Chapter 11 Saint
Saint
I watch her sleep.
Not in a romantic way. More like watching an investment.
Making sure it's still functional. Still valuable.
Gemma is thin, incredibly so. She's been thin since I met her, but now, it's worse. I wonder why. Is it the stress? It hasn't been an easy year for Gemma. First our engagement, and then, her mother's death, and finally, our marriage. Was it weighing on her?
I remember calling her fat at our first dinner together. Fat ass, I'd said. Cruel for the sake of cruelty. Standard operating procedure for me. And not something I've ever dwelled on.
I assumed she knew I was full of shit. Gemma is the type of woman that has heard she's gorgeous her entire life. At least, I assumed as much.
Now, I wonder if I miscalculated.
My words clearly stung. She has mentioned it several times, and looking at her now, curled on her side, face peaceful in sleep, I feel something like...regret.
Not guilt. We'd been trading barbs, and mine were just more effective, but I can't help but feel like I did maximum damage without understanding the context.
I know I need to solve this problem. Gemma needs to be healthy, not because I care that much, but because she needs to conceive. Sure, I told her that I thought it would happen eventually, but I'm not sure if I believe that.
Not fully.
Because Gemma was correct—we'd been fucking like rabbits. It's hard to not believe that something might not be wrong with one of us.
But I knew I couldn't say that to her.
Gemma's like a mouse. Shine the light too close, apply too much pressure, and she scurries away. Goes internal. Stops being the sharp, vicious partner I've come to rely on.
Sighing, I get out of bed and leave the room. I head downstairs where Lyla is preparing breakfast.
"Mr. Marini," she says, surprised. "I was about to bring Mrs. Marini her tray—"
"I'll take it." I survey what she's prepared. Coffee, toast, fruit. "Add a pastry. One of those chocolate ones she likes."
Lyla's eyebrows raise but she complies, adding a pain au chocolat to the tray.
I carry it back upstairs. Gemma's still asleep when I enter, but she stirs as I set the tray on the nightstand.
"What time is it?" she mumbles. I smirk. My wife is not a morning person. Before nine, and coffee, she's barely alive.
"Eight," I say. "I brought you breakfast."
She sits up, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her gaze lands on the tray. "I'm not really hungry—"
"Eat anyway. You didn't eat anything last night." I sit on the edge of the bed, pick up the pastry. "Open."
She stares at me. "What?"
"Open your mouth."
"Saint, I can feed myself—"
"When I want you to feed yourself, you will. For now, I want to feed you."
Her jaw tightens, and I think she will refuse, but after a beat, she opens her mouth with a roll of her eyes.
I tear off a piece of the pastry and place it on her tongue. She chews slowly, watching me with those silver eyes of hers.
"Good girl," I say, tearing off another piece.
"I'm not a child."
"Can't you just enjoy this without arguing?" I feed her another piece, my eyes not leaving her. There's something sensual about the way her tongue wraps around my finger and licks the flaky pastry from my skin.
"Coffee," I say, handing her the cup.
She takes it, cradles it in both hands, and she looks at me skeptically. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"This." She gestures between us, brow high. "It's unlike you."
I tell her the truth, leaning forward, licking her lips slightly. She tastes like chocolate and butter.
"Because you're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
She drinks the coffee, silently, but I see the way her shoulders relax slightly. The way she leans into the statement.
Good. Let her think this is normal possessiveness. Not the complicated thing it actually is.
"I need to get to the office," I tell her, standing. There's a bit of disappointment in her face, and I don't like it, so I deviate from my plans.
"We're going out tonight."
"We are?" she asks. "Where?"
"Does it matter?"
She considers. "No. I suppose it doesn't."
"Wear that red dress you showed me," I order, leaning down to kiss her deeply. "No panties."
I leave her breathless and wanting—just how I like her.
The club is in Manhattan. Neutral territory. Not as edgy as the Williamsburg spot, but still off the beaten path enough to be interesting.
Gemma's wearing what I've requested. A red, silk number with no back, and as I press my fingers into her waist, I'm not surprised to feel a lack of panties. A part of me hates how on display she is, but as heads turn, I get satisfaction in knowing how much everyone wants what I have.
It's a childish indulgence I rarely engage in, but with Gemma I do a lot against the grain.
"You look delicious," I say, as I lead her onto the dance floor. I press my lips to the spot under her ear that makes her crazy. "And you smell even better."
I trail my hands up her thighs and under her dress.
