Adrik
When I claimed her, that was it. I made her mine and betrayed her. She longed for a story that wasn't mine to narrate, so I did the only thing a man like me would-I sent her back. Little did I know the secret she was keeping. The worst of all...
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We're seated at the table, and I can feel Alberto's darkness peering into mine. He should know what's good for him and take his fucking eyes off me. Although it's my fault, he is without a fucking wife; he can fuck off. Giulia Caruso is mine, and they all fucking know it, but why I sent the princess back. Just thinking of that red flush on her face as if she'd been freshly fucked boils my blood enough for me to snarl at Alberto.
How dare she test me with that fucking bodyguard of hers, allowing his hands on her skin that I marked with my hands and mouth. She's playing with fire because I'd be a thief at night and teach her a lesson. I wouldn't, though, because if I got that taste, I'd have to take her back, and she wouldn't agree to come. She needed to come to me willingly. Also, it'll be Romeo's fucking death on her conscience. She fucking saved his life this morning, which makes me angrier. Giulia Caruso knew what was best because it won't be good for her or that fucking man.
"My right hand has a daughter of age, Alberto." Gaetano's dark voice cut through the murmurs around the table.
I liked the bastard for some reason. He ruled New York after his father with confidence and kept to himself. Rumour has it he killed the man. I don't know why the bastard invited me to this meeting or party, whatever the fuck it was, but I was here drinking bourbon and getting stared at by five men who wished to stick their knives in my throat.
Surprisingly, Marcelo doesn't bother to pay me any attention. That doesn't mean shit. "About the age of forty-five." Some of Gaetano's men snickered, and Marco's lips twisted into a smile he concealed by taking his glass to his lips.
"I can assure you. I have a fiance, Gaetano." Alberto growled.
"That was three months ago. Edoardo paid his debt, no?" Antonio chimed in.
I cleared my throat, and the attention shifted to me. "I wondered how Edoardo paid for that debt." I'm at the table; I might as well have the freedom to speak.
"Are you saying we have no money, Mikhailov?" Giuseppe hissed, slamming his glass on the table, the amber liquid sloshing onto his hand.
My eyes bore into Raffaele's carefree ones. Sasha's number on his face left deep scars that would remind him every day of the girl he tortured. "Just the mere sight of extra activities for money, Caruso. Desperate times call for desperate needs."
"Well, that's interesting." Gaetano crooned. "I think we all need to stop lying to one another. Don't you think so, uncle?" He raised a finger, and the bartender arrived with a bottle of vodka. "Vodka seems more your forte, Adrik." I nodded once and took the bottle from him.
"I have no secret, boy." Antonio scowled.
"Gaetano," Alessandro hissed. "You have no idea what you're causing." You could cut the tension with a knife. I smirked, enjoying the burn of the vodka down my throat. I don't regret coming to New York at the last minute. That can all change in the twinkle of an eye.
