Page 35 of Of Murder and Matrimony

I wasn’t stupid. I knew I had some mental disorder. All of us siblings likely held physical or mental scars after living with a monster for so many years. For me, it was both. Old scars on my back tingled, then itched and burned like they were fresh again.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

I don’t know how long I breathed like that, but eventually, my heart stopped trying to beat out of my chest, and I could breathe easier. My father’s muffled voice became clearer, like turning the tuning dial on an old radio.

“No more chances,” he instructed the capo. “If they don’t have payment next time, start taking compensation in flesh.”

The capo nodded, both terrified and eager to please his master. “Yes, Mr. Neretti.”

“That’s all.” My father dismissed him with a wave, and the man scrambled out of the office. I couldn’t blame him. It was like a tomb decorated with meaningless artifacts. Baubles the soulless inhabitant would never appreciate or use.

I pushed away from the wall, loathe to have my father catch me with my guard down. Snapping the lapels of my black suit jacket, I stood at attention, waiting for my father to tamp out his cigar and snip the end of another.

He glanced over at me as he held the match to the end of the cancer stick, his lips pursed around it, white flecks gathering at the corners of his mouth as he puffed until it lit. I tensed all the muscles in my face to keep any hint of revulsion from my face.

Outsiders might mistake his dependence on alcohol and tobacco for coping mechanisms, a way to quiet his grief after losing my mother. I knew better. The tears he’d shed for the public were contrived, and those empty eyes stayed dry behind closed doors.

After closing his eyes and savoring the cigar, his lids snapped open, dark eyes pinning me with an unrestrained glare. That move used to make me flinch, but I’d long since become desensitized to my father’s mind games.

“Sit.” He pointed to one of the chairs across from his desk. I took the other chair, and he tapped a finger on his desk, irritated by my small show of rebellion. “We need to discuss your wife.”

I didn’t show my surprise, affecting a bored expression as I crossed my right ankle over the opposite knee and brushed invisible lint from my jacket. “What could you possibly have to say about Olesya?”

“She’s becoming a problem,” he answered. “Her lack of basic decency is a temptation to the men and a risk to the family’s reputation.”

“Are we referring to the same woman?” I lifted a brow in disbelief.

He scowled at my flippant attitude. “Feel free to view the security footage if you don’t believe me. She was walking around in her underwear where anyone could have seen her. You should be grateful it was me who found her and made sure she was covered before sending her inside.”

“Come again?” I actually laughed; the idea was so ridiculous.

“Her own guard wouldn’t go near the pool area because of her state of dress.” My father pointed a finger at me. “You need to tighten the leash on your wife before she disgraces this family with her wanton acts and blatant disregard for propriety.”

His anger didn’t bother me. What irked me was that I didn’t know about whatever had taken place. That was unacceptable.

I stood, inclining my head toward my father to appease him. “Don’t worry. I’ll rectify the situation immediately.”

“See that you do.” He pushed himself from his chair, unable to hide a wince as he straightened his healing leg. I could see it shaking from across the room. My father’s answer was to limp to the bar and pour himself another glass of whiskey.

I turned my back on him and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling as I left his office with the sole intent of figuring out what the fuck Olesya had been up to while I wasn’t watching. My father’s men hugged the walls as I stormed past, sensing the danger radiating off my shoulders.

I jogged upstairs and ignored Diego completely, bursting through my wife’s bedroom door. She squeaked in shock, dropping the book in her hand and leaping up from the chair by the window. She wore a prim white nightgown that barely covered her ass. The thought of any other man walking in to see her like that made my blood boil.

Slamming the door behind me and flipping the lock, I stalked toward her. “Hello, wife.”

“Dante?” Olesya’s voice trembled. Good. I wanted her afraid. “What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, the calm tenor of my voice hiding my fury. I looked her up and down. “Are you planning to wear that out of your room today?”

Her chest expanded with a deep breath, brows drawing together in a scowl. “I haven’t left my room because I don’t have any other clothing to wear!”

She had some nerve talking to me like that when she was the one who’d embarrassed me. And she wasn’t finished because her index finger poked me in the center of my chest. “Maybe if you gave me enough clothing for more than a day at a time, I could comply with your invisible dress code!”

“That didn’t help you before, did it?” Her frown deepened with confusion. “Maybe you’ll just strip down to your bra and panties and traipse about the estate, huh?”

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