Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance

by Watson, Meg

  “And, he's gay!” I chirp. “Completely, totally gay.”

  Millie's mouth drops open in a slow Ohhh as she puts it together. She looks him over again, pausing at the perfect eyebrows and perfect teeth. I suppress a squeal of absolute glee as Alek freezes in place, trying to maintain that obnoxious smile. When Millie finally nods and turns away toward the kitchen, he shoots me a death dagger look that just makes me want to giggle.

  “There’s room in your fridge?” Millie says over her shoulder as she hobbles toward the kitchen, ready to rearrange my cabinets. “Nancy and Bonnie are on the way over, you know. Should be here any minute.”

  “Wait, what?” Alek says.

  “Yeah, of course. What did you think? It's a newlywed thing, Alek, you wouldn't understand,” I say meaningfully, enjoying it as he rolls his eyes in frustration.

  I glance at Roman as I follow Millie into the kitchen, expecting something like humor on his face. But there isn't any. He's just as stony as before, just as inscrutable as he watches us leave the room.

  CHAPTER 14

  ROMAN

  Middle of the night, and I can't sleep again. This house is strange. It's nice, really nice. There's a lot of room and everything works really well. It's one million times better than that hole in the wall in Atlanta. But it's almost too nice. I feel like I'm staying at my grandparents’ house or something, like I keep expecting the sofa to be covered in plastic.

  It doesn't help that Marie seems to be constantly following me around, sweeping the floor right under my heels and fluffing up pillows the moment I stand up from the sofa. It's weird. Like, what does she think I’m gonna do, leave a stain? The more she's doing it, the more it gets on my nerves.

  She seems to be everywhere. I don't know if she's checking up on me or what. I guess it's possible that her people are so suspicious of my people that she doesn’t feel like it's safe to leave me alone in the house or something. Or maybe she just doesn't have anything to do. Am I supposed to be giving her something to do?

  Fuck. I knew this was a stupid idea.

  I stand staring into the refrigerator in the dark until I finally realize I don’t want anything in there. I close the doors and stand back when I see Alek, peering at me from next to the counter.

  “The fuck are you doing?”

  “Roman, Roman,” he sighs. “The question is, what are you doing?”

  I just shake my head. “I'm going back to bed.”

  “Nah, come on. Have a shot with me.”

  “I don’t want a shot.”

  “Sure you do. Have a shot with me, Roman. Just one.”

  I stop and lean on the big thing in the middle of the kitchen, the island or whatever they call it. Alek is just gonna bug the crap out of me until I do this shot so I might as well. He waits for a second and then opens the freezer, pulling out a bottle of Stoli and swiping a couple of coffee cups off of the counter.

  “Isn’t this nice?” he says as he pours a couple shots. “Just like old times, right?”

  “Yeah, fuck you.”

  “What? Fuck me? What did I do?"

  “Nevermind, Alek. Just forget it. I’m going back to bed.”

  “No, wait,” he says, sighing. He bangs his cup against mine and then slams the shot, dropping the cup back on the counter and filling it immediately. “Go on, drink up.”

  Fine. Whatever. I knock back the shot, taking it down like nothing. As soon as I set the cup down, Alek pours three fingers in there. I have to admit, I like it when it is super cold, almost like syrup.

  “Okay, why are you mad?”

  “I'm tired.”

  Alek punches me in the shoulder, a subtle reminder that his protocol is to ask me questions I don't want to answer until it feels like it's a good idea to start wrestling or something. I am so not in the mood for this.

  “Roman. Why are you mad?”

  If I start talking now, there is some chance he will let me go to bed before dawn. If I try to leave the kitchen, there is 100% chance that he'll decide this is a good moment for some MMA fighting in the living room.

  Much as I would like to knock his teeth in right now, we live in a neighborhood. The kind of a neighborhood where people would call the police. The kind of a neighborhood where the Italians are definitely looking for reasons to call the police on me, as a matter of fact.

  Which I guess is all part of my problem.

  “We should have stayed in Atlanta,” I say simply. He should leave it at that. I want him to leave it at that.

  He raises his shoulders and lets them drop helplessly. “Probably,” he admits. “But Stosh called you here. What else were you gonna do?”

  “Well, then you should have stayed in Atlanta. You didn’t have to come.”

  “Of course I had to come. The fuck are you talking about?”

  “Me? Nothing. I'm not talking about nothing.”

  We stand there in the dark for a few minutes, just blinking. Just breathing. Was that enough? I pick up the mug and slam the rest of the drink, almost choking on it. It’s a little too much, but now I want to be out here. Unfortunately, the moment I put the cup down, Alek is filling it right back up again.

  Shit.

  I knew he was not going to stay in Atlanta. We've never been apart for more than a few days. Not since we were born. Tried once, and it was like stretching an elastic band until, snap, we came back together. With a bang, you might say. The sort of bang that left me all fucked-up looking, but him still looking like Prince Fucking Charming.

  Go figure.

  “Well… Everything in Chicago doesn't suck,” he starts again softly. “Think about it. I mean, so far, everything seems to be working out really —”

  “— fucked up,” I finish for him.

  “It doesn't have to be fucked up. You could just try, you know. Plenty of guys have wives and stuff like that. You don't have to be all lone wolf about everything.”

  “I didn't want a wife, Alek. I didn't want one. You remember that?” I hear my voice getting louder. I don’t want to talk about this, I really don't. Maybe it's the vodka or something. I should just go back to bed now.

