Chapter 4

Four

Romeo – Age Thirty

I stab the fucker in front of me in his thigh, his screams echoing in the basement, blood squirting.

My fury is too fucking much, and not even torturing a traitor is breaking it.

How in the fuck did I get her breakfast fucking wrong when I know what she loves, when I know her inside and fucking out?

Four years and my wife is still my fucking obsession.

Pancakes with berries, vanilla fucking ice cream with shitloads of strawberry sauce, hot bubble baths in the evening with a good book, sitting on the comfy couch in the library in front of the fireplace grading papers, a glass of wine seated underneath the arch I built for her.

I fucking know her, and I fucking know what she’s allergic to, and yet I fucked up.

“Jesus, who pissed the boss off?” Mario, one of my soldiers and blood cousin, mutters from the side wall as I rip the knife out of the fucker’s thigh.

Antonio replies, “He’s in the doghouse.”

Doghouse? Fucking doghouse isn’t even the name for what I’m in right now, because all I’ve done is increased her suspicions.

I only know her sister’s favorites because of all the fucking breakfasts I’ve had to deal with over the years at my father-in-law’s home. It’s the only thing Liliya would fucking eat, stinking the place out with eggs, while we tried to figure out a way to stop the Mexican’s wife from going crazy and killing her, causing a war. But Liliya keeps trying to fucking contact Miguel, winding Renata up, knowing she’s under my protection per the stupid contract Mikhail has continuously apologize for, while Miguel is ready to kill the bitch himself, putting us all out of our misery.

Four times a week, I’m at that fucking house to sort out the guards around the cunt, none of my men wanting the job, while Mikhail's wife forcing breakfast on me when I arrive, trying to get me to speak to Liliya.

“Ah fuck, what did he do? Did El find out about the torture chamber down here?” Leonardo asks as I stab the traitor tied to the chair in his other thigh, causing him to cry out, tears and snot running down his pale face.

“Nah, it turns out this is the first time in four years the fucker has been home when Elena has woken up, and then got her favorite breakfast wrong, having the chef make her sister’s favorite instead, the same sister she believes he’s having an affair with, her words confirming it this morning.” He pauses for dramatic effect, like the fucker he is, making me roll my eyes. “Oh, and it was also a breakfast El is allergic to, and could have killed her.”

I growl, pulling the knife out as Harry pleads, “Romeo, please, I didn’t sell you out to the Irish; I wouldn’t do that! Please!”

I sneer at the pathetic fucker. “We have proof, Harry. You looked real fucking cozy smoking cigars at their bar last week, laughing with their men.”

Harry’s brown eyes widen in fear before he sees my knife coming to his right, stabbing it, the knife going in easily.

He screams, which is music to my fucking ears, as he struggles in the chair.

“Please, please, Romeo, have mercy,” he cries.

“He’s really fucked up this time then, because somehow I doubt El is going to forgive this one,” Leonardo mutters, ignoring Harry’s pleas, causing my anger to heighten.

“It gets worse, when El turned his breakfast down, the fucker implied she wanted to eat at school because of the teacher who’s sniffing around her,” Antonio replies, and I growl again, looking at them sharply.

None of them pay attention to me, angering me further, and I force the knife out of a passed-out Harry, before I slice his throat.

“The fucker wants her,” I snap, not turning around.

Every lunch, he sits with her, too fucking close for my liking, and looks at her like he wants to fucking devour her.

He’s lucky he still has his legs, which is only because Elena hasn’t paid any attention to his advances.

Antonio snaps at me, “And her sister wants you. You’re spending all your fucking time with her instead of the woman you're married to. Fuck, even I’m starting to think something is going on between you both.”

I turn and glare at him. “Liliya fucking caught an STI last week, fucker. I wouldn’t touch her if she were the last woman on earth, just like I haven’t touched any woman since that day in the café when I realized I wanted El. My cock only hardens for my wife.”

Antonio grins, clearly wanting to rile me up, and Leonardo smirks because I fell for it like an idiot. I look at Mario, his bleach-blonde hair sticking up.

I state, “My brother has been eating rabbit shit after his wife thought he was cheating with the maid, who has a thing for him,” throwing my troublemaking brother into the fire.

Mario’s blue eyes widen in shock as Leonardo laughs while Antonio groans, “Fuck’s sake….”

Leonardo takes a few steps away from him, causing him to try grabbing him, as I throw the knife on the floor.

“Clean this shit up. I’m working from home today so I can clear some fucking shit up with my wife.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and admit, “I know Mikhail didn’t want her involved, but I think I need to explain what exactly is going on, and how I manipulated her father into giving her to me.”

Antonio nods. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all morning, fratello . It’s clear as day she’s fallen for you, and the fact you’ve not left her after the fertility troubles should prove to her what you feel for her.”

I sigh but nod in agreement. Four years and she’s not fallen pregnant, but she’s refused to go through tests, and fuck me, it’s hard not to be disappointed, and it’s even fucking harder not to tie her down and force her to have blood tests done.

I really fucking wanted a little girl that looked like her.

“Uh, brother,” Leonardo says as I wipe my hands and look at him. He winces as he lifts his phone and rasps, “Piper just messaged….”

