Ruthless Saint

III

MIKA COSTELLO

        Assortments of freshly baked cookies, and donuts filled the round table. My Zia Sofia's house was crawling with papá's soliders and guards that followed me on a daily basis. Italians lingered in every corner to assist in the search for my missing cousin.

I was sitting on the large sofa with a donut in hand and a red lollipop in my mouth while the news reporter chatted on and on about the weather. 

        The TV was loud enough for me to be able to piece together the words she was saying but the background chatter was blurring together, pounding against my head like someone took a hammer and slapped me with it.

"Hey!" I screamed in protest when my cousin Rocco helped himself to a glazed donut. One of my favorites.

He shot me a boyish grin. Locks of blond hair and brown eyes. The signature Costello's eyes. He said something to me, but I couldn't quite decipher so I settled for a glare instead.

He returned my glare with a middle finger, and I did the same while mocking him.

Rocco fell on the sofa beside me, eyes stuck to the TV like there was something interesting happening, but I knew he was trying to distract himself from the chatter of his missing sister.

I was also trying to distract from the newly fresh gossip of my marriage to Mischa Malikov. It'd spread around town like an insistent wildfire, chatters of the news were all the mamma's talked about. 

I'd heard stories about him—Mischa. He was the strongest pakhan there was. They claimed without him, the Bratva would be a group of greedy idiots struggling for power. 

He was ruthless and known for killing men with his bare hands. The thought alone sent a cold shiver down my spine, leaving me to drown in the weight of his darkness and the things he could do to me. Would do to me in the split of a second if I wasn't careful.

I took another glazed donut and bit on it while contemplating if there was any other way to avoid getting married to him. 

        If Alessio hadn't broken off the engagement, I would be getting married today. Walking down the aisle with a man I didn't mind giving my heart to.

I left Rocco on the sofa to the comfort of the news while I wandered around Zia Sofia's patio. 

        The fresh air would do some good for me, and I didn't think I could last any more minute with the pounding headache I got whenever there was too much background chatter.

I'd snuck a bottle of vodka, pouring myself a glass as I stood on the patio. The engagement ring on my hand was big—much too expensive to be real and immensely beautiful. I couldn't stop staring at it, watching as it glinted under the hot sun of New York, so proportionally perfect and sparkling.

I wondered if he'd bought this for Greta. Perhaps this was her ring. The thought sent a sour taste to my mouth, and I pushed it to the back of my mind.

"Mika." A deep voice called out behind me. Rough hands gently touching my shoulder.

I nearly dropped the glass of vodka, gripping the glass tightly as I came face to face with Alessio. Oh. I took a step back out of instinct, swallowing hard as I watched his expression morph into one of softness. 

I snuck a glance towards the sliding glass wondering if anyone could see us.

An engaged woman and her ex fiancé but everyone were much too preoccupied with Greta's disappearance to notice I was alone with a man that wasn't my husband.