Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Mauro
Moisture drips across my face as I stare down the newest guards tasked with keeping my family safe.
The air inside the training center is thick with the smell of sweat and blood.
For the past six hours, we’ve pushed them hard with drills that test reaction time, grueling strength circuits, and relentless hand-to-hand combat that leaves no room for mercy.
They’re not the worst I’ve trained. But they’re far from the best. They’ll need discipline. Precision. Time under pressure. But with the proper guidance and enough pain, I think they’ll earn their place.
Vin’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “What do you think?”
I drag my forearm across my brow, clearing the sweat, my gaze sweeping over each man in silence. Then I give a single, deliberate nod.
“Good,” Vin remarks. He turns to face them, his voice cutting through the room. “That’s enough for today. Be back here at seven a.m. sharp for artillery training.” His eyes narrow. “Miss a single shot, and you’ll be packing your bags before you can say arrivederci. Capisce?”
A sharp chorus of Yes, sir follows, echoing off the walls as they all depart.
“So, honestly,” Vin starts, “how did they do? Any actual contenders worth adding to our team?”
I slide my phone from my pocket and type, A few. They still have much to learn, but with time, they should make adequate guards.
He rolls his neck, loosening his tie. “We can work with that.” He leans against the corner pole, crossing his arms over his chest. “My contact gave me a heads-up that the Vasilievs planned on using the Boston port tonight, so I spoke with the head of the O’Brien family, Niall.
They’re currently waiting for them as we speak. Ready to ensure it doesn’t happen.”
And what about the women?
“He’s assured me they’ll be taken care of. No funny business. They take this shit just as seriously as we do.”
I nod. Another failed import attempt by the Vasilievs is a good thing. Just one more successful step in taking them down.
“Speak of the devil, and he will call,” Vin murmurs, placing his phone between the two of us. “Mikhail, what a pleasant surprise.”
My brows shoot up.
“Vincenzo, you’ve really done it this time.” Mikhail’s voice sounds even colder than I remember, his tone laced with an undertone of fury.
“Sorry,” Vin starts, “I’ve been so busy lately running an empire, you’ll have to jog my memory as to what it is I did that has apparently pissed you off.”
Mikhail breathes heavily over the line. “First, you intercept our imported goods, costing me a fucking fortune, and then you go and blow my distillery to the motherfucking ground!”
Vin tsks. “You sound like you could use a drink. Oh wait…” He grins. “Hard to enjoy your own product when you can no longer produce it.”
“Why you fucking mudak—”
“Let’s get one thing straight right fucking now.
” Vin’s playful demeanor morphs into something dangerous.
“If you decide to partake in something as sleazy and barbaric as kidnapping and selling innocent women and children on the black market, I will stop you. And the fact that you thought you could pull that shit on my territory just proves to me you’re even stupider than you look.
If you want a war, Mikhail, I’ll gladly bring one to your door. ”
A thud echoes over the line, probably Mikhail hitting something.
“Up until this point, we’ve played nice with you and your brothers, but this is your final warning.
If you stick your nose in my family’s business again, there will be consequences to your actions.
Ones that will impact those closest to you. ”
“Threaten my family again, and see what I do about it.”
Vin ends the call, staring down at the dark screen. His breaths come out labored, his body too tense.
I step toward him, gripping his shoulder.
He quickly drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. “It’s hard not to lose it when he threatens my family. At least it wasn’t Kazimir. That fucker always gets under my skin.”
One side of my lips lifts. That is undeniably true. Vin’s never shown much patience when it comes to Kazimir.
He sighs, standing straight, and I drop my hand to my side. “Although it appears we’ve started chipping away at Mikhail’s usual calm demeanor. That’s progress.”
I nod. If Mikhail is losing his cool, that probably means we’re affecting them more than we realized. Like dominoes, they’ll slowly begin to fall, one by one. And I, for one, can’t wait to witness their demise.
“But enough about him. There’s something else I came here to see you about before returning home.
” Vin rubs his hand along his jaw, studying me for a beat longer than necessary.
“I noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time here since we got back from our little vacation.