Mario cuts in, “You mean your fuck buddy?”

Leonardo sends him a glare, making my smirk come out, knowing he can’t stand her after she became clingy. He’s been obsessed with Holly, a girl my wife went to college with, and is still in contact with for years, but she wants fuck all to do with him.

He looks my way with sympathy. “It, uh, turns out you’re not having fertility issues. Apparently, El has been on the contraceptive shot.” My body stiffens because there’s no way, but he continues, “She has an appointment after school for a booster. Piper stated she first got it two weeks before your wedding, it’s in her notes.”

Motherfucker….

Fury courses through me as Antonio snorts. “Well, that explains a lot, but uh, fratello , think of it this way; she knows she can’t leave unless she gives you an heir.”

I scoff. “Unless she’s trying to figure out a way to leave without giving me one, and she only has a year left to get pregnant, or she loses her job and everything that belongs to her.”

Mario furrows his brows. “But surely she wouldn’t want to leave you and not just to save her career, something a mafia wife, a Don’s one at that, never has. Even I can see she loves you, and I don’t even believe in that shit.”

Antonio butts in, “She will if she thinks he’s fucking Liliya. Everyone has a limit, and screwing a sister, yeah, that’s a hard no for everyone.”

Trying to breathe through my anger, I look at Leonardo and demand, “Tell her to swap the injection with fucking water; I’d have had at least four fucking kids with her by now.”

He nods, and I look at Antonio. “Inform papa of her antics. He’s ready to fucking knock her out to do the necessary tests.”

He winces but nods, getting his phone out as Mario calls in a few men to help clear the traitor out. They’ll send him to the Irish in pieces.

I walk out of the basement, ready to wash this fucker’s blood off me. Going into the kitchen, though, I halt and furrow my brows, seeing it empty, the chef nowhere to be seen.

What the fuck?

Growling my anger hitting hard again, I storm to the stairs and head toward the room I share with my wife. I grab my phone, searching for my chef’s number to find out where the fuck he is.

“I’m not fucking paying for him to sit on his ass,” I mutter as I pass the maid, Melinda, in the hallway, and she halts and says, “Uh, Mr. Russo?” making me stop. I look at her coldly, my mood not improving, and she flinches and stutters, “Mrs. Russo made the bed again this-this morning. Do you want me to strip it still? I uh don’t want to hurt her feelings….”

I furrow my brows in confusion, “She makes the bed?”

Melinda nods. “Yes sir, every day, and strips them herself on Sundays. She also cooks your evening meals, demanding it.”

I blink. Fuck me, maybe I have been blind to my wife.

“Leave the bed,” I command, and she nods before running away. I head to the room, looking around the large space properly. Everything is neat, the bed crease-free, the dark gray covers turning over a little near the pillows, and a few pictures of us on her nightstand.

She grew up with maids and cooks, and yet does everything here herself.

Fuck me, she demands to cook my dinner, which is fucking delicious every night. Dammit, I gave the chef a fucking raise.

I blink, dropping my hand with realization; my wife can fucking cook….

I shake my head and go toward the bathroom, needing a shower and a plan to get my wife fucking pregnant after she’s played me for four fucking years. Unfortunately, I can’t punish her for it without telling her I fucking know.

Fucking pain in the ass beautiful woman!

A few hours later, my door opens with a bang, making me growl, knowing it won’t be my wife.

I’ve just finished the documents for our legal business, and still need to go over the book for our club in Vegas.

I look up to see Antonio rushing in behind a crying Liliya. Makeup is smeared down her face, her hair a mess, her red dress so fucking tiny it barely covers her, while some woman with dark brown hair wearing a short yellow dress stands in the doorway, eyeing my brother.

I roll my eyes and stand, about to demand what she’s doing in my home, with a tag along no less, knowing she’s not welcome here, when she fucking throws herself at me. My hands catch her out of instinct before I push her away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand with narrow eyes.

She grips my arms, squeezing tight, making my skin burn with her contact as she cries, “Someone tried to shoot me.”

I raise a brow at Antonio, knowing he would have called the guy I have on her, which probably allowed her to run inside.

“I called Tomo, and he denied it. She’s was fucking some server in the bathroom when his wife came in to give him his lunch. The wife slapped her.” Antonio confirms, and I sneer at Liliya, who flinches before I shove her away, making her gasp as she stumbles, her friend coming to her rescue before she can fall.

Shaking my head, I round my black desk and grab my phone from near a picture of my wife on our wedding day, dialing Mikhail.

“Romeo, is Elena alright?” he answers after the fourth ring.

I snort. “Define alright? This morning, when she left, I was lucky to have my balls intact, and I’m currently in the doghouse, but this isn’t about my wife, who is finally getting her fire back. This is about your other daughter, who has come into my home, a home we both know El would not want her in, with a friend in tow, claiming to be shot at.”

“What the fuck?” he snaps as a bang echoes through the receiver.

