His Wife: A Dark Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 2)
His Wife: Chapter 2

I glance up at her bedroom window, and there she is, staring down at me from the second floor. A vision of mystery and beauty trapped inside the walls of my world. Even from a distance, I can see the confusion painted on her beautiful face as she watches me leave. I’ve been around less than usual, distracted with this fucking mess some sadistic church fucker has been leaving on our goddamn front porch. Knowing Leandra, her mind is probably working overtime, the wheels turning in the direction of my absence being because of her, because of what’s happening between us. She might think I’m trying to get away from her, but that idea is crushed every time I come home and fuck her until sunrise. All I want to do is lose myself in her. Forget about the war raging on the outside of these walls. With her, the weight of being the firstborn Del Rossa seems lighter—like it’s no longer crushing me. I hate it. I hate that I look forward to the next time I’m able to touch her, kiss her, to just be with her. I’m constantly distracted thinking about her, wanting nothing more than to let everything I’ve worked for all these years go up in smoke around me so I can do nothing else but be with her. To just be a man who wants to make his wife come, scream his name, and witness her drown in pleasure while his heart is consumed by her.

She’s a distraction, one I don’t need nor want. But one I refuse to get rid of.

One giant clusterfuck of a contradiction—that’s what my life feels like ever since I fucked her in that damn boutique. I should burn that fucking place to the ground. Or turn it into a goddamn shrine.

The engine of my Maserati roars to life as I turn the ignition. I glance up at her through my windshield one more time, and she drops the curtain. I feel a pang of…something, aware of the divide between us that’s always been there, but lately, I forced myself to ignore it because my need to own every last drop of her essence is much stronger.

It’s been weeks since our wedding, and we still live in separate bedrooms even though we only fuck in mine. Countless times I’ve told her to move her things into my room, but she’s been reluctant. Hesitant. Guarded. And I fucking hate it. I want her in my bed where I can touch her whenever I want and lose myself inside her when the clock strikes midnight. But she’s not ready, I know that. But I’m too selfish to give a fuck, yet I care enough to not force her.

My wife. My contradiction.

Fog hovers over the city, early morning sunrays tearing through the mist. The streets are starting to come alive with traffic and crowds of people clutching their coats, everyone rushing to go make a buck only to hurry straight back home after because they’re exhausted from chasing wealth. Tomorrow morning, rinse and repeat.

Luckily, I’m early enough to miss the peak, and it doesn’t take me long before I park at the back entrance of Myth. Caelian is standing outside smoking, the collar of his black coat lifted to ward off the cold.

Nicoli pulls up next to me with his red Ferrari and straightens his tie as he gets out, eyeing me as I close my door. “You’re late.”

“So are you.”

“I was distracted.” He slips his hands in his pants pockets, a hint of a smirk settling in the corners of his mouth. “By something that demanded my attention in our mother’s garden, where she takes her morning walks…every day.”

I grin. “And I was distracted by my wife’s needy pussy, not giving a fuck about who walks where.”

His blue eyes flash suggestively. “Something tells me you still have your dick up the ass of the horny honeymoon phase.”

“You jealous?”

“Have you seen your wife? Of course, I’m fucking jealous. Everyone with a dick is jealous.”

“Yeah, well, they should keep their dicks in their pants unless they want to choke on it.” A subtle reminder that I won’t be sharing my wife with anyone. Not again.

Nicoli grabs my arm as I start toward the entrance, pulling me back. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Don’t fuck what up?”

“You and her. Do not fuck it up. That woman’s got you by the balls, and any fool can see she’s been fucking breathing just for you lately. Don’t do something stupid to derail it or self-sabotage your shot at being happy.”

There’s a flash of something raw in his eyes. Envy. Longing. A yearning for something he thinks he’ll never have.

I step closer, fixing my gaze on his. “How long has it been?”

“How long has what been?”

“Since the day you decided to deny yourself the one thing you want above all others.”

A knowing look passes between us, and for no more than a quarter of a second does Nicoli let his guard down, allowing me a glimpse of the man plagued by his only weakness for too damn long. It’s all there, clinging to his demeanor, the tightness around his eyes and the tic of his jaw. But as quickly as it came, it vanishes too, and he roughs a hand through his midnight hair. “I have my reasons, and you know it.”

“I do. And I understand it. But that doesn’t mean I like watching my twin brother torture himself while doing everything in his power to make sure he ruins and destroys every path that could possibly lead to the source his heart has been beating for since he was nine years old.”

“Are we talking about Mira again?” Caelian interrupts, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Nicoli, do the world a favor and just fuck her already.”

Nicoli plucks Caelian’s cigarette from his lips before flicking it away. “Why don’t you do me a favor and die?”

“And what, leave my share of inheritance to all you ugly fuckers?”

“Can you assholes stop fucking around?” I’m at the top of the stairs glowering at the two children in front of me. “Isaia and Maximo are waiting for us.”

Nicoli shoulders past Caelian and shoves him to the side, and all three of us enter the club. It’s eerily quiet, not a sound other than our heavy footsteps across the white marbled floor as we descend the stairs. The low-hanging chandelier has been switched off, the walls devoid of dancing lights reflecting from the crystal teardrops to give our guests the feel of elegance. Royalty. Wealth.

The halls are empty, our determined footsteps the only sound that fills the open space. There’s not a soul in sight, which only adds to the eerie echo of silence. Apart from Sundays, Myth is never closed. People’s sins and depravities don’t have a timestamp or a designated timeframe. It’s always there, gnawing and scratching, tainting souls no matter the time of day. Myth is the garden of Eden where demons come to play from dusk ‘til dawn, from sunrise until the moon drops behind the horizon. But on Sundays, the Lord’s day, this little paradise rests, taking a break from injecting sin into the veins of its addicts.

