My husband’s brows furrow, a war brewing in his gaze. Something seems to click, relaxing the strain on his face; he exhales, bending to press a kiss to the top of my head. “I want you to go upstairs with Gia and Marco.”
I shake my head even though all I want to do right now is lie down and take a nap. “Elia, I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
Lie. That’s been the whole point of this marriage.
“Mio amore,” he murmurs, the music blaring from the speakers nearly drowning him out, “I’ve stopped caring about what you think you need. Go upstairs and try to sober up. Your friend Olivia can join you.”
Casting a glance at Todd, who seems to be scanning the area for an exit, I take a step closer, tilting my head up. “What’re you going to do with him?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. Let me take care of him.” He offers me a soft smile, cupping the sides of my face, and I can’t reconcile this man with the one I assaulted earlier today, with the dominant alpha I’ve come to know; the man I’m supposed to want to leave once this is all over. The tenderness he’s showing causes something to crack in me, a levee bursting open with uninhibited waters. “Let me take care of you.”
“There’s a line she’s heard before, pal.” Todd chuckles to himself, and my body tenses.
Why is he still talking?
Elia stiffens, straightening his spine, and when one hand drops from my face and slips beneath the flap of his suit jacket, I already know what’s coming. He pushes me behind him as if to shield me from the situation unraveling before a hundred pairs of eyes, but I grip his waist, rooting myself in place.
The .22 glints in the strobe lights flickering above our heads, sleek and black, looking right at home wrapped in my husband’s massive palm. His finger curls around the trigger, flexing. Baiting Todd.
“Caroline.” Elia’s voice is low, gravelly, and meant only for me. My body buzzes, high from his attention. “Go, now, or so help me God in Heaven I will shoot you, too.”
I fit myself into him, trying to erase our seam. “I don’t want to go with anyone except you.”
“I came down here to kill you for stepping foot in this place. For disobeying me, again. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Anything you want,” I breathe, alcohol going straight to my lady bits. How badly he wants to protect me has me practically drooling. “Just please, don’t make me leave.”
He exhales harshly through his nose, glaring at me. After a moment, he squeezes his eyes shut; they pop back open, and he gives an almost imperceptible nod. Turning his attention back to Todd, he adjusts his hold on the gun and cocks it.
Gasps fill the air around us, people scattering and scrambling to get as far away from the weapon as possible. Liv finally breaks through the throng and glues herself to my side, trying to pull me away. But I don’t budge. Don’t want to.
This is exactly what I came here to see.
Todd scowls, taking a step back. “What the fuck, man? You gonna just shoot me in public? I told you, she came onto me. Why aren’t you dealing with her?”
“Gia, Marco.” The two men from before rush over to Elia’s side, ready to take on orders. “Get these people out of here. We’re closing early.”
The VIP lounge is already pretty empty at this point, with people not looking to get caught in the crossfire. The music overhead silences, the lights dimming and then shining fluorescent, lighting the entire club. We watch, frozen in time, as bouncers filter people out of the front doors. One of the men from before—Gia or Marco, whoever has the tattoos—drags the female bartender out from where she’s doing inventory and toward the back of the club, disappearing with her through a side door.
“What the hell is happening?” Liv whispers into my ear, arms winding around my waist. She buries her face into my neck, burrowing like she would when we were kids watching scary movies. Like monsters go away if you stop looking at them.
“Nothing good.”
“I wanted tonight to be fun. Stuff like this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m sorry, Care.”
I pat her back, sure it’s the alcohol talking, unable to voice my true feelings—that this is the best night out I’ve ever had, that my pussy clenches and throbs with each passing second of Elia pointing his gun in Todd’s face.
Jesus, I’m fucked up.
“You’re a businessman, Elia. Surely we can come up with some kind of deal here.” Todd swallows, wiping his palms on his cargo shorts. His gaze shifts around the room, still searching, as if he thinks he might actually be able to run. “I really didn’t mean anything by it.”
“We probably could’ve settled this civilly, except for the fact that you keep disrespecting me by calling me Elia, and not only were your hands on my fucking wife but when she told you to release her, you didn’t. Tell me, Todd, how many other girls have been in her position? How many am I avenging by killing you right here, right fucking now?”
Todd’s eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth to speak again, but before he has a chance, Elia’s shoving himself forward while one of the men from before wraps their arms around Liv and me, dragging us away from the scene. Liv’s body faces the other way as she complies, but I keep my head turned, trained on my husband’s lithe form.
He grips the back of Todd’s graying hair, right at the base of his neck, and tilts it back until it’s perpendicular to the ceiling. I watch, keeping in step as the man pulls us to the stairs; Todd’s eyes widen impossibly, mouth going slack.
Elia takes the barrel of his .22 and pushes it inside the man’s mouth, forcing it in until the trigger resists against his chin. He’s saying something to him, a menacing look on his face that I can almost feel from where I’m retreating.
There’s a muffled popping sound, though I can’t tell if it’s muffled through the drunken haze waxing and waning against my brain, or if there’s some kind of silencer on the pistol.
