Page 40 of Married to the Mafia Devil

He barks out a cold laugh. “You think we’re scared of you? You Italians think you run this place. You don’t. We do.”

“Please,” Emma says, tugging at my arm. “People are watching.”

I look around me, seeing the eyes staring at me and Vlad. “Let’s just go,” she continues. “Please.”

I let her guide me through the crowd. If I stay any longer, I’ll kill him and that’s what Petrovitch wants. I kill Vlad in front of all these people and I’m in custody when the deal goes through. Even a mob boss can’t murder someone in front of an entire building filled with people.

“Your girl calls the shots, I see,” Vlad shouts after me. “Got you whipped, has she? Controlled by a cunt, aren’t you? Literally.”

“Trust me,” she says. “I have to tell you something.” Her eyes are wide with urgency, a silent plea etched into her gaze. I follow her lead, weaving between the clusters of shocked guests, the murmur of their conversations a dull roar in my ears.

“What are you doing?” I ask, once we're a safe distance away, my voice low to keep our conversation private.

She slows, turning to face me. Her expression is determined, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “In front of everyone is one thing but alone and out of sight? You might just get away with it. He’s following us.”

I can’t help but smile. “You fit into my world better than you think.”

“I want justice for my sister.”

“Justice or revenge?”

“A wise man told me they were the same thing not too long ago.”

I scan the shadows behind us, the hint of a figure lurking just beyond the light confirming her words. My mind races, piecing together her intentions. “You know my kind of justice doesn’t go through the courts.”

She meets my gaze, her voice steady. “We tried the courts. He paid his way free. Now I want him to pay for what he did to Amelia.”

I nod, understanding the depth of her pain. We continue walking, the figure of Vlad growing bolder in his pursuit as the crowd thins. The moment we round a corner I shove open a door. It leads into a deserted alleyway. Perfect. I stop and turn, seeing Vlad pull a gun from beneath his coat as he emerges, expecting us to be looking the other way.

In a flash, I'm on him. My hand grabs his, shoving the gun away as I twist his arm behind his back, the snap of bone nearly drowned out by his scream of agony. “Controlled by a cunt?” I hiss into his ear. “You talk of my wife like that and expect to live?”

Vlad groans, pain distorting his features. “Stop... please,” he gasps, his plea directed at Emma. “Your man is starting a war. You’ll never be safe again!”

Emma steps forward, her voice cold. “You deserve this and more, Vlad. You remember Amelia Thompson? You tried to traffic her off the streets. You walked free for that crime but you’ll pay for it tonight.”

“Kill me, and it's war,” Vlad grits out, pain and defiance mixing in his strained voice.

I tighten my grip, my other hand clenching into a fist. “Only if they find you,” I reply, before landing a final, crushing blow. As he staggers, I grab him around the neck. One loud crack and his body goes limp in my arms. With a swift movement, I drag him to the nearby dumpster, disposing of the pathetic threat he posed.

“What if they find him?” Emma asks as I shut the lid.

“I’ll have three men here in ten minutes. There’s a pig farm upstate. The only thing left will be his teeth by morning. As far as Petrovitch is concerned, his man’s missing. By the time he gets suspicious, he’ll be dead.”

Turning back to her, the adrenaline slowly receding, I'm met with a complex mix of emotions on her face. She steps close, her hands reaching up to frame my face, her touch gentle.

“I guess your world isn't all bad,” she whispers, pulling me down for a deep, affirming kiss. Her gratitude is palpable.

As I hold her, the weight of our actions settling around us, I realize the true depth of our bond. Emma isn't just living in my world; she's shaping it with me, understanding the hard choices and standing by me through them. This isn't just my fight anymore; it's ours, and together, we could be unstoppable.

We arrive back at our place, the tension from the gala still clinging to us like a stubborn mist. The drive had been quiet, too quiet, each lost in our own whirl of thoughts. Once inside, I lead her to the living room where we both take a seat on opposite ends of the plush sofa, the distance between us more than just physical.

I take a deep breath, breaking the silence. “I know what you saw tonight was hard,” I begin, searching for the right words to explain the darker parts of my world, the parts I've shielded her from as much as I could.

She looks up, her eyes weary but searching. “What are you hiding from me?” she asks.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me, please. I think I have a right to know. I’m your wife.”

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