I hum and reply, “What the fuck, indeed. It turns out she was fucking a server, and his wife caught them, slapping her.” I look at the bitch, who pales as I smirk and state, “Seems your daughter didn’t realize I have several men watching her day in and day out in the shadows, and now, if my wife figures out she’s been here, she’ll fucking slice my throat in my sleep and high tail it.”

Liliya takes a few steps back, pushing her now pale-faced friend with her, but Antonio stops them from running away, making me smirk coldly.

Mikhail growls, “Send her back my way. You and your family can have the week off Liliya watch. My wife putting those stupid agreements in the contract behind our backs is fucking out of order, and let my precious fucking daughter know she’s cut off.”

He hangs up, and I look at Antonio, who nods, hearing every word, and grabs Liliya’s arm, then her friends.

Liliya’s eyes widen, and she shouts, “Seriously, you’re not even going to give me the time of day? You were supposed to be mine, mine , not hers.” He drags her out the door, her voice echoing, “She hasn’t even had your heir Romeo….”

“Yeah, and with the number of terminations you’ve fucking had, you probably wouldn’t be able to carry, either, and didn’t you hear, sweetheart, you’re fucking cut off,” Antonio sneers down the hallway, making me snort as she screams louder in denial.

Sighing, I sit on my chair, running my hands down my face, fed up with this shit. It’s been four fucking years.

“Why can’t I just kill the bitch myself?” I mumble as Antonio walks in a few minutes later.

“She’s on her way home, though her friend may be found on the news later. She tried to kiss me, and I know for a fact my wife will find out.”

I snort, then nod. “Have the lawyer look at my marriage contract. I can’t wait for El to fall pregnant to get this contract off my back. The bitch is playing us all.”

He agrees, “That she is. She wants you and every other fucking man, just because she can.”

I hum, looking at the other picture of my wife on my desk. She’s sitting in front of the fireplace with a small smile, her hair up in a messy knot, and she's wearing nothing but my shirt, reading a book.

It’s my favorite picture.

“My marriage won’t handle anymore of her sister’s shit,” I confess, not taking my eyes off the picture.

I don’t want to lose her, and I know I will if I keep to the contract.

Yeah, that was in the contract we signed. I didn’t speak to my father for months when he swore he read through the thing again before I signed it, knowing I was busy with fuckers thinking they could steal our shipment of drugs.

It turns out the fucker slept with my mother halfway through reading it, something about her showing up in his office wearing nothing but a sheet. I shoved my fingers in my ears, so I can’t be too sure.

“You won’t lose her, Romeo. She loves you,” Antonio says it with such conviction that I want to believe him, but in our line of work, I just don’t.

“That may be so, brother, but she’s also headstrong. She’ll find a way to leave if I continue this shit,” I mumble as I look at my laptop, my eyes taking in my wife’s form as she smiles at one of her students.

Do I have CCTV in her classroom? Yes, yes, I do, and I don’t give a fuck.

I need eyes on her at all fucking times, and not just with the five men I have stationed at the school along with her personal guard.

The woman fucking consumes me.

“Fuck,” I curse three hours later, quickly taking the lasagna out of the oven, slightly burning my hand in the process.

“What on earth are you doing?” a voice behind me asks, and I turn, smiling at Mamma.

“Hey Mamma, did you know my lovely wife cooks for me every single fucking day when we’re home, giving the chef the evenings off?” I ask her as I grab the salad I made from the fridge.

She smiles wide, her eyes sparkling, “I did, bambino . She contacted me right after you married for all the recipes of your favorite meals.”

I freeze, my eyes widening. Fuck me, how did I not know that?

I clear my throat. and rasp, “My wife really does love me….”

Mamma smiles, her blue eyes sparkling as she confirms, “Of course, she does. At first, I think she just wanted to be cordial, you know, but now she’s head over heels. You can see it in the way she looks at you.”

I nod, giving Mamma a small smile, and grab two plates, knowing El will be home in five minutes. Stepping forward, Mamma places the family necklace—that is passed down from woman to woman—on the counter, making me pause, the dark blue gems sparkling.

I look at her with softness, and she smiles. “I wanted my daughter-in-law to have this. Please ensure she always wears it, figlio . It has a tracker built inside it.” I nod again as she places a tub next to the necklace, and I grin as she states, “Also, her favorite fudge cake; it’ll go down like a treat. Your father mentioned she has been on contraception, and Leo sorted it. I want her happy, so you make some grandbabies.”

I wince. “Thank you, Mamma,” I rasp, and she nods before kissing my cheek.

She murmurs, “I’m proud of you for wanting to cook for your wife. Now get that garlic bread out before it burns.”

I curse quickly, turning and grabbing the potholders as Mamma’s giggles echo through the house, and I can’t help but smile.

My mother fucking loves my wife, and I’m right there with her. It’s why I’m cooking for her for the first fucking time.

I hope I’m not too late in showing her what she means to me. I want her to know she’s my world, which means I need to stop pushing her away in public. After four years, I think she’ll be alright. Renata loves my wife, so I know she won’t be made a target, she'll ensure it with the men she keeps hiring. El will only be at risk of being caught in the crossfire, especially while Liliya keeps causing shit.

If she carries on, I’ll just have to kill her myself.

Fucking simple.