I recoil out of reflex, pulling my hand from the Montalto man’s grip, and lean against the balcony; Todd’s eyes are stuck open, unseeing, as Elia lets him fall to the floor. His mouth gapes, but I can’t see the wound. As my husband turns and tucks the gun into the waistband of his slacks, he glances up at me, pausing.
There’s bright red blood staining his hands and splattered across his face. It pools beneath where Todd’s head has landed, face turned, hiding the mess.
But I can imagine it. Can sense it, smell its smoky, metallic existence. One down, still more to go.
My head swims the longer I stare at Todd’s lifeless form, and just as I turn on my heel to find Liv again, my knees buckle, snapping like measly twigs. I go down, my vision blurring and fading to black as my body collides with the floor.
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.
I bolt up the stairs, ignoring the shouts from Benny and Gia, racing to catch my wife before she collapses entirely. The fact that I’ve just killed a man in my own club doesn’t even register, a complete afterthought the moment I see her falling.
Her head bounces off the hardwood, blond hair splaying limply around her like an explosion. Dropping to my knees and wiping my hands on my pants, I curse under my breath. “Caroline,” I whisper, a futile attempt to lure her back to consciousness, my palms drifting to cradle her face. She’s clammy, feverish, and it makes my heart ache.
I shouldn’t give a shit. In fact, I should be pissed about everything that’s happened today: her assault earlier and then her disappearance, that pervert having his hands on what’s mine.
But none of that mattered once I saw the vulnerability in her blue eyes, a need lurking like a ship lost at sea.
The fear I could smell sweating from her pores when she realized he wasn’t letting her go. The way she leaned into my touch, my body like she needed an anchor—needed my support.
Needed me the way I’m beginning to need her, an automatic response derived from being two halves of a whole picture.
I can’t deny how good that fucking
felt; everything else be damned. I might be way in over my head here, but my brain is starting to catch up with my stupid, black heart, wondering what it’d be like if this marriage between us was real. Wondering what it might feel like not to have to let her go, after all.
The scene playing out before me is too similar to a memory I haven’t allowed myself to think about in years, and it sets my bones on fucking fire that I’m still unable to do anything.
Couldn’t save my mother when I was seven, can’t save my wife now.
I’m stroking her cheek and beginning to move her head into my lap when a deep, dark voice calls over my shoulder. “You’re not supposed to move head injuries.”
Recognition flickers before I even turn my head, and when I do, I’m met by a flash of black—the Grim Reaper in the flesh.
Kal Anderson smirks down at me, reaching up to adjust the black knit cap he constantly wears, like that kid from the Archie comics. He shoves his hands in his trench coat pockets, rocking back on his heels. “So, this is the infamous Caroline Harrison?”
“Montalto,” I correct, even though I’m sure she hasn’t changed her name yet. And why should she, when she thinks this is all over after our prenup expires?
“Hm. She know that?”
“Does she know she’s married to me? Yes, dick.”
Kal chuckles, crouching down to his knees beside me. “That’s not what it looked like when she flung herself onto the lap of that man you just murdered. Looked like she was trying to take him for a ride. And not on the River Styx, if you catch my drift.”
“Gesù Cristo.” I huff out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “You looking to join that fucker?”
Shrugging, he presses his palm to Caroline’s forehead. “You couldn’t kill me even if you really wanted to.”
He’s not wrong, and it only pisses me off further. What Kal lacks in outright muscle and weight, he makes up for in stealth and medical knowledge. The man is cold, calculated, and too smart for his own good.
It’s part of the reason why the Riccis in Boston, our parent outfit, hired him in the first place; there isn’t a man on the East Coast with a higher body count or more skilled in torture.
“I’m just saying, something fishy was going on here.” Pulling back, he reaches into his pocket for a handheld flashlight and uses his opposite hand to peel Caroline’s eyelids back, checking the pupils. “I don’t give a shit who you kill, but have you ever seen someone sit around and watch while you did it?”
“We all do that. New recruits, especially.”
“A civilian, though? She couldn’t tear her eyes away.”
He pockets the light, hand dropping to her right ankle. My fingers itch to dig into his skin and pull him away—to keep him from touching her. But a sliver of metal catches my attention as he rolls her limb, turning her heel, so it faces me.
Tucked into the strap of the stilettos she has on is a tiny pocketknife, folded shut and clipped on for safekeeping.
“That’s the same one she had in her underwear when we met.” I run a finger over it, remembering how she’d acted like it wasn’t an unusual accessory.
“Know many girls that carry?”
“Around here? Just about all of them.”
“Yeah, strippers employed at a club known for its high-quality blow.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s your over-protected, sheltered wife doing with this? How’d she get in here with it?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, the stubble rubbing me raw—irritation spikes in me at his presence, at his logic. More now than ever, it’s clear to me that Caroline was being abused behind the scenes by her father, but I still don’t know exactly what she’s doing now.
If this is a plan for revenge, why not go straight to the source?
Why involve me at all?
“What are you doing here, Kal?”
“Just finished up a meeting with your dad, since I was told you weren’t taking calls.” He stands, brushing a piece of fuzz from his black jeans. “Now, I see why.”
“Why did you meet at all?”
Hesitating, he sighs. “Because Kieran Ivers owes me a favor, and your dad wants to collect.”
