Page 4 of His to Ruin

Six months later…

Olivia

Everything always ends up being my fault. If there was an earthquake tomorrow, I swear the men in my family would claim it was because I slammed a door. The only one who ever sticks up for me is my brother, Matteo. We’ve always been close, but I fear that’s about to change. As I wait for him to return to our cousin’s Tuscan villa, where he’s been living for several weeks now, anxiety grips me. He’s going to blame me for his wife leaving, and I can’t deny it is partly my fault.

After holding my tongue as Matteo pressured his oldest friend, Giulia Costanza, into marrying him, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing when she asked for help to get home to New York. She was already upset with Matteo for insisting she had to marry him to ensure her safety when their hastily arranged wedding turned into a bloodbath. Several men stormed into the churchand started shooting. I’ve no idea who they were since nobody tells me anything. I’m not supposed to concern myself with the family business, even when it has a direct impact on me.

What’s expected of me is to keep my mouth shut and do as I’m told. When my oldest brother, Antonio, banished me to Italy for dragging his wife into a mess I’d gotten myself in, I didn’t put up a fight. I flew to Italy with Matteo to stay at our cousin’s villa. Then I had to move on again when my brother decided it wasn’t safe for me to stay with him, probably because of the men who ended up attacking his wedding. I was sent to stay with my autocratic cousin Damiano instead. Then Piotr Reznov showed up.

Since he arrived in Italy, he’s visited me at Damiano’s house several times, making no secret of his desire to marry me. I don’t know where his sudden interest comes from. He barely acknowledged my existence before and now he’s talking about marriage. I told him exactly where he can shove his proposal, but I suspect he won’t take no for an answer, especially now that I owe him a favor. He agreed to help Giulia to fly home provided I paid the price. I doubt he’ll want cash, but I can’t worry about that now. The prospect of breaking the news of Giulia’s departure to my brother terrifies me. He’s loved her for years, but only just admitted that to himself and to her. He will not be happy she’s gone.

“Stop fidgeting,” Piotr commands in a typically icy tone. He insisted on accompanying me to the villa to wait for Matteo.

Blinking, I look up at him. I hadn’t even realized I was twisting the gold bracelet around on my wrist until he spoke. I’ve been too nervous being under his intense scrutiny. Despite myself, I obey the asshole Russian mobster, immediately dropping my hand to my lap.

“And cover yourself when you’re in company.”

What the hell is the arrogant prick talking about? I glance down to see what he means and realize my skirt has crept up to expose my thighs. It’s not exactly full-frontal nudity, and it’s not as if I have an audience. The only other man in the room is my cousin, Lorenzo, who’s sitting in the big leather chair by the window. He’s paying absolutely no attention to me. His head is tilted back and his eyes are shut. It’s only the way he constantly touches his injured forehead and winces that lets me know he’s not asleep.

“Okay,sir, whatever you say.” I tug my skirt down.

“And cut the attitude.” Piotr narrows his eyes disapprovingly. “You’re not a child.”

And yet he’s speaking to me as if I’m one. Folding my arms across my chest, I throw my hardest glare at him. “Where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?”

“Olivia!” Lorenzo warns.

It’s the first he’s spoken to me since he arrived back at the villa ten minutes after Piotr and I got here. He’s grumpy because he’s in pain. A bullet grazed his forehead, carving out a nasty gash. Being a typical macho mobster, he let a doctor stitch up the wound, but refused to take something for the pain. He’d rather suffer than appear weak. Fucking idiot! He should be in bed, but I’m not going to tell him that. The man hates to be told what to do.

“Lorenzo.” My tone is petulant, but that can’t be helped. Piotr Reznov rubs me the wrong way. “He can’t talk to me like that.”

My cousin sighs dramatically. “Just behave.”

I should have known he’d be on Piotr’s side. My Italian cousins are extremely cozy with the Reznov Bratva. Lorenzo wouldn’t want me to cause any friction. It’s not just that, though. Most of the men in my family consider me a gigantic pain in the ass. To them, I’m a pampered brat with no worth other than the alliance my marriage will make some day. Like Antonio, my oldest brother, Lorenzo seems to think if Piotr wants me, I should be bursting with gratitude.

Rising from my seat, I go to the cabinet in the corner of the room and unscrew the cap from a whisky bottle. I don’t know one brand from another, but my cousins only stock the expensive stuff.

“You sure you should drink that?” Piotr asks.

Does he disapprove of women drinking hard liquor? Perhaps he’s concerned because I’d be underage if we were back home. I’ll assume it’s sexism, since I doubt he gives a shit about the law.

“Why not? I’ve had a shock.”

When those men burst into the church and started shooting, it’s a miracle I didn’t piss myself. Piotr shoved me to the floor, behind a stone pillar. He wasn’t supposed to be at my brother’s impromptu wedding, but at that moment I was glad he’d invited himself along. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have got out of the line of fire fast enough.

“Then make some sweet tea,” Lorenzo suggests. “And get a fucking grip. It’s not like you’ve never seen violence before.”

I glare at the back of my cousin’s head. I may have witnessed brutal acts before but, unlike him, I’m not immune to their effects.

“What violence have you seen?” Piotr asks.

Is he for real? It’s only a few months since he killed a man right in front of me. Slamming down the bottle of whisky, I storm out of the room and head for the kitchen. I’m not a fan of tea, sweet or otherwise, but I love coffee. Perhaps a caffeine hit is what I need to deal with the assholes I’m surrounded by.

As I place a cup beneath the dispenser and program the coffee machine to make me a double espresso, footsteps pad across the floor behind me. I spin around to find Piotr standing on the other side of the kitchen island.

“What violence have you seen?” He repeats the question I didn’t answer.

“I got hit in the face with a tray and then saw you shoot the man who was trying to kidnap Emilia.”

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