Page 48 of Bloody Vows
“Simone is spirited,” Konstantin says finally. “Her father brought her in line when she was young enough to be taught that he was in charge, and that she deferred to him. But a husband is different. Particularly a husband that she didn’t expect.”
“She’s adjusting,” I say tightly. Simone—and the difficulties of our marriage—is the last thing I want to talk about, particularly with my father sitting there looking at me as if he knows exactly how poorly it’s going.
Konstantin chuckles. "To being owned by an Irishman? Yes, I imagine that's quite an adjustment for the former Russo princess."
I feel the muscle in my jaw tick. I don’t like hearing him talk about her, even though I know Konstantin doesn’t have the slightest interest in my wife. I don’t want to hearanyman talk about her. "Let's talk business," I say abruptly, tossing back the rest of my drink as I glance at the menu. “We didn’t come here to gossip, we came here to make deals. Let’s focus on that.”
My father isn’t fooled. I can feel his eyes on me. But for the rest of the meal, we discuss the business that we came here to do—drug shipments, cartel deals, casino investments. I should be completely focused on that, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Simone, wondering what she’s doing. If she’s glad to be alone. If she’s disobeying me in some way. If, in some small part of herself, she misses me.
The last thought is laughable. But she’s impossible to get out of my mind.
When dinner is over, I head back to my room, pouring myself another drink from the minibar. I know I shouldn’t stay in here brooding. I should go downstairs, hit the casino, find a woman to take my mind off my wife. It wouldn't be the first time I've used sex to clear my head. A good fuck is exactly what I need to regain my equilibrium, to remind myself that my wife is a means to make an heir, not a woman to obsess over.
But the thought of touching another woman, of being inside someone who isn't Simone, makes my stomach turn. I've never been faithful to anyone in my life. I’ve never needed to—I’ve never been exclusive with anyone. Never made any kind of commitment. But Ididmake a commitment to her, and even though I know fidelity among mafia men is something that rarely exists, the idea of betraying her—even when she clearly hates me—feels wrong.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I pour another drink and sink into one of the leather chairs, staring out at the neon chaos of the Strip. I've always prided myself on being in control, on never letting emotions cloud my judgment. But Simone has stripped all of that away, left me raw and wanting and completely out of my depth. Her defiance, her bravery, her refusal to bend… I realize, as I stare out at the lights, that I respect it as much as I’m aroused by it. It pisses me off, makes me feel slightly insane—but I’ve never known a woman like her.
She’s maybe the only woman in this world who could be my match. Who could stand toe-to-toe with me and not back down. And as I sit there, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I wonder if I’m wrong about what I thought I wanted.
Maybe I don’t want to break her or make her submit. I don’t want to quell her fire. I just want her to let me step into it without being burned to death.
I want her to admit that she wants me, too. That admitting desire doesn’t mean letting go of her pride.
I want her to admit that if she were me, she’d have done the same things I did. That if she were offered the opportunity, she’d take power for herself without question. I didn’t do all of this to hurt her. I did it because it’s what I was always meant for.
And a part of me feels like she was always meant to be my wife.
We could be something good if she’d just meet me halfway.
The problem is, I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make her stop hating me without losing the part of her that makes me feel alive. Her fire, her defiance, her refusal to submit—it's what draws me to her in the first place. But it's also what's tearing us apart.
My phone buzzes with a text from Vitto, the head of my security:Everything quiet at home. Your wife spent most of the day reading in the garden.
I chuckle, setting my phone back down.Of course she did.Probably planning my demise while surrounded by roses and sunshine.
I look back out toward the neon lights of the Strip, thinking about what the night would bring if I weren’t married. Or if I weren’t feeling so guilty about the possibility of infidelity. My marriage to Simone is a business arrangement, and even she wouldn’t claim that I’d be doing anything wrong by fucking another woman. Hell, she might prefer it, especially if it meant I slaked my lust enough that I wouldn’t come home ravenous to touch her.
But that’s the problem. Another woman isn’ther. And my lust for her is about more than just warm, wet flesh wrapped around my cock. It’s about howSimonemakes me feel.
My father would say she’s just an accessory. Just a key. But she feels like more than that.
I can practically hear his voice in my head, what he’d say if he knew the thoughts rattling around in there right now.Go downstairs. Find a woman. Remind yourself what you are—a king, not a slave to some Italian princess who thinks she's too good for you.
My jaw tightens. All my life I’ve listened to him. All my life I’ve followed his advice, his rules, his path. And it hasn’t led me astray. I am where I am because of him, because I’ve followed the rules of our world, because I’ve driven myself hard enough to earn power despite being the second son. And what have I done since I’ve gotten it?
Obsessed over a woman who hates me. Made myself sick with desire over a woman who doesn’t want my touch.
Fuck it.
I down the rest of my whiskey and stand, straightening my shoulders. That voice in my head is right. I’m the second son of the Irish King in Boston, a prince among men, the second-most powerful man in Miami.
I don't beg for anyone's attention, and I don't lose sleep over a woman's opinion of me.
It’s time I remember that, and put Simone out of my head.
—