“Of fucking course, he does. Save the favor, Kal.” I glance over my shoulder at the body lying on the ground, then slide my gaze back to our fixer. “Can you handle that?”
He scoffs. “Don’t fucking insult me.” Gripping the balcony in one bony hand, he sweeps past me, coattails swishing behind him. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he turns his head. “She probably has a concussion, so when she comes-to, don’t let her go to sleep for a few hours. Try to keep her from vomiting and exerting herself.”
I nod in response, and then he bounds downstairs, immediately moving to inspect the body. Shucking off my suit jacket, I wrap it around Caroline’s front and slip my arms beneath her limp body, settling the curve of her neck and the bend of her knees in the crook of my elbows. Lifting her, I turn and head downstairs for the back exit, stopping briefly when Gia appears beside me.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“What do I do with the friend?”
“Drug her. I don’t want her remembering any of this. With any luck, she’ll just think she drank too much.”
He nods, and then hesitates, scraping over his bottom lip with his teeth, jerking his chin toward Caroline. “Do... do you want anything for her?”
“No. I need her to remember everything.”
Settling Caroline’s unconscious body on my bed is a lot more difficult than I’d anticipated. Not because she’s heavy or particularly inflexible, but because each movement of her limbs causes her dress to ride up or loosen at the sides, exposing more of her creamy skin to me.
And fuck, it’s been far too long since I’ve felt it beneath my fingertips.
Still, I don’t want to scare her, so I refrain from copping a feel. She can think I’m an asshole, but I won’t let her lump me into the same category as her father and his associates.
Since her dress is strapless and can easily slide down her body, I retrieve a t-shirt from my dresser and work it over her head, pulling the fabric down her shoulders and adjusting it, covering her to the tops of her thighs. Without her assistance, it’ll have to do.
The dress stays on beneath, waiting for when she wakes up and can remove it herself.
I reach down and unbuckle her shoes, tossing them to the floor, and stick the knife in my pocket, where she’ll have to violate me to get it back.
A stab of guilt prods my brain, knowing I’m taking away her only defense, but I ignore it.
Stripping slowly, I keep my eyes trained on her sleeping form; her chest rises slowly with each breath, her face a peaceful mask I’ve not had the pleasure to experience thus far in our relationship. She’s always guarded and on edge—a caged tiger waiting for her chance to strike. To run.
My chest aches with the realization that I don’t want her to.
Resisting the primal urge to curl my body around hers, to keep her safe from whatever it is she’s trying to escape, I perch on the edge of the bed and pick up my phone, thumbing through my messages while I wait.
There are two from my father, asking if I’ve had a sudden lobotomy that caused me to kill a government official. One from Kal, saying everything at Crimson is under control, and one from Gia, letting me know he’s headed to Stonemore to interrogate his brother and taking Kal with him.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I drop back on the bed and let my phone clatter to the side, staring up at the cathedral ceiling. The white sheets are fresh thanks to the housekeeper, Francis, who makes it a point not to be around when I am. They’re soft, plush and inviting, and sleep overtakes me before I have the chance to fight it.
I welcome the darkness that typically envelops me in this plane of subconsciousness, but it never comes; instead, I’m encased in bright light, surrounded by a sky of soft watercolors and more starlings than I’ve ever imagined
existing. They soar above me, higher and higher, an endless stream of flight that mesmerizes me.
My mother’s there, waiting for me, a warm smile on her still-young face. It’s a dream I haven’t had in ages, and it causes a cavern to crack open inside me, spewing my evil traits for her to see.
But she doesn’t recoil or even seem to acknowledge all the bad things I’ve done, all the cruel things I am. Her arms open, calling me to her embrace; I’m seven-years-old again, a boy needing his mother.
When I reach her, everything in me seems to soften, to lighten. Like she’s the water for this long-dead soul I drag around.
“Elia.” Her lilted voice whispers in the wind around me, wafting through my hair and skimming my skin. Goosebumps pop up; it’s been so long since I’ve heard her—since I’ve felt like she was still with me.
I squeeze around her waist as tight as I can, unwilling to let her go this time.
She hugs me back just as tightly—like she’s been waiting for this moment.
But it doesn’t last.
It never does.
When I tilt my head back up to get another look at her face, it’s already morphing into something vile; blood seeps from her eye sockets, which have blackened and swollen, and a bright red splotch spreads on her white dress, soaking through. I feel it on my chest, tainting me the way it did when she died the first time.
Fuck. Wake up, Elia.
Her hand reaches out and grips my throat, applying pressure until I can’t breathe at all. My esophagus crumples, and I can’t help thinking I deserve this. That I’d carry it over into real-life if I had the chance. That I’d go with her if I could go back.
She shakes me, releasing my throat to clutch my shoulders, thrusting my body back and forth until she starts to blur and fade. The starlings overhead swarm above us until they block the sun, the sort sol she always admired; a Danish phenomenon in nature, a nightmare in this dream.
Her body seems to evaporate into thin air right at the moment my eyes fly open, my body jerking upward with adrenaline, nearly knocking over the person gripping my shoulders in real life.
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 16
