapping a batshit crazy woman and then letting his guard down with her.
Play stupid games, win stupid fucking prizes.
We celebrated Dima’s death and would much rather have Aleksy in charge than him. While Dima was reckless, he was at least qualified to run the Bratva. Aleksy is far from that. I wouldn’t trust him valeting my car, let alone running an empire.
The Bratva will fall under him, and we’ll have one less enemy to worry about. Our plan is to suck them dry financially, steal their businesses, and then either kill or force them out of the city.
Some say the more allies you have, the better.
But not when those allies are fucking idiots.
Aleksy’s upgrade to boss also meant an upgrade in living conditions.
I brake at the wrought iron gate in front of the estate where Yaroslav once lived. Two Russians stand guard, holding AK-47s.
Rolling down the window, I make myself known, and they open the gate before waving me forward.
The drive is around half a mile before I reach the front of the Morozova estate home.
As a man who grew up around architecture enthusiasts, I can confirm Yaroslav had good taste.
I’d guess the square footage is around the same as my family home.
Sculptures and fountains surround the front of the home.
Aleksy and Lev stand at the top of the porch steps. I park and duck out of my SUV, and they walk in my direction. When we meet, Aleksy holds out his hand, offering it to me as if we’re about to make another business deal.
I reluctantly shake it, wishing I could tear the scrawny limb off his body.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he says. “Not warning a man before you come to his home could result in death.”
He says this like a threat.
I cock my head to the side. “Is that your way of saying you’re going to kill me for this?”
He blinks, taken aback by my response.
“Uh …” He retreats a step, his hand falling limp to his side. “It was just a … comment.”
“Words of advice: don’t mention something resulting in death to another man unless you intend to kill that man.”
He takes a second to come up with a response before deciding to just nod. “Come on. We can talk in my office.”
I follow him and Lev inside the house and grimace at all the gaudy gold embellishments. It’s like someone gave a golden shower to every inch of this place.
We pass a room where a half-naked woman is snorting a line of coke. Another woman is beside her, and she squeals when they notice us.
She lifts her hand in a wave and shimmies her chest toward me. “That one is cute.”
“The fuck, Monica?” Aleksy asks. “I thought I was your favorite mob guy?”
Mob guy?
Jesus Christ.
Was his training watching the fucking Sopranos?
Monica giggles, scurrying over to us to cozy up to his side.
I scratch my cheek, annoyed I have to stand here and witness this bullshit.
“We need to talk now,” I say, breaking up his little party.
“Sorry, babe.” Aleksy smacks her bare ass. “Got business to do.”
I snarl my lip in disgust.
She stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, kisses his cheek, and yells for the girl to save her some coke while hurrying back into the living room.
Aleksy chuckles.
I follow him further through the foyer and into a large office with gold panels and expensive artwork. Lev trails behind me and shuts the door behind us.
“Are you here about Dasha?” Aleksy asks.
“We’re still working on her whereabouts, but we know she ran off with some guy we had grown up with.
I have one of my men working on finding his family.
We can probably torture some information out of them.
” He smirks, strolling to the bar cart, and pours himself a glass of whiskey.
I shake my head when he holds a glass in my direction. “What’s your plan with her?”
“What’s your plan, Lastro? She was supposed to be your wife. Not mine.”
The fucker doesn’t have a plan.
He wouldn’t know what a plan was if it punched him in the mouth.
So, he wants me to figure it out for him.
“Correct. She was supposed to,” I reply. “You never fulfilled that contract, making it void for you, meaning her running off is your responsibility.”
“She defied”—he pauses to gesture back and forth between us with his glass—“us.”
“She defied you. She fucked you.” I straighten my cuff links. “I still got a wife out of it. I’m happy either way.”
He downs his whiskey and pours another. “Lev, leave us.”
Lev pays me a glance, nods, and then disappears from the office.
“We need to talk,” I say as soon as the door shuts behind Lev.
Aleksy walks behind the desk and collapses into the leather chair. A framed Sylvester Stallone photo is on the wall, and an AK-47 is displayed above it.
That’s new.
Yaroslav didn’t have that when I last visited his office.
It was a painting of his old-as-fuck parents, who looked miserable.
But I don’t have time to give a shit about Aleksy’s decor choices. I need to get this over with so I can go home and force my wife to eat something before she starves to death.
“Why didn’t you kill Dr. Oswald?”
“Who?” Aleksy props his feet on the desk.
“The doctor who sexually assaulted Liliya. Why didn’t you kill him?”
“That wasn’t my business.”
“Someone hurting your sister wasn’t your business?”
If someone hurts my damn pinkie toe—let alone my own blood—I want to bash their fucking head in.
Aleksy goes quiet for a moment, as if contemplating every word he wants to say before allowing it to leave his mouth.
Smart.
“Where’s your sister, Emilio?” A sudden cockiness is in his tone. “Did you protect her?”
And he turned stupid real fucking quick.
I take a moment, rub my jaw, and wait for him to take back his words.
He only smirks, proud of himself.
Too sure that I won’t put a bullet between his eyes.
I stride to the corner bar.
Aleksy doesn’t take his eyes off me while I pour myself a glass of whiskey.
I raise the rim to my lips but don’t take a drink.
He taps his lips as I shrug and walk back toward him with the glass in my hand. “Emilio—”
I smash the glass against his desk, and the whiskey splatters, soaking his paperwork. Drops of liquid hit him in the face.
“What the—”
I stop him from finishing his sentence again as I race around the desk with a shard of glass in my hand and hold it against his throat.
He gasps for air and makes out a rasped, “Lev.”
I pin him against the chair with my free hand and dig the glass into his jugular. “I know you’re new to this boss thing, Aleksy, but I owe you no loyalty. You are nothing to me, and I do not fear you, boss or not. I suggest you watch your mouth when speaking to me.”
I toss the shard onto the desk and release him.
He hunches forward, inhaling deep breaths as I return to my place in front of his desk.
“Don’t worry.” I knock my knuckles against the desk. “I took care of your light work. Dr. Oswald is dead. You’re fucking welcome.”