"Saint," she moans.
I chuckle. "You're dripping. Already?"
I trail my fingertips over her clit, and she moans. I smirk. This is what I wanted. Another test. Seeing if she'd let me have her in a crowd.
I'm about to slip my finger inside of her when I catch sight of a familiar and unwelcome face.
I pull my hands out leaving Gemma panting and confused. "What?"
"Go to the VIP section and wait for me," I tell her, not even bothering to glance at her. "I'll be right back."
Her eyes are wide. "Saint, what's—"
I grab her arm, my grip tight. She whimpers slightly. "Now, Gemma."
She's been in this life long enough to hear the warning in my voice, so even though she wants to argue, she doesn't. Instead, she listens and goes back to where I've left our guards.
I saunter over to the bar, my eyes not moving from the person leaning against it. His eyes were on me as well.
"Saint Marini."
The voice makes my blood run cold.
Alexei Morozov stands there, flanked by two of his men. He's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It never does. I've only ever seen this man happy when he's torturing someone. And while I'm not much better, I'd never consider myself part of the level of psychosis that Alexei adheres to.
"Alexei." I keep my voice neutral. "Didn't know this was your territory."
It's not, and I know that.
And while we are not expected to stay in our respective boroughs, the Russians tend to stay in their own clubs, Alexei particularly. So, if he's here, then, there's a reason, and I want to know what it is.
"I like to get out occasionally. See what's happening in the city." His gaze drifts past me to where Gemma is, and I want to gouge his eyes out for looking at her. "That your wife?"
Every muscle in my body tenses. "Yes."
"Beautiful girl. Adrian's sister, right?"
"What do you want, Alexei?" Fucker was at my wedding. He knows who I'm married to, so he can stop pretending.
"Just making conversation." He leans against the bar. "Aren't we allies?"
I snort. "Hardly," I say. "And you never just do anything, Alexei," I remind him. "How about you tell me why you are here, looking for me?"
"I hear Antonio is sick."
My jaw tightens. Antonio was determined to keep his health from the other families, but nothing stays secret forever, which I tried to remind him, and it appears the secret is out. "My uncle is fine."
"Come on, Saint. Everyone knows. Cancer, right? No one has seen him in months. You've taken over everything," he chuckles. "Even somehow ended up on the board with Nero." He tsks. "Shame. He's a good man. Strong leader. No man deserves to go out that way."
He's not wrong, but I'm not in the mood to play nice. "Get to the point, Alexei."
"The point is, when he's gone, you'll be vulnerable."
I laugh. "I've been my uncle's enforcer since I could hold a gun," I remind him. "I'll be fine." The Marini family is solid. Antonio made sure of that.
Alexei shakes his head. "Killing is easy. Holding the territory and men together," he knocks back a shot, "that takes a gentler hand."
I smirk. I can't help it. "Are you offering to mentor me?" This is fucking hilarious.
"I'm offering you support." He signals the bartender, orders another drink. Two this time.
"In exchange for?" I want to see where Alexei is going with this.
"Intel on the Neros. Their operations. Their weaknesses. In exchange, I'll back you when you take over. Publicly. Make sure the transition is smooth."
I stare at him. "You want me to betray my wife's family?" I'm not opposed, but I know better than to get in bed with Alexei. He's toxic in an unpredictable way, and while I enjoy a bit of chaos, I'm not interested in starting a war.
"I want you to be practical. The Neros are weak.
Your lovely wife has been... helpful already, hasn't she?
" His smile sharpens. His smile chills my blood.
Not because I fear the fucker, but because he's implying something I don't like.
"You should be happy I haven't eliminated her.
After all, she's causing me a lot of problems."
My hand goes to my gun. "Careful."
"You are the two who might want to consider being more careful." He takes his drink from the bartender. "You two are good, I'll give you that, but you let something slip, and a little mouse ran to tell me."
My fingers flex. Fuck. There's absolutely no way we have a mole in the organization. No way.
"Apparently, you like fucking your wife while plotting against her brother."
I freeze, and Alexei chuckles. "I don't blame you. Nothing makes my blood burn like the idea of killing."
"What is it that you want, Alexei?" I pull back my jacket, so he can see my gun. He barely reacts. "And be specific."
"Alliance."
"Not interested."
"No?" He glances at Gemma again. "Shame. Because when Antonio dies, and he will, I'm coming for Marini territory. Maybe, Adrian will help. After all, he'd love to know who's been targeting him."
