Page 7 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Don’t mention it,” he grunted. “I want this all over with as much as you.”

“How’s Niccolò?” I asked.

“Resting more comfortably at home,” he answered. “He won’t be hitting the gym anytime soon. He starts physical therapy in a couple of days.”

The damage he sustained from the bullet made using his right shoulder and arm difficult. “Mia said the doctor is optimistic he’ll regain full use of the arm.”

“Yeah.” Cosimo’s grip on the knife tightened. “You want me to come to Colorado with you?”

“I’ve got it.” I sent a text to one of the pilots who worked for the Neretti family and told him to be ready to fly in the morning. I’d make it to Colorado with enough time to drive out to the dumpy little town Olesya was hiding in time to have Friday dinner with her.

“Let me know how it goes.” He flipped the knife closed and returned it to his pocket. “What do you want me to do with my guest?”

“Kill him.” I didn’t hesitate. The hacker had concealed Olesya from me, hidden her, and helped the Zolotov brothers renege on their agreement with my family. He was as guilty as the rest and deserved to pay the price.

“Consider it done.” Cosimo gave me a brief salute and left me to plan my trip.

While I packed a bag, I texted Filippo and Stefano to let them know we’d leave in the morning. That night, I slept better than I had since the attack at the church.

I woke the following day feeling both rested and wired. There was even a little pep in my step as I gave instructions to Martina and some of my father’s men for the room that would belong to Olesya when we returned. As I was climbing into my SUV, Cosimo pulled up and jogged over to me, slipping a vial and some syringes into my front suit pocket, just in case.

My men napped while I worked on the flight. I was staring at the cryptic text from Cosimo as we descended—dosing instructions for the medication that would knock Olesya out. I didn’t want to use it, but I would if necessary.

It paid to have contacts all over the country. Our pilot knew of a private airstrip we could use. It was closer to Oak Ridge than Denver, which would cut down on my time on the ground in Colorado. I needed to get in and out with as little fanfare as possible.

The owner of the property where we landed was kind enough to loan us an Escalade to use. Not exactly inconspicuous, but if we had to talk to the locals, I’d make up a story about my interest in some real estate on the mountain.

As Filippo drove us to our destination, the clear blue skies clouded over, and a light rain began to fall. By the time we reached the wooden welcome sign at the edge of Oak Ridge, the skies were dark, and rain ran in small rivers down the road's incline. People ran from their cars to the stores lining the streets, hardly noticing the strange car creeping through town.

I stared hard at the small building with a sign that read Miller Medical, and underneath in smaller letters was Jason Miller, MD. Below that was another name—Nikki Smith, MD. Nikki Smith. The name Olesya thought could hide her forever. How could she have been naïve enough to believe she could outsmart those who wished to find her?

While Nikki Smith didn’t have social media accounts, she had an online presence. Perhaps she’d grown lax over the years when nobody came looking. She should have kept moving, never establishing herself in a community where people could take pictures of her or talk about her online. Her friend tried to scrub any mention of her from the internet, but my men uncovered some things. A photo taken with children at a community event. Another from a small local newspaper talking about the new doctor in town. An engagement announcement where a blonde man held Olesya close as they smiled for the camera.

It didn’t matter that I’d driven her away a decade ago. She should never have tried to marry another man. She was betrothed to me.

Stores turned into suburbs, turning into fewer homes as the main road led out of town again. Trees grew tall, making the stormy day even more foreboding as we turned onto a side road and climbed higher up the mountain. It didn’t take long to find the small house Olesya called home. With wood siding with green trim, it was as quaint as the rest of the town.

The Olesya I knew always wore the latest fashions and expensive jewelry, always had her nails done, her hair professionally cut and styled. I climbed out of the vehicle and jogged up the stairs, shaking the water from my suit jacket and trying the door. It was locked. Good girl, Olesya.

Unfortunately for her, it only took Stefano a few seconds to pick the paltry lock. The house was old enough that it wasn’t even a deadbolt.

“Where do you want us?” Filippo asked, looking around the living area of Olesya’s house. It looked like something out of a travel magazine with the wood and leather and the faux fur rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. Her kitchen wasn’t any more impressive. The Olesya I knew would never have survived in a home like this.

Suddenly, I didn’t want my men around when I saw Olesya again. I selfishly wanted her expression to belong to me alone, those first words to meet only my ears. “Drive further up the road and find a place to park. I’ll call you when we’re ready to go.”

Stefano’s brows rose. “Are you sure?”

“I think I can handle one woman.” I chuckled, and they laughed before leaving me alone in Olesya’s house.

The clock on the wall said it was already four in the afternoon. Her clinic had just closed, so she’d be home soon. I took the time to walk through her house, trying to understand who she had become since leaving Chicago. There weren’t many pictures of people save what must have been professional engagement photos of her and Dr. Miller arranged on one wall. The other art was of forests and rivers and some off-white woven shit hanging from a branch.

I shook my head, unable to believe I was looking at things that belonged to the Bratva princess. Olesya had always been more intelligent than everybody else I knew, but she’d made it work with her luxury lifestyle. I guess I thought she’d still have expensive furnishings and fashion magazines on the coffee table next to whatever thick tome she was reading. I couldn’t have been more wrong. There was a magazine about gardening, but judging by the wilted plants on a decorative table by one of the windows, it hadn’t helped her much.

There was a sparse office down a short hall and, across from that, a laundry room. Upstairs was divided into two bedrooms and a hall bathroom next to a closet. The smaller bedroom looked clean but unused, with a queen bed against one wall, covered in dark green and flanked by light wood nightstands that matched the bedframe.

Across the hall was the bedroom that clearly belonged to Olesya. There was a hint of the girl I remembered. Plush white bedding covered a king bed with more pillows than any human could possibly use. The headboard was quilted satin, and even the curtains were white and frilly. Instead of the innocent pink I remembered, her décor was accented with a deep lilac color.

Unable to help myself, I opened the closet and pulled the sleeve of a shirt to my nose, inhaling Olesya’s jasmine scent. Another thing she hadn’t changed. It had been her mother’s scent.

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