Page 4 of His Wife

“Don’t fuck what up?”

“You and her. Do not fuck it up. That woman’s got you by the balls, and any fool can see she’s been fucking breathing just for you lately. Don’t do something stupid to derail it or self-sabotage your shot at being happy.”

There’s a flash of something raw in his eyes. Envy. Longing. A yearning for something he thinks he’ll never have.

I step closer, fixing my gaze on his. “How long has it been?”

“How long has what been?”

“Since the day you decided to deny yourself the one thing you want above all others.”

A knowing look passes between us, and for no more than a quarter of a second does Nicoli let his guard down, allowing me a glimpse of the man plagued by his only weakness for too damn long. It's all there, clinging to his demeanor, the tightness around his eyes and the tic of his jaw. But as quickly as it came, it vanishes too, and he roughs a hand through his midnight hair. “I have my reasons, and you know it.”

“I do. And I understand it. But that doesn’t mean I like watching my twin brother torture himself while doing everything in his power to make sure he ruins and destroys every path that could possibly lead to the source his heart has been beating for since he was nine years old.”

“Are we talking about Mira again?” Caelian interrupts, cigarette dangling between his lips. “Nicoli, do the world a favor and just fuck her already.”

Nicoli plucks Caelian’s cigarette from his lips before flicking it away. “Why don’t you do me a favor and die?”

“And what, leave my share of inheritance to all you ugly fuckers?”

“Can you assholes stop fucking around?” I’m at the top of the stairs glowering at the two children in front of me. “Isaia and Maximo are waiting for us.”

Nicoli shoulders past Caelian and shoves him to the side, and all three of us enter the club. It’s eerily quiet, not a sound other than our heavy footsteps across the white marbled floor as we descend the stairs. The low-hanging chandelier has been switched off, the walls devoid of dancing lights reflecting from the crystal teardrops to give our guests the feel of elegance. Royalty. Wealth.

The halls are empty, our determined footsteps the only sound that fills the open space. There's not a soul in sight, which only adds to the eerie echo of silence. Apart from Sundays, Myth is never closed. People's sins and depravities don't have a timestamp or a designated timeframe. It's always there, gnawing and scratching, tainting souls no matter the time of day. Myth is the garden of Eden where demons come to play from dusk ‘til dawn, from sunrise until the moon drops behind the horizon. But on Sundays, the Lord's day, this little paradise rests, taking a break from injecting sin into the veins of its addicts.

Occasionally, we close the doors for shit like maintenance and renovations. It doesn't happen often, but it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary or suspicious if we closed the doors for a few days—which has been the case since we found Tarina's body. But to make it seem more authentic and less random, I've arranged for the entire gambling area to be repainted and have new blackjack and poker tables put in. The last thing we need is to ring any warning bells with our loyal clientele.

Our girls stay on the other side of the estate, and I've made sure they're too busy getting pampered with an entire team of beauty therapists and masseuses to ask questions. A well-deserved break and some renovations are the messages that got relayed to them regarding the impromptu closure of the club.

The faint scents of lemongrass and champagne trail behind us, carried by the heavy reality of what we’re all doing here. As we pass, my gaze lingers on the double high-walled doors with brass hinges, our symbol carved on the polished oak. Today we’re meeting up in the room where Tarina’s lifeless body was found a few days ago. Isaia and his talent for code and electronics chose to go through the video footage of the last few weeks in that room. Twisted fucker says being in that room motivates him to find this sick son of a bitch. But if you ask me, Isaia is just a glutton for punishment and refuses to do anything the easy way. He thrives on torturing himself.

The metallic stench of blood and rotting flesh envelops me the second I put a foot inside. The room has been cleaned, and every trace of the gruesome scene erased as if it had never happened. But there’s no way to get rid of the memories or dispel the bloody images plaguing these walls. I’m no stranger to blood or seeing brain matter splattered across a room or pieces of cracked bone protruding from knees and elbows. I’ve killed my fair share of men, including that waste of space, Jimmy, who was seen as family even though we didn’t share the same blood. But it hits differently when it’s someone you have sworn to protect. And that’s what my brothers and I have promised to do—to keep each and every girl on our payroll safe and taken care of.

Tarina’s ankles were strapped to a spreader bar, her wrists slit and tied behind her back. Her eyes had been removed, her ear cleanly torn off, and lips sewn shut—exactly the same as the first victim. The only difference was the note that had been hidden inside her mouth. I can still remember the sound of the scissors cutting through the black thread and the feel of the bloodied paper between my fingertips when I pulled it from her mouth.

The mouth of an adulterous woman is a deep pit;

a man who is under the LORD’s wrath falls into it.

Proverbs 22:14

But it was the last part of the note that forced ice through my veins.

The Lord will deliver you all from evil,

And I will be His Instrument.

I am, after all…your brother.

Your brother.

Did the word ‘brother’ have a religious connotation, referring to us all as brothers as children of God? Or was it meant literally? Literal brother.

I glance at all four of my brothers, Maximo included. Whoever this guy is, he sure as hell knows how to create a vortex of epic mindfucks that can swallow you whole and spit you out in goddamn pieces.

I swallow hard when the silver pole comes into view—the same pole her bloodied body was tied to. “What is that still doing here?”

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