Page 39 of Married to the Mafia Devil

“He’s at a charity ball at the Manhattan Museum tonight.” He pulls a gun out from under the chair. I’m already moving for it when he smiles, putting it on the table next to him. “I was going to shoot him before he could kill me.”

“You were going to kill a Russian gangster? In public? Are you insane?”

“I thought if he was dead, you might let me live. Hell, even if I died doing it, it would mean Emma was safe.”

“Why didn’t you try to shoot me when I came in? I had no idea that gun was hidden under there.”

“Because my daughter married you.” He smiles. “She’s seen something in you, even if I haven’t. She’s no fool. She wouldn’t marry you for no reason.”

“What if I forced her?”

“Have you ever tried to force my daughter to do anything? If she married you, it’s because she wanted to. And if she wanted to, it’s because she sees a man inside you, even if the world sees a monster.”

He slides the gun my way. “So I say again, if you want to kill me, go ahead and do it. I’m too tired and too hungover to run anymore. And if you don’t kill me, Petrovitch surely will when he finds out I’m your father in law.”

“I said, I’m not going to kill you. But if you want to help your daughter and me, there’s a better way you can do it.”

The sun is setting in a blaze of orange and red, casting long shadows over the grandiose facade of the Manhattan Museum.

The air is crisp, carrying a chill that hints at the approaching night. As I help Emma from the car, the distant chatter of the assembled elite drifts toward us, a mix of laughter and the clinking of champagne filled glasses.

Inside, the atmosphere is thick with anticipation and subtle machinations. Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, casting a soft glow over the faces of the city's most influential figures.

Every detail of the event is meticulously curated, from the intricate floral arrangements to the orchestra's soft melodies weaving through the air, creating a veneer of civility over the underlying currents of competition and greed. Money is being raised here for charity but far more is changing hands in quiet deals in hidden corners.

As we mingle, I can feel Emma’s tension beside me. Despite the warmth of her hand in mine, her other arm is wrapped tightly around herself, a shield against the overwhelming opulence and the press of bodies. I lean in, whispering, “Just stay close to me. It'll be over soon.”

“Why are we here?” she asks. “Will you tell me now?”

I can see the effort it costs her to maintain composure. My attention is split; part of me is tuned to her discomfort, wanting nothing more than to ease her anxiety, but the larger part is focused on the crowd, searching for Petrovitch, the man whose moves I need to anticipate next.

“There’s someone I’m looking for,” I say. I don’t tell her that if Petrovitch is here, that means Mark can hunt for the suitcase while he’s occupied.

As we navigate through the crowd, a sharp, disdainful voice cuts through the low hum of conversation. To my surprise, it isn’t Petrovitch.

“Well, if it isn't the kingpin and his little pet project,” sneers a man in a sleek, tailored suit, his eyes raking over her with thinly veiled contempt. I recognize him immediately as Petrovitch's second in command.

My heart sinks. If he’s here, that means Petrovitch isn’t coming. Has he guessed the plan? Has his sixth sense for danger saved him yet again? I dig my cellphone out and type a quick message, hitting send as Vlad starts up again.

“I thought she’d be better looking,” he continues. “Is that really the best you could do?”

His words are like a match struck in a room full of gasoline. Before I can censor my reaction, I step toward him, my voice low and dangerous. “Apologize to her, Vlad. Now.”

His sneer widens, his gaze shifting to meet mine, clearly underestimating the threat. “Or what? You'll kill me in front of all these people? I don’t think so.”

“Vlad?” Emma says. “As in Vlad Gregorivitch. I knew I recognized you. You’re the one who tried to kidnap my sister.” She lunges for him but he shoves her back into my arms.

“Control your woman, Matteo,” he snaps. “Doesn’t she know this is a man’s world?”

With a swift motion, my hand shoots out, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him close, my other fist connecting with his face with a satisfying crack. The sound is sharp, a punctuation in the soft murmur of the gala. Blood trickles from his nose, spattering the pristine marble floor, as he stumbles back, shock and pain registering on his face.

Around us, the crowd draws back, a circle of space forming, their faces a mix of horror and fascination. Emma tugs at my arm, her voice urgent. “Let's just go. Please.”

Regaining my composure, I release him, straightening my jacket as I turn to her. “We leave when I say,” I snap, turning back to Vlad. “Your boss is using you,” I say. “You’re just too dumb to see it.”

He wipes blood from his nose, glaring at me with hatred in his eyes. “You’re a fucking psycho, Matteo. I’ll be glad when he wins this deal. Stomps on you like the cockroach you are.”

Emma is trying to drag me away but my feet are fixed in place. “You tell your boss if he walks away now, I’ll let him live.”

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