Chapter 12
Dominic
The message appears on my smart watch just like every security alert does.
Who the fuck is entering my fortress in a minivan?
And how the fuck did they get through the front gate?
I retrieve my gun from my waistband and hold it at eye level as I creep towards the front door. With the tablet installed on the wall next to it, I pull up the surveillance cameras of the driveway. And sure enough, there’s a black minivan with tinted windows pulling up to my house.
But what startles me the most is when it parks, my brother emerges from the driver’s seat.
Why the fuck is Roman driving a minivan? Nothing could make me degrade myself in such a way.
Matthias steps out of the passenger seat and Bash from the back.
The three swagger up to my door, but instead of knocking, they let themselves in.
“Hey, James Bond, you can put the gun away,” Roman smirks at me.
I put it away, but not because he told me to.
“Why do you have a gun trained on us?” Matthias raises a brow in question.
I glare at them. First, they show up uninvited at my house, and now, they’re questioning me.
“Because an unknown vehicle entered my gate without my approval,” I snarl at them. Then, I take a deep breath and control my emotions. “Roman, where’s the Suburban? Why are you driving a minivan?”
It’s mostly curiosity that has me asking. What reason does my bloodthirsty brother have to drive such a humiliating vehicle?
“Dom, my wife is pregnant. With triplets. Three girls.” He sighs and runs his hand over his face. The worry of his situation is taking its toll on him. “We need a car that can hold all of us. I had it custom made, fully bullet-proof. Nothing’s ever touching them.”
It still throws me off hearing him say ‘wife.’ We’ve known Cecilia for a while, but with their unconventional eloping, I forget they’re married. And now that she’s pregnant… I don’t know how he’s going to do it. It’d be my personal hell.
“Hmm… Why are you guys here?” I want to settle whatever needs to be done, then kick them out.
I planned on drinking and despairing tonight. The wedding is tomorrow. Doomsday is here. I’ll have a wife, someone invading my space. That porcelain doll.
Sneering at the reality of my situation, I turn around and make my way back to my den, needing another sip of whiskey.
“Bachelor party!” Bash says excitedly lifting a poker set.
Mattias holds up a bottle of liquor, and Roman grips a piece of paper. They’re all wearing matching grins.
I can’t stop the curse that escapes my lips.
“Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but no. I’m not in the mood to celebrate.” My even voice conceals my annoyance. There’s nothing I want to do less than have a party. This is commiseration, not commemoration.
“Don’t care. We’re here anyway,” Matthias says as he follows me into the den.
“We knew you’d say no, that’s why we didn’t ask.” Roman looks around then frowns in disappointment. “Do you have any snacks?”
“Oh yeah. I could do a pizza!” Matthias suggests.
“I’m down for that. Want me to place an order?” Bash adds, his phone already in his hand.
“STOP! No pizza! No poker! It’s time for you to go! All of you!” I raise my voice, desperate for some alone time. I need to fully process tomorrow. Make sure I’ve planned for everything that could occur, not just tomorrow, but also in this marriage.
But instead of listening, all three of my godforsaken brothers make themselves at home in my den. In my house. Where they’ve shown up, uninvited.
“I’ve got four large pizzas coming. They’ll be here in thirty,” Bash says with a grin.
“Perfect! Let’s grab the table,” Roman fetches my poker table.
Matthias gathers four tumblers for the whiskey and starts pouring drinks.
“None for me. I’m not drinking during the pregnancy.” Roman stops Matthias before he pours the fourth drink.
I stare at him incredulously. Is he fucking serious? He doesn’t even have the baby in him. I’m astounded, but Matthias just nods understandingly.
“What the fuck?” I blurt out, unable to hold back.
“I want to support Cecilia. Also, triplets make the pregnancy high risk. I need to always be coherent in case she needs me.” He smiles softly at the mention of his wife.
With three of the four chairs filled and whiskey poured, I succumb to my fate. I guess I won’t be spending the evening alone.
After an hour of losing my money to my brothers, I sigh and lay my cards down. It’s not that Bash is beating us, he always does, it’s tomorrow’s events that have me upset.
“What am I going to do with a wife? How can I have the enemy in my own home?” I sneer and take another sip. The burn doesn’t calm me in the slightest, and I know I need to slow down; I refuse to be hungover in the morning.
“Here’s some advice from a married man: happy wife, happy life.” Matthias grins proudly, as if he came up with the ridiculous motto.
I just snort in derision. There’s no fucking chance my happiness is dependent on the doll’s.
“No, no. He’s right,” Roman cuts in. He pulls out the piece of paper he was holding earlier and waves it in my face. “I made a list of suggestions for a good marriage. Or really any relationship since you’ve never had one.”
At the mentions of a relationship, Bash perks up.
“I don’t need your fucking advice. If I remember correctly, your wife didn’t even choose to marry you.” Throwing their elopement in his face is a low blow, but he doesn’t fall for the trap.
Cecilia has calmed and mellowed his formerly wrathful demeanor. Normally it’s a good thing, but right now, when I’m itching for a fight, it’s pissing me off.
“First, spoil her. Treat her like a princess. Women are gifts, and we don’t deserve them.” Roman begins.
“Work hard to earn her!” Matthias cuts in.
“I don’t want your advice either. You fucking kidnapped Margot!” I seethe.
They just ignore me.
“Learn to do things she likes to do.” Roman continues. “Oh, and don’t expect her to do things for you. She’s your wife, not your maid.”
I gesture around my mansion, conveying that obviously I have a team that cleans, cooks, and upkeeps the house.
“Make sure she’s always protected. Don’t ever let her out of your sight without protection.” Matthias’s voice gets serious.
He’s referring to what happened to his wife. It’s been almost two years since that situation, but he’s still scarred.
“That won’t be a problem. Her personal guard is coming with her.
It’s not ideal to have a full-fledged Bratva member in the house, but I thought she’d feel better if she had some semblance of normalcy.
” I was against the idea when Viktor first suggested it, but then I realized it was the only thing Katerina has asked for, so I gave in.
“Don’t lie to her. Don’t hide anything,” Roman says.
I roll my eyes. There’s no way I’m telling her anything. She’s the enemy. She doesn’t get to know any Syndicate information.
Now, I understand why Roman hid so much from his wife. It all makes sense. In fact, what seemed ridiculous now seems reasonable.
“If she tries to fight you or run away, she will forgive you for cuffing her to the headboard, just until you know she’s sensible again.” Roman chuckles as if it’s a fond memory for him, and to my upmost surprise, Bash nods along as if it has merit.
“That’s a good one. I just slept on top of her. She can’t stab me in my sleep if she can’t get out from under me.” Matthias grins.
They’re all fucking psychotic. Even Bash, who would typically be scolding them for such behavior.
I just consider my hand. Instead of placing a bet, I fold.
I look at Bash expectantly, but he’s on his phone again.
“Bash! It’s your turn!” I huff, annoyed at him. This is the third time he’s gotten distracted by his phone.
“Got it,” he says with a grin as he puts it away.
“What are you doing on there? You’ve been glued to it all night. Is it something for the Syndicate?” I’m hoping it is, begging for the distraction.
He shakes his head, only to be interrupted by Matthias’s curiosity.
“Is it something for Syndicate Enterprise?” He sounds disappointed by the thought. I guess work’s not as exciting when you have a wife at home.
It’s not something I’ll experience. There’s no way Katerina will ever come between me and the Syndicate.
“No, it’s not any of that. It’s… personal.” Bash’s vague answer piques my curiosity, but when he refills my tumbler and hands it to me, I drink away my interest.
I drink away all my emotions until I’m just as frigid and detached on the outside as I am on the inside.