Page 2 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I pushed open the door to my room, one I’d reluctantly let my mother decorate after giving her strict instructions to keep it simple and masculine. It was a mirror of my father's bedroom on the other side of the house. My large, dark wood king bed sat as the room’s centerpiece and soft navy covers adorned the mattress. It should have comforted me when I laid my head down at night, but I never truly found rest. Matching dark wood furniture completed the room. I preferred bare walls, save for the tv on the wall across from the bed.

The single frivolity I allowed was two plush navy chairs that sat by the corner windows, a small table in the corner between them. My mother said it was so I could have morning and evening talks with my future wife. She’d always been a dreamer.

I gave my bed a longing glance before passing on to the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes and shoes, leaving them in a haphazard pile on the floor, and stepping into the shower. I sucked in a breath as the cold spray hit my body, shocking me from the memories and back to reality. There was so much to do and never time for a break.

I quickly squeezed body wash into my palm and lathered my tanned body with the gel, shampooing my nearly black hair with the stuff in the fancy bottle Martina stocked my shower with before rinsing. It only took a single fleeting thought about sex to have my cock standing hard and ready. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d fucked. Months, I’d imagine—before death and war, bodies and blood plagued my life.

Fisting my shaft, I leaned against the cold grey tile of the shower and pumped, dredging up more memories, this time of hot summer nights and stolen kisses. The girl I’d once called a friend, who, if I hadn’t thought myself some fucking chivalrous knight, would have been my wife.

Olesya.

Was it wrong to imagine her as she’d been the last time I saw her—eighteen and so full of optimism? Perhaps. I did it anyway, remembering how soft her ivory skin felt under my fingertips, already roughened by work at twenty-one. The way her honey-blonde hair fanned across my pillows. She’d nearly flung herself at me, and like a sap, I’d caved. Our one night together was forever emblazoned on my mind.

The veins in my cock swelled and pulsed as I set a punishing pace for desiring Olesya after more than a decade. For the hold she didn’t know she still possessed. With a groan, I hit my climax; the water washing away rope after rope of my come. Still, I stood there until the water ran cold.

I couldn’t waste any more time. I’d already taken too much for myself. Grabbing a grey towel that matched the bathroom décor, I dried my body and wrapped the terrycloth around my waist as I stood in the walk-in closet and selected a new set of clothes.

My closet held a plethora of black suits and dress shirts in muted colors. Things that were appropriate for any meeting that might come up. My father was particular about how we presented ourselves to the public. When my youngest brother, Romeo, caused a media scandal, he brought a fixer to mitigate the damage. Romeo was married to Riona now.

I pulled a white shirt over my muscled arms, buttoning without thought as it had long ago become muscle memory. A simple black patterned tie was next, then the suit. I slipped back into my black leather shoes and reached for my matching belt, effortlessly threading it through the loops in my pants and buckling it.

I made my way to my office, which looked nothing like my father’s. Unlike the dusty tomes my father kept, the shelves were full of business and law books I’d actually read. I only kept a few photos and trinkets from my family, while my father displayed expensive and ostentatious baubles with specialty lighting.

In the center of the room, facing away from the navy-draped windows, sat my desk, heavy and dark, carved in simple lines. My chair was the real luxury in the room, ergonomically designed and covered in buttery-soft chocolate leather. It saved my spine until I could hit the treadmill in the basement gym to work the kinks from my body.

I could thank Romeo for that fitness equipment. Since he ran Flex, a chain of luxury fitness centers, he knew his shit when it came to exercise. It was a front for the family and laundered our money, but my little brother was a fitness enthusiast. He ensured I had the best when I had the unused space transformed. I didn’t have time to get to Flex every day, but I could walk down a flight of stairs and run until my legs barely worked. Those midnight runs were how I managed to get a few hours of sleep.

Before I sat at my desk, I made myself a cup of black coffee, the kind that came in a pod and was a few ounces short of what anybody would consider a standard cup. The first sip scalded my throat. Perfect.

Plopping down in my chair, I powered my desktop computer on and checked my emails. Yes, even mafiosos had correspondence. Most of it was in code, but I’d worked the business so long that it was like reading a second language. My direct work was in real estate, convincing people to sell to the family at a reasonable price, buying low, and selling high. Much of it was legitimate, hiding the transactions that were less than legal.

It wasn’t long before Cosimo flung open my office door and slouched in a leather chair across from my desk.

“You rang?” he asked dramatically, lifting a brow. He liked to eschew the suit requirement for meetings, especially those held privately. He wore black jeans, a black t-shirt, and his black leather jacket, even though it was warm for early June.

“Update?” I fired back without fanfare, half distracted by the email I was replying to.

Cosimo sighed. “I finished with our latest Russian friend, but I’m no closer to finding her.”

“Fuck,” I hissed. Since we’d gone to war with the Bratva over their part in my mother’s death and the church massacre, I’d brainstormed ways to cut the bloodshed short. There was one way, but she’d disappeared almost fifteen years prior.

Olesya Zolotov.

Our fathers had signed a marriage arrangement when we were children, one meant to unite the families and prevent wars like the one we were currently embroiled in. We’d been thrown together as children, became friends, and then parted ways when I thought I could save her from life in my family. Now, I regretted the decision I’d made while feeling a mistaken sense of dedication to a naïve girl.

Her father was dead, and her older brothers, Adrik and Yuri, didn’t appear to share the same concern for an alliance. They’d hidden her away, and the Bratva members Cosimo had talked to in his dungeon underneath his strip club Deception were less than helpful in offering information on her whereabouts.

“I need to find her.” I punctuated the declaration with my fist on the desktop. That familiar pain in my chest returned.

Cosimo leaned forward, planting his elbows on his thighs and steepling his fingers. “Look, I’m doing everything I can.”

“Somebody must know where she is.”

“Whoever it is, they aren’t sharing it with the rest of the family,” Cosimo muttered. “If the guys I talked to had known anything, I would have found out.”

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “I know. I’m not questioning your interrogation skills. We need a solution, and this one is the best I could come up with. They won’t risk their sister. We’ve lost too many already.”

Cosimo nodded and looked down at his shoes, his muscles clenched. He tapped his tattooed fingers on his leg. Niccolò was his twin, and Cosimo had given his own breath trying to save him.

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