Page 28 of Of Murder and Matrimony

Olesya’s face was there every time I closed my eyes, her blue eyes swimming with hurt when I told her all she was good for was giving me heirs. I’d sounded like my father, the bastard. Nausea washed over me, and I dry heaved over the drain, retching uselessly until my abs ached.

My heart threatened to beat out of my chest as I relived every second of the past day. She hated me so much she wanted me dead.

How had my first taste of love turned so sour?

Because I tried to be chivalrous, that’s why. I barked out a caustic laugh. Though I’d been plenty jaded by the time I was in college, that didn’t stop me from thinking I was doing the best thing for Olesya by pushing her away.

Now she despised me, and I couldn’t save us from our fate. Maybe it would have been better had I just married her back then. But then, she would never have become a doctor. Her time alone had transformed her from that spoiled Bratva princess into a strong, independent woman. And I found I liked her even more now.

As soon as I saw her standing in her room, naked and furious, all those old feelings came rushing back. I’d nearly embarrassed myself when I thrust into her tight body, and it took everything in me not to whisper words of affection to her.

I couldn’t let her see that. Not until we were on better terms, at least. When we weren’t at war with the Russians. I needed to focus, and my wife was becoming an increasingly dangerous distraction.

Shutting the water off, I climbed out of the shower and walked to my room, letting the cool air dry my body and leave me far more sober than I would have preferred. I reached for my phone and sent off a text before pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants. Sleep was unlikely, so I trudged to my office and resumed pacing.

That was how Cosimo found me half an hour later. He shut the door behind him and put his bag on my desk, pulling out medical supplies.

“What the fuck are you doing here instead of in bed with your wife?”

I turned so he could see my back. “I need you to patch me up again.”

“That’s what you said.” He stopped behind me and poked around the open wounds, making me hiss in pain. “Did you forget your bride is a doctor? I’m sure she knows how to apply butterfly bandages. If not, medical school was a fucking waste.”

“I’m sure Olesya is capable of many things,” I forced through clenched teeth as Cosimo swiped an alcohol wipe over my raw flesh. “But I didn’t ask her to help. Right now, she’d probably prefer ending my life to saving it.”

“Fucking idiot,” he mumbled, pinching my skin. I flinched, and he grunted his disapproval before repeating the motion and applying the tiny bandages. At least it wasn’t more sutures.

“I’m not exactly trying to win husband of the year.”

“You would think after watching what Mamma went through, you’d want to rank at least a little lower on the asshole meter than our father.”

That stung. “I’m not going to hit her.”

“Only lock her away?” Cosimo fired back. Word had traveled fast. I swear, mafia men gossiped just as much as nonnas.

I lifted a brow. “Who told you?”

My brother smirked, reveling in my annoyed state. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not outside the family, and we know you’d hand them over to me either way. I don’t feel like killing them right now.”

“I won’t keep her locked away.” I stretched tentatively, feeling the pull of the new bandages. “I didn’t want her brothers to have a chance to interrupt the wedding.”

“What happened tonight?” he pestered.

“You can’t possibly be asking me to tell you about how I fucked my bride.”

Cosimo’s jaw ticked. “Fuck, no. But if things had gone well, I wouldn’t have been pulled away from my fun.”

“Things got complicated,” I explained to placate him. It was more important that he talked. “Did you release the shestyorka?”

“You’re learning Russian?”

“I don’t have time for that. Hopefully, my wife will warm to me eventually and help translate.” Walking around my desk, I sat, carefully keeping my back off the leather. “Did you send the messenger back in one piece?”

Cosimo shrugged dismissively. “More or less.”

“Cos.” My voice held a hint of warning. I’d given explicit instructions not to harm the kid more than necessary.

“Relax.” The word had the opposite effect, my anxiety ramping up a notch at his nonchalance. “I roughed him up a little, gave him a new bit of body art, and sent him on his merry way with a message for the brothers.”

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