Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Saverio

T here’s no sign of Mary and nothing about her whereabouts from my informants on the street. Either she’s hiding, or she’s dead. With the lifestyle she’s been leading up to now, I put my money on the latter. However, I continue the search. I won’t sleep easily until I see her body with my own eyes.

While the search for Mary and the preparations for war continue, Rachele gets word to Anya that Elena left. Raphael’s wife packed a suitcase and sneaked out of the house, and no one knows where she’s gone. Raphael is having the airports, bus depots, and trains stations searched as we speak.

Gossip like that spreads fast in our circles, and the talk is that Raphael has lost his shit. As he should.

His pregnant wife is missing.

She humiliated and defied him, dealing him the ultimate blow by not honoring her vow and by disrespecting a marriage contract and her father’s wishes. It’s only a matter of time before he blows up. He’ll tear down the country to find her, but Elena is cleverer than he gives her credit for. She’s been born and raised in our world. Before her father became ill, he was the master of helping men disappear so well not a soul ever found them. She knows how to stay invisible. And Raphael is the poor fool who didn’t see it coming. It’s a pity he didn’t take better care of his wife. Everyone knows what a cruel bastard he is, and although no one will say it to his face, they’re all relieved for her sake that she got away. That’s to say everyone except for the Morelli family who are left with egg on their ugly faces.

We struck right when Raphael discovered his wife was missing. We ambushed a money collection operation and pushed them into a corner, depleting their ammunition while saving ours. The cocky bastards didn’t even see us coming. We’re hitting Raphael’s collection teams relentlessly. They stocked up on weapons since the first attacks and changed their pick-up points, but I have eyes and ears everywhere in the city. We hit time and again, using the very tactic he employed when he sneaked up on my guards and killed every single man outside the church on the day of my wedding.

In the meantime, Obsidian lost its liquor license due to numerous bar fights and disruptions of peace, which Roy told me was the doing of my industrious wife. The loss crippled Raphael. A big portion of his profits came from Obsidian. Those profits as well as the venue were used to move the drugs through his territory. The disgruntled cartels are pulling out one after the other, leaving Raphael Morelli in the lurch. He’s the laughingstock of New York City. Not being able to serve alcohol not only means the club isn’t making money but also that his suppliers are taking losses, which means they have to turn to other clients.

With Raphael weakened financially as well as in manpower and weapons, not to mention the knock his image took with his wife on the run, we’re fast gaining ground, and he knows it. He can’t retaliate, because I sent him a copy of that video Elena made. If he touches any one of us, that video goes viral. It’ll cause even more havoc in his world, something he can’t afford. The humiliation of not only losing his wife but losing her to his enemy no less will certainly ruin him. He’ll lose the respect of the men who back him. His father will disown him for disgracing their family. Michele Morelli has never tolerated being made to look like a fool.

If that doesn’t destroy Raphael, Elena’s testimony that he was behind the attack on our wedding day definitely will. The cops will be on him before he can blink. They’re just waiting for something they can use to make an example of one of us.

I can bring Raphael down with that video and let justice run its course, but that’s not how our vengeance works. We take care of our own judgment. I want to see the look in Raphael’s eyes when he blows out his last breath. I want my face to be the last thing he sees.

As I knew he would, Raphael kept the video a secret. If not, his family wouldn’t be helping him. The Morellis are gathering their forces, harnessing the remaining cartels to fight on their side with promises of deals and big money while I’m biding my time and getting ready for the final battle that will take them all out.

We’ve done the almost impossible, turning the tables on Morelli, and none of this would’ve been possible without Anya. She’s so much more than the woman I always wanted. She’s my partner in every way. Like I told her, she’s my beautiful, generous, frighteningly clever, and revered queen. My men love her. Dante loves her. My suppliers love her. Hell, every single man with a dick in New York City loves her. Benson fucking Bennett, the most hardened criminal in the state, loves her. He sent her flowers, and he only sends flowers for funerals, mostly to the families of the victims he killed.

For now, I push my jealousy away. We’re too close to our objective. Until I’ve put Raphael six feet under, this war requires all my focus. I’m going to put the Morellis out of business before Anya’s party. We’ll celebrate more than her birthday. We’ll celebrate our victory.

These days, I’m eating dinner with Anya and Livy in the dining room while Claire practices rolling over on her play mat next to us. On Saturday, Anya is making garlic bread when I walk into the kitchen to get the cutlery for setting the table. Livy tosses lettuce in vinaigrette at the island counter. The garden table on the covered side of the terrace that’s visible through the window is set with plates, glasses, and eating utensils. Yellow flowers in a vase stand in the middle. With the lanterns and fairy lights lit, it makes a pretty scene.

I grab a radish from the salad bowl and pop it in my mouth. “What’s going on? Are we eating outside?”

