Page 79 of Scandalous Kingpin
Three weeks of pure hell.
I didn’t know how to get rid of this pain, this edginess beneath my skin, without resorting to violence. But for Ivy, I’d try anything.
It was how I’d found myself in Ireland, with my binoculars and a pair of Wellingtons, reduced to collecting intel from Murphy Castle’s tree line like some Peeping Tom.
But as per usual, after trekking an hour each way through the woods, I only glimpsed my wife when she passed a window or stepped onto her balcony with her afternoon tea. I didn’t fucking like it. Why couldn’t she come onto the grounds and enjoy some fresh air?
“You look like shit.” Dante sank into the chair opposite of me outside the dingy little inn on the outskirts of Dublin.
“Why are you here?” I muttered, my eyes locked on the fire flickering in the massive fireplace, not bothering to look up at him. “Aren’t you breaking some mafia alliance or some shit?”
“No more than you are,” he pointed out. “Besides, the Irish pricks know I’m here. They called me.”
Now that piqued my interest. “What about?”
Dante arched his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Hm, let’s think about it.” I groaned. God, please rid me of my annoying family. “My wife killed their father, which, somehow, they’ve come to terms with. My brother is lurking on their territory. And no, before you ask, they haven’t come to terms with that.”
“I don’t have time for this. Get to the point,” I spat. I’d been in a foul mood since my wife left me, so it was best Dante stayed away. Unless he wanted to die.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “From where I’m standing, you have nothing but time. You haven’t been to Philly in weeks, apparently happy letting the Corsicans poach your territory.”
It would seem among this clusterfuck, I forgot to mention the agreement I reached with Sébastien. No matter. I didn’t give a shit about anything anymore.
I picked up my glass of Macallan whiskey and shot him a dry look. “Dante, whatever it is you have to say, do it quickly and then get lost. I’m a busy man.”
I drained the whiskey in one gulp. “First things first, Wynter asked me to deliver your package.”
It didn’t surprise me that she sent someone in her stead. Basilio mentioned she had been feeling sick in these early weeks of her pregnancy. I just wished she’d sent her husband rather than my brother. At least if I decided to kidnap my wife, Bas would be on board. Dante not so much.
“Thanks.”
“Jean-Baptiste teamed up with Bogdan.”
I arched my brow. “Your point?”
“Fuck, brother. We can’t have the Serbian mafia roaming Philly, and Jean-Baptiste is up to no good. Rumor is he’s running an underage prostitution ring.”
Now that perked me up. Finally, a good excuse to dish out some beatings. Maybe I’d pop back to my city and torture Jean-Baptiste a bit. Fuck, that sounded like a good plan, but first, I had to go back and get a glimpse ofher.
I stared at my empty glass, wishing the alcohol would numb these feelings. It was so much better when I felt nothing.
“It’s still morning,” Dante remarked, nodding at my empty tumbler. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”
I didn’t give two fucks.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
He stared at me, then rolled his eyes. “Not funny.”
“I thought it was.”
Dante’s face was calm, but disappointment washed over him and slammed into me. “This is not how you’re going to get her back.”
I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair, contemplating whether I should have another shot of whiskey. “And pray tell. How do I get her back? Or maybe your wife knows?”
