Ruthless Saint

V

MISCHA MALIKOV

"Anatoly. What did we talk about?" I asked as I undid the buttons on my suit and rolled the sleeves of my dress shirt.

        I didn't like getting blood on my hands. It was fucking hard to get rid of and the smell of it was putrid. Of course, I wasn't expecting to do this shit on my wedding day. 

        Every now and then, my men tend to forget themselves. Like Anatoly.

        I'd instructed them to be on their best behaviors for today. Tension was still high between us and the Italians despite the wedding. 

        There was a lack of trust and prejudice in the air and that was always a fatal combination when it came to Russians and Italians.

        Anatoly spoke carefully. "Boss."

        A muscle ticked in my jaw as I watched him. He'd started the fucking fight over a comment. A simple comment about a girl he'd probably met a few hours ago. 

        I didn't know what the comment was, but I knew it didn't need to end with my wife almost getting a bullet in her head.

        "I was wrong." He swallowed hard; his gaze flitted over to Pavel who was standing behind me.

        "Do not look at him for help, Anatoly. Look at me." I casually rolled up the sleeve on my opposite hand, exposing inches of red and black ink. I looked over my shoulder at Pavel and gestured for him to stand guard outside the room.

        I didn't need a nosy outsider walking past and accidentally catching a glimpse of something they shouldn't see on a Saturday afternoon.

        Anatoly murmured a prayer in Russian, kissing the rosary around his neck.

        "Now." I popped the first button on my shirt. "Correct me if I'm wrong but it was your nose last time?"

        "Yes, boss."

        I hummed a sound of approval. "Where do you want it this time?"

        "Cheek is fine, boss."

        "Hm." I slid the watch from my wrist and did the same with the rings on my finger. I'd been tempted to leave my wedding ring on, but I didn't want to risk the stain of blood.

        I paused to take a good look at him, tilting my head before a cold smile danced on the edge of my lip. "So, jaw it is?"

        I didn't give him a chance to respond before my fist collided with his left jaw. A crack resonated in the air, a deep grunt and the deep pool of blood staining the carpet and leaving a mark. 

        I gestured for Anatoly to turn the other jaw and did the same. When I was done, he was laid out on the ground grunting and murmuring a prayer.

        I glanced down at my busted knuckles, shaking my head in pure disapproval. I didn't want shit like this on my wedding day, but it seemed like it couldn't be avoided.

        Violence always lingered in the air like a chill, waiting for the right time to pounce and infecting everyone with a dazed sense of right and wrong.

        I knew Mika wasn't used to that kind of violence. She'd grown up in the Cosa Nostra, but she'd been protected from the brute of it all by her papá. She could barely stop shivering and jumping as Elena took her away to get changed.

        Pavel handed me a silk pocket square when I left the room to clean the splatter of blood on my hand. I'd gotten dressed once more like nothing had happened.