You wouldn’t happen to be”—he waves a hand in the air—“avoiding someone, would you?”
I scowl.
“That’s what I thought.” He checks his watch, then straightens his tie.
“Well, I’m getting out of here. I have a meeting with the Blackridge family shortly to finalize our deal.
By morning, we’ll be taking a cut of Montana’s finest whiskey profits.
” He flashes a two-finger salute as he strides toward the door.
“Later, brother. And for the love of God, go home to your wife.”
I grab the rag hanging from the bench and swipe it across my forehead before tossing it into the laundry bin. My muscles ache as I cross the room to the locker area, heading straight for the showers. I twist the knob all the way and step beneath the scorching spray.
Heat pours over me, loosening tight muscles, stealing the edge from a day spent pushing my body too hard.
I reach for the bottle of body wash and scrub it over my chest and arms, letting the steam cloud my thoughts.
Have I been spending more time than usual at the gym?
Probably.
Is it because I’ve been deliberately avoiding my wife?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, water streaming over my knuckles. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.
Things were easier when we had rules. Clear lines. Boundaries that kept everything contained.
Then we crossed them.
And now we’re home, where the rules are back in place, but all I can think about is how badly I want to break them again.
Frustration coils tight in my chest as I lean my forehead against the cool tile. Every night since we returned, Alina lies beside me like nothing’s changed. Like we didn’t blur lines we were never supposed to touch.
But everything has changed.
And all I seem to be able to think about is her. Her scent. Her taste. The way she sounded as she came around my cock. My name on her lips as she screamed out in ecstasy.
But I can’t experience that again because of these fucking rules. I twist the handle with force until the water cuts off, steam lingering in the air as I straighten.
Stepping out, I approach the sink, wiping my hand across the condensation covering the mirror.
And then I freeze, staring at my reflection.
Wild hair.
An untamed beard.
And scars.
So many scars.
My eyes zero in on the prominent scar extending over my neck, my fingers coming up to trace it.
Why would Alina ever want to be with someone like me?
Heedlessly, I slam my fist against the glass, disregarding the sting that blooms across my knuckles as blood dribbles down my skin. And most importantly, ignoring the pain that stretches over my chest, binding my heart in a punishing grip.
The moment I step through the front door, I’m wrapped in warmth and… My nose lifts as I inhale an enticing aroma, stepping farther inside toward the kitchen.
Chicken? Garlic? Bread?
“Oh, good, you’re home!” Alina stands beside the stove with her back to me and a beige apron tied around her waist as she stirs something in a skillet.
“I wasn’t sure when you’d be done with training, and I wanted to make you dinner.
” She glances over her shoulder, a hint of nerves in her smile.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so I figured Italian was a safe bet. Was I right?”
I nod, examining the space.
The kitchen island is set for us to eat with matching plates and cutlery.
A glass of whiskey waits beside one place setting, a single ice ball slowly melting inside, while a glass of wine accompanies the other.
A few lit candles flicker softly, music humming low in the background, turning the room into something intimate.
“Thank God,” she says before turning her attention back to what’s in front of her.
“It’s a creamy Tuscan chicken pasta dish my dad used to make all the time for me.
Garlic, sundried tomatoes, parmesan, heavy cream, and voila.
” She slices the chicken and sets it aside as she adds penne and cream.
“I hope it’s okay. I haven’t made it in a while. ”
She cooked for me.
No one’s ever cooked for me before.
Well, besides my mother or the occasional chef.
But this… This feels different.
And standing here, watching her move around my kitchen like she belongs, like she’s been here all her life, it feels like something I didn’t even realize my home was missing. Her.
She turns, wiping her hands on the towel draped over her shoulder.
The smile she wears falters the moment she looks at me.
“Oh, shit.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “This is too much. I’m sorry.
I just wanted to do something nice for you, and when you don’t have money, it’s hard to figure out what to give someone who already has everything.
” She lets out a soft, nervous laugh. “Maybe I overdid it.”
She steps to the island, and I can see the determination in her face as she inhales, ready to blow out the candles.