The threat is clear. And worse, he knows about Gemma. About what we've been doing.
"Think about it," Alexei shoots back his vodka. "My offer is for a limited time. Help me finish what you started with the Neros, and I'll make sure you survive the transition."
He starts to walk away, and something inside me snaps. The molten lava of my anger burns over, and I react before I can stop myself.
I grab his collar, slam him against the bar. "Touch my wife. Threaten her. Even look at her wrong, and I'll gut you."
His men move forward, but Alexei raises a hand, stopping them. He's still smiling.
"There it is. The attack dog Antonio trained so well." He pats my cheek, and I make a note that he's going to need to lose that hand. "I'm not interested in your wife, Saint. I'm interested in what she knows. What you both know. And I'm offering to keep your secret. For a price."
"Fuck your price. And fuck you."
I release him, step back. His men are tense, hands near their weapons. But Alexei just straightens his jacket.
"When you change your mind, and you will, you know how to reach me."
He leaves, his men following.
I stand there, breathing hard, trying to process.
He knows. He fucking knows. And he knows specifics, which means someone caught us in the act.
And worse, he's right about the rest. Antonio's dying, and I'll be taking over long before the captains are prepared to accept me.
I need backing.
But not from him. Never Alexei.
I shake my head, push the thoughts away. Grab the drinks and head back to Gemma.
She's where I left her, but her eyes are questioning when I approach.
"What happened? What did Alexei say?"
"We're leaving."
"What? Why?"
"Because I said so." I grab her hand. "Now."
I pull her through the crowd, out to the street where Emmanuel is waiting with the car.
"Saint, what's going on—"
"Get in."
She climbs in, and I follow. Emmanuel pulls away from the curb.
"Tell me what happened," Gemma demands.
"Alexei Morozov knows."
Her face goes pale. "Did he—"
"He knows. About what we've been doing. About you feeding me information."
"How?"
I fucked up somewhere. I don't say that. I don't need to. I run a hand through my hair. "He made me an offer. Help him take down the Neros completely, and he'll back me when I take over from Antonio."
She's quiet for a long moment. "What did you say?"
"I told him to fuck off."
"Why?"
I look at her like she's grown a second head. "Why do you think?"
"Because you don't trust him."
"Because I don't fucking respond to blackmail." I pull her closer. "And I protect what's mine."
She searches my face. "He threatened me?"
"Implied it."
"And you refused."
"Fucking with Adrian is fun, but I'm not about to blow up your family."
She's quiet again. "Even though it might be the smart play?"
The question catches me off guard. Because she's right.
Strategically, Alexei's offer makes sense.
I need backing. He can provide it. Adrian is unstable.
I made him that way. But the thought of him anywhere near Gemma makes me want to commit violence.
I have a reputation, and while it's earned, Alexei's is far worse, especially when it comes to women.
There's been talk for years about what he does to women, including his ex-wife, and while nothing has been proven, I'm not going to put Gemma in his crosshairs.
"Not everything is about strategy," I say finally.
"Since when?"
"Since now."
We ride the rest of the way in silence. When we reach the compound, I walk her to the bedroom. She starts to undress, and I watch her. Still too thin. Still mine.
"You'll be careful," she says. Not a question. A statement.
"Always."
"If Alexei knows, others might figure it out too." I watch as she swallows heavily. She's nervous. "He might have evidence."
"I know."
"Saint..." She turns to face me. "Maybe..."
"No."
"Adrian won't be a threat if you work with—"
"Fuck Alexei. Your brother is a dick, but Alexei will kill him for territory." I move closer. "Can you live with that?"
"Yes," she says the words, but I can see the cloudiness of tears in her eyes.
"Liar." But I say it with something like affection. "You're angry, but you don't want your brother dead."
She studies me. "Do you?"
I notice she doesn't answer my question. Not fully.
"No," I say. Then, I shrug. "Well, not right now."
She nods slowly.
"This thing, you feeding me intel, it stops. Tonight."
She goes perfectly still. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Saint—"
I kiss her before she can argue. Hard. Claiming. She's frozen for a moment, then kisses back with something that feels like desperation.
When I pull away, her eyes are wide. Stunned.
Good. Better she's shocked than arguing.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, Alexei's offer sits. Waiting.
Not because I'll take it. But because he was right about one thing:
When Antonio dies, I'll need allies. I'll need power. I'll need backing.
And right now, I don't have enough of any of those things.