Chapter 12
TWELVE
Gabriele
After Katya leaves, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Her perfume lingers in the air. It's a delicate, floral scent, one I recognize but can't name. It somehow soothes and agitates me at the same time.
My new bride is affecting me far more than I anticipated. It's only been a few days since she first walked into my life and she's already finding gaps in my armor, slipping through effortlessly.
I don't know whether she's deliberately trying to work her way under my skin or if she's one of those women who genuinely doesn't realize the effect she has on the men around her.
I should keep my distance like I planned. What I set out to do was find myself a suitable bride and agree a purely practical arrangement with her.
At first glance, Katya was the perfect candidate. A Bratva princess should understand how a union built on mutual benefit and defined boundaries works. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Just a few days into our marriage the sands are already shifting beneath my feet because I failed to foresee how intriguing this woman would be.
I've tried to avoid her as much as possible, but it isn't working.
I think about her as much when we're apart as I do in her presence.
More, perhaps, because when she's not in the room with me, my imagination takes over and I find myself wondering what she's doing, how she feels. It's proving hard to manage.
I need to nip this in the bud before I get too attached. I made the mistake of getting in too deep with a woman once before and it almost cost me my life.
Perhaps I should fuck Katya out of my system then set her up in a house of her own. Even as I think it, I know I won’t do it. The need to have her close won’t ever go away.
As three o'clock rolls around, I accept that sleep won't come. Getting up from the bed, I pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I don't bother to cover my eye with a fresh patch. At this hour, there's nobody around to offend.
I head downstairs to my study, moving quietly through the house. I've always liked it at this hour, when everything is still.
Taking a seat at my desk, I switch on the laptop. For ten minutes I scroll through my emails. Nothing requires urgent attention. My businesses run smoothly thanks to the competent staff I employ.
Finding nothing to distract me, I close the laptop and sit back in my chair.
An urge I haven't felt in more than three years creeps over me. I open the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieve a sketchpad and pencil.
When I was a child I drew constantly, covering every blank piece of paper I found with sketches. Lukas used to complain about it because when I'd filled my own school notebooks, I began to draw in his.
When my brothers expanded our operations to Florence and I was left in charge here in Rome, I had less time to indulge my passion. After the attack, I gave up drawing completely.
My depth perception isn't what it used to be. I have trouble with lighting and shade.
Though I regained other skills I’d lost, I couldn't get my brain to cooperate when I wanted to draw. Eventually frustration overwhelmed me and I gave up.
Opening the pad to a clean page, I pick up the pencil and roll it between my fingers, getting a feel for it once more. I start to draw.
At first it doesn't go well. The proportions of the face I'm attempting are off. The jaw is too wide, the eyes set too far apart. I score through it and turn the page. I breathe in deeply and put pencil to paper once more.
This time I try not to think too hard about what I'm doing. I let my hand move of its own accord, the way I used to when I was a boy, before I learned that there were rules to follow, techniques to perfect. I allow instinct to take over.
The pencil moves more freely across the page. Gradually, an image forms. Katya.
I work for hours on the elegant bow of her mouth. Her nose proves unexpectedly challenging. It's long and straight with a rounded tip. My first few attempts make it look bulbous and I work to correct that.
By the time I'm satisfied I've captured her likeness there's a painful cramp in my hand. I set the pencil down and stretch out my fingers.
I stare at the image I've created. It's not my finest work, but it shows some promise. Katya makes a good subject and I think about having her pose for me one day. Then I shake my head. I'm supposed to be purging myself of this growing obsession with my wife, not finding ways to fuel it.
Despite myself I continue to look at the picture until Lukas walks into the room. He's already dressed in a dark suit and white shirt. He glances at the sketchpad. Though his lips twitch, he says nothing.
As he drops onto the seat on the other side of the desk from me, he takes in my attire. I don't usually walk around the house dressed so casually.
"You've been here all night?" he asks.
"Not all night."
He gestures toward my injured eye.
"You need to do something about that. The skin looks raw." He twists his lips in thought. "Aloe vera might work."
I scoff at that. "I assume you didn't come in here to offer skincare advice."
