Page 11 of Beautiful Scar

We reach the hotel. Damian opens the door, and I escort her through the lobby and onto the elevator. “There’s no way I could have one more night at home?” she asks, arms still hugging herself.

I shake my head. The idea of letting her out of my sight right now makes my stomach sour. “You’re my responsibility, which means you’re under my protection.”

“Is being married to you that dangerous?”

“It could be.” I don’t elaborate on all the various men and women who want me dead. How I’ve been Arsen’s enforcer since he took over the Brotherhood and haven’t exactly made many friends.

My brother’s the politician.

I’m the knife.

He points, and I kill.

That’s just how our relationship works.

So far, it’s been lucrative for us both. We sit atop one of the most influential and powerful crime organizations in the country. The Armenian Brotherhood owns Baltimore, just like the Zeitsev Bratva owns a large chunk of Philadelphia.

With our combined might, we’ll force all the other families to their knees.

All I have to do is stay married to the girl?—

And get her pregnant.

But right now, as I unlock the door to our honeymoon suite and lead her inside, I suspect it’s not the moment to mention the baby issue.

Soon though. Tonight, even.

Unlike her father, I’m not going to spring it on her at the last minute.

“It’s nice,” she says, looking around. Still hugging herself. There’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and rose petals scattered on the floor.

“Staff must’ve taken the honeymoon thing literally,” I grumble as I kick some of the flowers aside. “We’ll spend the night here. You can have the bed. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, pack your things, and we’ll get out of here before dinner.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, lingering near the small couch.

Fuck, she doesn’t even know where I live.

“Baltimore. I have a house next to the harbor. You’ll like it.”

“I’ve never been to Baltimore before.”

“The Brotherhood controls the city. You’ll be safe in my home.”

“Right. Safe.” She sits on the edge of the bed, breathing fast. “Sorry. I just, I’m trying to process.” She laughs bitterly. “I thought tonight was a birthday party.”

My eyebrows raise. “It’s your birthday?”

“Twenty-five. Imagine that. I’ve barely left my house in over ten years, and I thought finally I was going to be brave and go to a party. Now look what happens.”

There’s a whole lot to unpack in that sentence. I move over to her, drop to a knee, and take her hand in mine. She flinches back.

“Happy birthday,” I tell her and kiss her thumb. “Twenty-five. That’s a good age.”

“Yeah? How old are you?” She pulls her hand from mine and covers her mouth. A hysterical giggle escapes her lips. “You’re my husband, and I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Thirty-three.” I stand and give her some space. I’m tired from this mess and just want it to be done. “There’s another room over there.” I gesture toward it. “That’s where I’ll be.”

“You’re just leaving me alone?” More panic in her tone.

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