It isn’t the news I wanted, even if logically, I know it’s far too soon. It’s required for the treaty, but that isn’t my sole motivation. Before I went to prison, this was something we discussed at length, and we’d both agreed—we wanted a large family. Abella wanted to be a mother, and I wanted to make her one. This is the last piece of her I can claim, and with her father’sthreat still hanging over my head, I won’t be satisfied until I do. I need her to understand that she’s bound to me, forever.
I’m wound too tight, on edge, and I need somewhere to direct my rage. Today, that opportunity practically fell into my lap when my men caught two scouts from the Bratva sniffing around my docks to see what kind of cargo I’m moving. I spent my morning torturing them and sending their body parts all over the city to every club they own. And because I could, I hijacked one of their shipments, set up a raid on their gambling den, and halted construction on at least three of their projects. That was all before noon.
Still, it did little to appease me. I doubt anything will until I can fuck my wife again. But she’s still fragile, and I’m too raw from her lies to be soft with her, so celibacy it is.
The city looms outside the car window as I type out a text to Andrew, asking him to send me the file on Grant Ellison. I have little doubt he’ll be the topic of conversation in today’s meeting.
Every month for as long as I can remember, the major players in Seattle gather to discuss business. In a secure conference room at IVI, men from the highest echelons of society assemble. Politicians, bankers, attorneys, corporate executives, real estate developers, and of course, theCosa Nostra. Together, this group controls the entire city—everything from waterfront development to local councils, unions, construction, and the occasional fundraiser. Few people realize that this small, powerful network of individuals decides who gets to do business in our city, which elected officials are friendly to our cause, and who is no longer of use to us. It’s a well-established machine, and it all hinges on each of us having our respective roles. Every man in that room is corrupt, but they hide behind masks of civility. I’m the only one willing to wear my sins.
They won’t bloody their hands to do what’s necessary. This symbiotic relationship only works if there’s someone who will do what they can’t. As long as there’s a buffer between them and any real threat to their lives, the status quo is maintained.
Much to my irritation, Grant Ellison’s disappearance has fractured their fragile illusions of safety.
They’re all on edge, uncertain, and begging for their Mafia daddy’s assurances and protection. The problem is, the more I dig up, the more I suspect that worthless shit-for-brains Carlo Pagnotto may have been right about something for once in his life. It looks like Grant’s mistress is in the wind, and nobody on my payroll has been able to track her down, which is unusual.
Since his campaign funds are untouched and none of his rivals have the guts to carry out a murder, I can rule out the most obvious suspects. Until I track down his mistress, I can’t say the same for her. Even so, I’m not willing to throw her name to the wolves who will demand her head on a platter—with or without proof.
There’s also the possibility of Grant’s wife to consider. If the rumors are to be believed, there was no love lost between them. Members of The Society are proficient in gossip, and from what I’ve gathered, Grant had a temper, and he often took it out on her.
If it was her, the woman probably deserves a fucking medal for doing the world a favor. I never liked Grant much to begin with. He was a spoiled trust fund brat who never dirtied his hands a day in his life, and I’m not losing any sleep over his absence. But until I can assure the other men nobody is gunning for them, we aren’t going to get anything accomplished.
The car rolls to a stop, and Nicky glances at me in the mirror. “You want me to come in, boss?”
“No.” I adjust the cuff of my sleeve, annoyed when I realize I got blood on it. “I need you to have a chat with Anastasia Ellison.”
“Okay.” He arches a brow at me. “What do you want from her?”
“Find out if she knew about Grant’s mistress.”
37
ABELLA
“RIP ovaries.” Serafina fans herself.
“I’ll take one of those for Christmas,” Chantel says. “In case anyone’s wondering what to get me.”
“Okay, could you not?” Mariella grumbles. “Those are my brothers.”
The girls barely acknowledge her comment, and they definitely don’t drag their attention away from the Vitale men pumping iron in the outdoor gym. The backyard pergola is a fair distance from the table where we’re all currently having brunch, but not far enough away, apparently.
With our chaotic schedules, I haven’t had a chance to see the girls in person since I returned from my honeymoon. Our last meeting for The Fifth House had to be done virtually, and that was strictly business because we were short on time. This part of the year is always hectic for all of us, so it’s nice when the stars finally align and we can get together.
I thought an island brunch would be a good idea, but now I’m second-guessing my choices. All their eyes are on my shirtless husband as he busts out pull-ups from the reinforced steel beam.With each rep, his abs flex and his muscles ripple as a light sheen of sweat coats his body.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t staring too—especially with the current distance between us. When I do see him, he’s mostly brooding. He’s thrown himself into work, overlording his Mafia empire and managing the wealth of businesses under the Vitale name.
At night, he comes to bed when I’m already asleep. After what felt like the longest stretch of abstinence, he finally caved. Now he wakes me with his cock pressed against me and fucks me facedown on the bed so I can’t look at him. Regardless, I can still hear him—every hitch of his breath, every groan he bites back as he takes his pleasure from my body. When we both come, he cleans me silently and then goes to sleep, denying me what I need most. His warmth.
A heavy ache settles in my chest as I watch him exert himself. His masculinity is laid bare, every dominant inch of his body on display as he powers through another rep. I would sell an entire limb just to have him lie on top of me right now.
“How does it feel to be God’s favorite?” Lucia nudges me with her elbow.
“Yeah,” Gabi says. “You never told us about the honeymoon. What was it like?”
I throw them a bone, knowing they’ll never relent if I don’t. “We spent two weeks cruising the French Riviera while he rearranged my insides.”
“Ugh, put those words back into your mouth,” Mariella groans. “I don’t want to hear it.”