"No, I didn't." He retrieves a folded piece of newspaper from his pocket and slides it across the desk to me. "Orlov sent a message."
I open the newspaper to find a picture of Katya and me at the gala last night. Orlov obviously got this hot off the presses.
"Has this mystery beauty tamed the beast?" I read the headline aloud. The journalists at the Forum Dispatch must have worked overtime to come up with that. The paper, I note, is smeared with red. "Whose blood is this?"
"The newspaper was placed on top of a cloth bag inside a shoe box. The bag contained a dove with its heart cut out. It was delivered by courier before dawn, addressed to Katya."
"Fuck!" I slam my fist down on the table. "The dove represents her, I assume."
"That would be my reading of it," Lukas concurs.
"Was there anything else? A note?"
Lukas shakes his head. "I guess he thought we'd get the message."
It's not hard to understand. Orlov hasn't been subtle, which confirms everything I've heard about the man.
"Do we know where Orlov is?"
"He's not at the Wraith's compound," he says, referring to the MC Bernardo Andretti runs. "My guess is he's at one of their safehouses, plotting his next move."
"How the hell did Orlov and Andretti get involved with each other?"
"My guess is Andretti needs money. Nobody in Rome will touch him. Orlov needs local knowledge, men who can operate in the shadows if they need to. No one else would dare go up against us so he's stuck with Andretti."
That makes sense. In the aftermath of my attack, I eliminated every possible threat in the most bloody, brutal way I knew how. Some gangs operate in the city now but no large mafia organization remains.
The Bratva have never got a foothold here and there's no other international criminal fraternity to speak of. Orlov doesn't have many potential allies here so he'd have to rely on the one man stupid enough to think he can move against me.
"What are their numbers like?"
"Orlov brought six trusted men with him. He's relying on Andretti's muscle to get the job done."
The job being to kill me and take my wife, two things that will never happen. Though I'm confident about that, hubris has never been my weakness. Until the threat has been dealt with, some precautions will need to be put in place.
"The house goes on lockdown," I say. "I want extra men on every door in or out of the property. Any deliveries must be thoroughly checked by Eduardo himself before they're brought up to the house."
I think about all the packages my wife has had delivered over the past few days. Eduardo is going to be a busy man.
"Okay, anything else?"
"If anyone dares try to fly a drone over the property, shoot it down and interrogate the operator to find out who they were working for."
It's become an increasing nuisance in recent months. Sometimes it's just kids curious about the property with the enormous walls around it. Other times it's a paparazzo pushing his luck. Occasionally it's something more sinister.
"We do that anyway," Lukas says. He eyes me speculatively. "What about Katya?"
"She doesn't leave the house. I want Santo on her whenever she steps outside her bedroom."
"She'll love that."
I shrug. "She grew up in the Bratva. She knows the score."
Lukas shoots me a skeptical look. He gets to his feet and casts another glance at the sketchpad still lying open on the desk. Whatever his thoughts are, he keeps them to himself. "What are your orders concerning Orlov and Andretti?"
"Find them. Put every available man on it."
"Okay." Lukas tilts his head to one side, studying my face. "And when we do?"
"We kill them."
"Andretti too?" He's clarifying, not challenging me.
"Andretti, his VP, his Sergeant-at-Arms, every last member of his club right down to the lowliest prospect.
" I get to my feet and walk around the desk.
"We send a message that nobody will misread.
My territory, my business, my wife, are off-limits.
Anyone who comes for them will die in the most brutal way possible. "
Lukas claps my shoulder. "It's a long time since I've seen you like this, my friend." His eye drifts to the picture of Katya once more. "I'm glad you've found your inspiration."
I nod. "Nobody touches what's mine. Now, set up a meeting with Eduardo's team. I want ideas for finding these assholes."
"On it."
As Lukas leaves the room, I stand alone in my study for a moment. I think about the woman still sleeping upstairs and what I'm prepared to do to keep her safe. I make no attempt to kid myself that it's only because of a contract.
Pulling open the bottom drawer of the desk, I drop the sketchpad into it. I close the drawer and head for my room to get dressed. There's work to do.