“You bet,” Livy says, slapping my hand when I reach for a cherry tomato.

My gaze is drawn to my wife’s ass in her tight jeans. I focus on that irresistible sight even as I nick an olive from the salad before Livy can strike again. “Isn’t it a bit early in the season for outside dining?”

Anya smiles over her shoulder at me. “We switched on the mushroom heater.”

I glance to where the patio heater glows red in the fast-descending night. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Life,” Livy says.

She snatches the bowl away before I can steal a piece of feta cheese and carries it through the back door. She made an effort with her clothes and make-up. A flowing maxi dress reaches her ankles. She paired it with golden cowboy boots and big hoop earrings. The gray strands that escape her updo frame her pixie face. Her coral-red lipstick matches the color of the flowers on her dress.

My knee is stiff tonight. I pushed myself extra hard with the exercises this evening because I’m determined to walk without this damn cane at Anya’s party. For now, however, I don’t have a choice but to lean on it as I limp my way over to my gorgeous, alluring wife.

Burying my head in her neck, I inhale her summery fragrance. “You smell delicious.”

“Mm, so do you.” She tilts her neck to give me better access. “Did you enjoy your shower?”

“I needed it after that workout.”

She turns and braces her hands on the counter behind her. “You’re overdoing it. I’m worried you’ll injure yourself.”

Unable to resist, I cup her hip and glide my hand to her tight ass. “Don’t worry about me.”

She looks cute in a white cropped top with daisy earrings. Her red hair cascades in wavy curls down her back. I wrap those glossy strands around my fist and arrange them over her shoulder. She looks so goddamn beautiful and innocent standing there in that small white top and sexy jeans with those tiny white daisies in her ears. I put my other hand on her waist where a silken strip of skin is bared above the waistband of her jeans.

She cranes her neck to meet my gaze. “If it’s your job to know what I need, it’s my job to worry about you.”

“Wrong.” I want to kiss her. I need her. My voice is hoarse with the lust that instantly fires through my veins. “It’s my job to worry, or did you forget?”

She grabs hold of my shoulders and leans backward, escaping that kiss when I aim for her lips.

“You can’t carry the whole world on your shoulders, Saverio De Luca. Sometimes, you have to let someone else take care of you for a change.”

I nuzzle her nose. “You’re good to me. If I failed to tell you that I appreciate you, don’t let there ever be any doubt about it.”

Livy reenters, smiling as she waves a finger at us. “No hanky-panky in the kitchen. Our guests are about to arrive.”

“Guests?” I ask, holding Anya’s gaze, letting her read the intention in mine.

Because I still want her.

Because I’ll always need her.

A cute flush turns Anya’s cheeks a pretty shade of peach even as she shrugs nonchalantly and makes innocent eyes. “Surprise.”

My lips quirk. I may be permanently aroused around her, but Anya isn’t unaffected. Her breasts heave with her quickened breathing, and a vein throbs in her pale, slender neck.

“Is that right?” I drawl, taking great pleasure in my effect on her. “Who did you invite?”

The sound of the doorbell interrupts our game. Sadly.

“Can you get that?” Anya asks, flustered. “I quickly want to check on Claire. She’s sleeping longer than usual.”

I hover another moment, caging her in, making her understand that if she goes, it’s only because I allow it.

A sweet brrr comes through the monitor on the counter, almost as if Claire is trying to blow bubbles.

That warm, fuzzy feeling I always get when I’m with Claire heats my chest.

Livy laughs. “She’s awake, all right. She’s probably talking to her mobile again. Do you want me to fetch her?”

“That’s okay,” Anya says quickly, her golden eyes trapped in my stare. “I’ll go.”

I press closer still, letting her feel the bulge in my jeans—what she does to me. I enjoy how her body fits against mine for a second longer just because I can and because Claire isn’t crying yet. Anya swallows, her delicate throat moving with the action. I’m tempted to use her hair like a rope and reel her in before dragging her to the nearest room—my study—and bending her over my desk. Then I’ll lay her out on the desktop and fuck her until she’s hoarse from screaming my name.

The things I fantasize about must be written as clearly on my face as it’s evident in my jeans, because Anya flattens her palms on my chest and gently but firmly pushes me away.

I step back reluctantly, not keen on giving her space. She uses the opportunity to dart around me. If I let her get away, it’s only because we have an audience and guests waiting at the door. That’s all right. I’ll get her alone later tonight. And then there’ll be no running from me.

While Anya escapes upstairs, I walk with painful steps to the door. The guards could’ve just as easily opened for our surprise guests, but we try to keep up a semblance of normality.

Nicole and Logan’s faces stare at me from the alarm panel screen. They’re carrying covered dishes and a bottle of wine.

