Page 28 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“And when did reason exit the building?”

“Excuse me?”

Crossing her hands on the bar and leaning forward, she pins me with those beautiful eyes. “He didn’t know anything about it.”

“He is your brother. Your assessment of the situation is clouded,” I state matter-of-factly, taking another sip of my drink.

“And you’re making brash probable calculations based on what, your whims? If you haven’t spoken to him since the night of the dinner party, he didn’t know anything about your orders. How could he have warned him, Tolya? You’re smarter than this. What is going on with you tonight?” Her voice reflects her concern and frustration.

With a deep sigh, I rub a hand across my face, suddenly tired. I hate that she’s right. But I’m thankful that she’s able to make me see reason.

“He’s my brother. He would never betray me like that in the first place.” She sounds so certain that it makes me blink, momentarily wondering what it must be like to have sibling loyalty.

“And you’re my wife,” I reply. “Which would make his betrayal personal.”

Her jaw tightens. “If you’d hurt him – if you had killed him – I am telling you without a shadow of a doubt that I would never forgive you.”

Silence falls awkwardly between us. Eyes locked on each other, a silent battle of wills. Something hollow cracks in my chest and I know she’s telling the absolute truth.

Like it or not, Nico is off limits if I want my wife to stay as she is, putty in my hands.

“Let him go,” she finally requests.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I am wrong, and you are right, if he isn’t the leak –” I take the top off the whiskey bottle itself and take another gulp before continuing, “then we have a traitor in our ranks. And until I find them, I need leverage. I need to pressure them into exposing themselves. I need to know who I can trust.”

“You’re keeping him for leverage?” she repeats, her voice surprised. “If there’s a leak on our side, doesn’t keeping him here put him in more danger?”

“For now, it keeps him breathing. Isn’t that what you want?”

Her eyes flare with disbelief. That’s when I notice the blood on her hand. Reaching out, I pull her hand within my own, raising it to examine the cut.

“What’s this from?” I ask, furious that I hadn’t noticed it until now.

“I ran into the doorframe when I heard the ruckus and rushed out of the studio,” she shrugs, “it’s just a scratch.”

“Damn it,” I hiss, grabbing for a towel and putting it over the cut.

Dropping her hand, I move to the sink, opening the cabinet below and pulling out a small first aid kit. Opening it, I grab an alcohol swab and a bandage.

“Where’d that come from?” she asks in surprise.

“There’s one under each sink in the penthouse,” I inform her as I move around the bar to treat her wound, “and there’s a trauma kit in both of the bathrooms for more severe wounds.”

“More severe, like what?”

“Bullet holes, what else?”

Chapter Ten

Eva

Tolya’s Penthouse

His eyes don’t leave my hand as he cleans the cut, his touch surprisingly soft. I can feel the weight of the tumultuous thoughts brewing beneath the surface of his mind. Anger still simmers but something else, something more primal coils beneath it.