Occasionally, we close the doors for shit like maintenance and renovations. It doesn’t happen often, but it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary or suspicious if we closed the doors for a few days—which has been the case since we found Tarina’s body. But to make it seem more authentic and less random, I’ve arranged for the entire gambling area to be repainted and have new blackjack and poker tables put in. The last thing we need is to ring any warning bells with our loyal clientele.

Our girls stay on the other side of the estate, and I’ve made sure they’re too busy getting pampered with an entire team of beauty therapists and masseuses to ask questions. A well-deserved break and some renovations are the messages that got relayed to them regarding the impromptu closure of the club.

The faint scents of lemongrass and champagne trail behind us, carried by the heavy reality of what we’re all doing here. As we pass, my gaze lingers on the double high-walled doors with brass hinges, our symbol carved on the polished oak. Today we’re meeting up in the room where Tarina’s lifeless body was found a few days ago. Isaia and his talent for code and electronics chose to go through the video footage of the last few weeks in that room. Twisted fucker says being in that room motivates him to replace this sick son of a bitch. But if you ask me, Isaia is just a glutton for punishment and refuses to do anything the easy way. He thrives on torturing himself.

The metallic stench of blood and rotting flesh envelops me the second I put a foot inside. The room has been cleaned, and every trace of the gruesome scene erased as if it had never happened. But there’s no way to get rid of the memories or dispel the bloody images plaguing these walls. I’m no stranger to blood or seeing brain matter splattered across a room or pieces of cracked bone protruding from knees and elbows. I’ve killed my fair share of men, including that waste of space, Jimmy, who was seen as family even though we didn’t share the same blood. But it hits differently when it’s someone you have sworn to protect. And that’s what my brothers and I have promised to do—to keep each and every girl on our payroll safe and taken care of.

Tarina’s ankles were strapped to a spreader bar, her wrists slit and tied behind her back. Her eyes had been removed, her ear cleanly torn off, and lips sewn shut—exactly the same as the first victim. The only difference was the note that had been hidden inside her mouth. I can still remember the sound of the scissors cutting through the black thread and the feel of the bloodied paper between my fingertips when I pulled it from her mouth.

The mouth of an adulterous woman is a deep pit;

a man who is under the LORD’s wrath falls into it.

Proverbs 22:14

But it was the last part of the note that forced ice through my veins.

The Lord will deliver you all from evil,

And I will be His Instrument.

I am, after all…your brother.

Your brother.

Did the word ‘brother’ have a religious connotation, referring to us all as brothers as children of God? Or was it meant literally? Literal brother.

I glance at all four of my brothers, Maximo included. Whoever this guy is, he sure as hell knows how to create a vortex of epic mindfucks that can swallow you whole and spit you out in goddamn pieces.

I swallow hard when the silver pole comes into view—the same pole her bloodied body was tied to. “What is that still doing here?”

Isaia looks up from the monitor and follows my gaze. “It’s getting taken down today.”

“Good,” I snarl and take a seat across from him. “Find anything?”

Nicoli and Caelian flank me, and Maximo slips in behind Isaia, staring at whatever is on the monitor.

“I can’t replace the location, man. I’ve been trying to trace it and see where the motherfucker disabled our cameras from. But I can’t replace shit!” He throws the mouse across the room, the little computer accessory exploding into pieces along with Isaia’s frustration.

“Dude, relax,” Nicoli says. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need sleep. I just need to figure out how this fucker got past all our security, fucked with our cameras, and killed one of our girls.”

“I still think we should close the club,” Maximo says, rubbing his fingers along his beard, which seems longer than usual, his hair unkempt. It seems this entire situation is fucking with all of us, our lives coming to a complete standstill.

“No.” I stretch my legs out in front of me. “The last thing we want is for word of this to get out and discredit the business we run here. We were lucky the security who found Tarina had half a brain not to rush down the hall screaming murder. We need to contain this at all costs.”

“The girls are asking questions, man. They want to know where Tarina is.” Maximo crosses his arms.

“My God.” I leap up from my seat. “Tell them Tarina took a goddamn holiday, or she ran away and decided to become a waitress in fucking Jamaica. I don’t care,” I spit out. “We are not closing this club. We are not giving anyone any reason to question our reign in this motherfucking kingdom.” My voice slams against the walls, my anger ricocheting off every word. “I am not going to let one sick fucker destroy our reputation, our legacy, and everything our family has built over the last goddamn fifty years, is that understood?”

Everyone’s eyes remain on mine, no one making a move or sound except for Nicoli as he gets up. “I agree. Alexius is right. Whoever this sick fuck is, he’s trying to rattle our cage, hoping we’d crack, and that isn’t happening. We triple the security if we have to. Quadruple it. But we are not cowering away by shutting everything down.”

“What if this asshole strikes again?” Caelian asks before lighting a cigarette. “Clearly, this son of a bitch knows how to get past our security and into our clubs undetected. He could just walk in here tomorrow and butcher another—”

“Wait. That’s it.” I stiffen, a giant motherfucking lightbulb going on inside my brain. “That has to be how he got in.”

Maximo lowers a brow. “How?”

“He’s a member. A regular. Someone who has been inside our clubs and knows how we do things, the level of security we have.” I glance at Caelian playing with the cap of his Zippo lighter. “That’s how this fucker is fingering us, because he knows us.”