Heaving a sigh, I open the door. The guards stand at attention, staring straight ahead with their hands folded in front of them. Neither Nicole nor her husband comment or react to their presence. They understand why it’s necessary, and despite that, they’re still here, which commands my respect. After all, showing up on my doorstep means risking your life. You never know if you’re going to get bombed or shot at. Although, with the war waging against the Morellis, I’ve stepped up security around the house. The men may not be visible, but there’s a small army out there to protect us, and they’re on high alert. We have enough alarms in place around the perimeter of the property to warn us if a spider dares it over the wall.

“Sav,” Nicole says in greeting, hugging me with a dish and a bottle in her hands.

Logan extends a hand. “Thanks for the invitation, man.”

I shake his hand. “Thanks for accepting.”

Anya and I will have a word about this later. Scheming little minx. I know why she didn’t tell me she invited my acquaintances. She didn’t want to give me a chance to object. I’m not a social person, but I know how tough it was for her to lose Tersia’s friendship because of who I am. Nicole doesn’t have any qualms about what I do for a living, and Anya can do with a friend.

In all fairness, Nicole is more than an acquaintance. Over the years, we became friends. We’re not close friends, but Nicole gets me like few people do. Plus, she doesn’t put up with my bullshit. I met her via Rachele at a formal do a few years ago. We’ve been running into each other at galas since. Rachele was a patient until we got married. After that, she changed ob-gyns. Nicole and I never exchanged numbers or chatted outside of public gatherings, but we liked one another. Whenever we attended the same fundraiser or social event, we searched each other out for a drink at the bar to kill time with banter and people watching. It made those obligatory parties less boring. It’s only since Anya became a patient that I called Nicole more regularly, mostly with questions about Anya’s wellbeing during her pregnancy.

I invite them to the back where Livy is mixing gin and tonics. Nicole puts her dishes on the table—potato and carrot salads—while Logan adds the wine to the makeshift bar set up on the side table. Livy adds a sprig of rosemary and a slice of lemon to each G&T before handing them around.

Anya returns with Claire in her arms. Our baby girl is dressed in a warm fleece jacket over her pajamas.

“Let me,” I say, taking Claire from Anya to free her hands so that she can greet our guests.

“There you are,” Dante says, making his way down the step onto the terrace where the small group is gathered. “I saw myself in.” Meaning a guard opened the door for him. “I hope you don’t mind.” Inviting himself, he takes the drink Livy hands him. “This looks nice. Are you guys having a party?”

“We’re just going to throw a few steaks on the grill,” Anya says. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Yes,” Livy pipes up. “There’s plenty of food.”

“Great,” I grumble. “Another surprise guest.”

“Hey.” He makes a wounded face. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“What feelings?” I scoff. “You don’t have any.”

Anya gives me a stern look. “Be nice. Don’t spoil our first barbecue as a married couple.”

Our first barbecue. Fuck yes. It has a nice, normal ring to it. I have no intention of spoiling that.

Once the introductions are over, Nicole steals Claire from me. “How’s my gorgeous goddaughter doing?”

While they’re fussing over Claire, Dante pulls me aside. Glancing at where the others are gathered around our baby, he says in a lowered voice, “I have news.”

I tense. “What happened?”

Nothing can go wrong now. We have Raphael as good as cornered. He’s taken shelter in his house where his defenses are the strongest, but he’s been sufficiently weakened to no longer be a match for us. We’re ready for the final attack. My orders are clear. Morelli is mine. No one touches him. I want him alive so that I can look into his eyes before I pull the trigger.

Dante clenches his jaw. “Raphael went into hiding.”

“What?” I bite out.

Dante sneers. “He fled like a dog with his tail between his legs.”

“Motherfucker,” I say under my breath. “Do we have any idea where the rat might’ve gone?”

“No. He was clever about it. He walked out dressed as one of his guards. Our guy who’s keeping an eye on his house takes photos of everyone who comes and goes. I recognized Raphael’s face when our man emailed me the latest photos to get a headcount of how many guards are left on his grounds.”

Fuck. “I guess we’ll just have to smoke him out.”

“I’m working on it. I’ll involve Anya. She’s good at making clever plans.”

“Not tonight,” I say, stealing a glance at where she’s pouring wine for Nicole and saying something that makes everyone laugh. “This dinner is a big deal for her. She’s finally making new friends.”

Laughing, Dante shakes his head. “You really are clueless.”

The fact that he thinks I’m in the dark about something makes my hackles rise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Anya isn’t doing this because she needs friends.” He points a finger at me. “She’s doing this for you.”

To draw me out of my shell. To force me to look the world in the eyes with my new face. She did that effectively enough when she carried five million into After Dark—in cash. That move was so dangerous it still gives me nightmares. The fear of losing her will make me face my demons any day.

But back to the point, Dante is right. When she first mentioned the idea of a barbecue with the Wades, her agenda was to reintegrate me into life. As always, my selfless girl isn’t acting in her own interest but in mine.

“I hope you know how lucky you are,” Dante says, scrutinizing me. “She’s not like anyone I’ve met. She deserves more than your husbandly duty of respect and protection. Anya is the kind of woman who wants to be loved. Don’t be an asshole to her about that.”

My voice holds a warning. “I told you before. Keep out of it.”

“You don’t have to punish her for what your ex-wife did to you. She’s not Rachele.”

“I fucking know that,” I say through clenched teeth.

Anya proved it so well too when she rejected Bennet’s proposal in her humble way without rubbing another man’s desire in my face. She could’ve flaunted the power a dangerous man’s interest gave her and sent a message that said I could easily lose her to someone who’d treat her better, that she had her pick of men in New York City, but she didn’t. Rachele would’ve definitely used that attention as a tool to manipulate me. If she were in Anya’s shoes, she would’ve employed my jealousy to coax things out of me I didn’t want to say, things like I love you .

“Your wife is valuable,” Dante continues. “You better treat her like she’s fucking precious. Do you want to know why?” He gets into my space, the mask of charming carelessness he perfected dropping from his face to reveal the cold, dangerous, and scary motherfucker he is underneath. “In case the fact didn’t penetrate your thick skull, she’s the most powerful person in our organization.”

His words hit me like punches, knocking the air from my lungs. I can only stare at him, not wanting to admit what that means because the truth is too terrifying.

“She knows our suppliers and our clients,” he says. “She knows our informants in and outside the force. She knows our strengths and our weaknesses. She knows how many weapons we have and where we keep them. She knows every man’s most personal details down to his secret offshore bank accounts and the name of every enemy’s throat he slit. She knows how and where we launder the money. She knows fucking everything because she pays the bribes and the bills. You know what my old man used to say? He said the person who manages the money runs the business. Well, she runs your business. And do you know what her greatest power is in the eyes of our enemies?” He deals the final blow with flourish. “She’s your biggest weakness.”

I go stone cold. I want to deny it. But everything he said, every frightening word, I already know. Isn’t that why I work so hard to keep a barrier between us?

Biting off every word, I make sure there’s no misunderstanding about what I’m saying. “I do not fucking love her.”

“Yeah.” Dante bobs his head, a smirk curving his lips. “That’s what you keep on saying, but that’s not how you behave. You can tell the world you don’t love her as much as you like, but people have eyes in their heads. No one believes that. The only person who does is Anya.” He adds before turning away, “I hope you realize that.”

I catch up with him before he’s made it two steps, stopping his progress with a hand on his arm.

He looks at where I’m gripping his bicep, but I’m too livid to care that I’m crossing a line.

With my fingers digging into his muscles, I snarl in his face. “Anya is nobody’s business but mine.”

His laugh is wry. “Wrong again. She’s yours in one way, but she’s ours in another. She’s the backbone of this organization, and that means she belongs to everyone. She’s not simply an accountant managing the money or a boss lady making decisions when it matters. She’s the keeper of our secrets. That’s why every man in this business will protect her with his life.”

Grabbing the lapel of his jacket, I give him a shake. “What the fuck are you saying?”

He watches me with a cool, emotionless gaze. “I’m saying that we better do a damn good job of protecting her. I’m saying that if, God forbid, our enemies ever manage to snatch her from under our noses, the biggest mercy you can show her will be to drop a bomb on the lot of them because I don’t have to explain to you what they’ll do to her to get the information they want.”

I shake him harder. “Never, do you hear me? I’ll never kill my own wife.”

Undeterred, he continues in the same, flat tone. “What I’m saying is that men like us don’t die peacefully in our sleep. We all go down with bullets in our chest. You dragged her into this life. There will very likely come a day that Anya will be taken from you, from all of us, so you’d be wise to make every day you’re lucky enough to have with her count. More than that, you should make it count for her too.”

Fisting his lapel, I drag him closer. “I’ll never let anything happen to her. I’ll kill every man who considers himself her enemy.”

“Is everything all right?” Anya asks next to me, her voice uncertain.

I let Dante go but hold his gaze with fury blazing in mine as I grind out, “Yes.”

Dante smooths down his jacket. “Everything is great. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring work stuff to the table. We just needed to iron out some minor hiccups.”

“Like what?” she asks, looking between us.

I open my mouth to tell her it’s nothing, but Dante beats me to it.

“Raphael slipped through our fingers.”

Her whisky-colored eyes flare. “What now?”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I say, “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. Can I have one of those G&T’s?”

A frown plays over her brow. “Of course. Come join the others.”

Dante shoots me a look as he makes his way toward the small group on the other side of the table. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re having fun— real fun—while I’m standing on the outside, fear tearing me apart from the inside out. And I find that I’ve never wanted in on the illusion of peace so badly in my life.