  “I know you said you didn't want one, Roman. But here we are, man. She's not so bad really. I sort of like her.”

  “Yeah, no shit. You sort of like her. You take her then.”

  Alek shakes his head. I know he wouldn't do that. That would be just weird. It's just not how we were made, I guess. We’re like two pieces of a puzzle, two halves of the same loaf of bread. We don't work if we’re not together, and I guess I know that. But a third person… Someone so weak, so fragile. This is just going to end in blood, and I know it. I think he knows it too, he just doesn't want to say it.

  “Roman, she’s something else. If you would just let yourself, you know, enjoy it…”

  “Enjoy what? Putting your life at risk? You know every day that we're together people are watching us, right?”

  “No. Every day that you guys are together the Italians calm down a little bit. That's the whole reason this was set up.”

  “Idiot!” I bark into the darkness. “That's a lie, don't you know that! This isn’t a peace offering… This is a set up. This is a fucking trap, Alek, can't you see that?”

  Alek rocks back. I suddenly realize he really doesn't know that. For all his brains, this one slipped right past him.

  “Wait, no… What are you talking about? Roman, are you serious?”

  “Okay, I'm not 100% certain,” I admit. “But just think about it for a second. When you asked me if I brought anything back from Atlanta, I know I said no but, what if I did? What happened to Dimi? Does it seem just a little bit strange that there was nobody else around who could make this work? Nobody?”

  Alek just hums for a second. That’s the sound that he makes when he is adding up a row of numbers.

  “Something's fucked up here,” I continue. “Maybe it's her.”

  “What? You can't really think that.”

  I shrug. “Why not? You
said yourself there seems to be more to her than meets the eye, right?"

  “That’s not what I meant, though. I meant like, she’s stronger than you think. She has a little something, I don't know. A spark or something. I didn't mean to imply that she had a plot in her mind.”

  “Well if she's got some spark in her, why not that?”

  Alek slaps his palms on the top of the counter. He guzzles his shot and then puts that down too. “Roman, did it occur to you that maybe you could, you know, lighten up? Why don’t you just calm the fuck down?”

  “I think you know why,” I say to him.

  He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Just try, Roman. Please, for me. Just try to like her.”

  “Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you.”

  “Honestly, I would. It would be really nice to not spend the rest of my days feeling like I ruined your life, Roman. It would be nice if maybe you could try just being, you know, half-ass happy or something for a minute.”

  “And then what? You know she thinks we’re monsters.”

  “Yeah, so what? We are monsters. So is every other guy she ever met. It's just monsters all the way down, Roman. You know that.”

  I don’t want to talk anymore. Pushing past him, I rinse out my cup in the sink and leave it at the bottom like Marie instructed me to do after the seventh time I just left one on the counter. Then I head back out of the kitchen without another word. I'm tired. One million years of tired.

  Coming to Chicago, I fully expected a new life. But it's always the same old shit. Everywhere you go, there you are.

  CHAPTER 15

  MARIE

  “Well?” Gianna says, the moment that I walk into the cigar club.

  I look around like I'm expecting a clue as to what she's talking about. “Well what?”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Well what?” she repeats. “Well how is it? How was it? How's the, you know, married life?”

  “Oh. That.”

  Coaching myself not to be too grumpy about the whole thing because Gianna still probably has some spark of optimism left in her naive little heart, I go back to the counter and stow my handbag underneath. Gianna is practically panting with excitement.

  “Is he nice? Is he weird? Does he talk in his sleep in Russian? Come on, spill the beans!”

  Shrugging, I look for a spray bottle of cleaner and a towel. I need something to do with my hands. “It's just, you know… I don't know.”

  “No, I don't know!" she huffs. “I don't know at all, because you're not actually saying anything, Marie!”

  “There's nothing to say. I mean… They're there all the time. The house is starting to smell like a barnyard. They eat so much… Oh my God, Gianna you would not believe it. We went through like two months worth of lasagna in about a week.”

  “Seriously?” she says, as though this was the kind of detail she was waiting for. “What do they eat?”

  “Pretty much everything.”

  “They like Italian food?”

  “Well, apparently. That’s what they’re getting anyway.”

  “Interesting…”

  I'm not sure how that could possibly be interesting to her, but if it's floating her boat right now then I guess that's fine. She takes the tin of lighter fluid and starts refilling all of our fancy antique lighters that go in every private room. Some of these have been in use since the club first opened. The one she's got in her hands is the one I like the most; it's milk glass and looks like a blob of cloud.

  “And?” she finally asks, quirking her eyebrow at me. Currently it's in a dramatically arched shape with a geometric wedge near her nose, narrowing to a fine line that sweeps out over her eye. Truly amazing eyebrows. They’re like works of art.

  “Well what?” I say irritably, pretending not to know what she's talking about.

  “The sex!” she finally blurts out. “Sex! You're having sex now, right? How is it? Is it wonderful? Is it awesome? Does it change your life and shake your world and everything?”

  “Gianna…”

  “Are you doing it all the time? Are you sore? Are you limping? Are you pregnant already?”

  “Gianna!”

  “I mean, that wouldn't be the weirdest thing in the world, right? My cousin Annalisa got pregnant on her honeymoon. Well, that's what she told everybody? But I kinda think that probably she was pregnant before the wedding, even though she would never admit it. We'll see. Supposedly the baby is due in November and if anything pops out at the end of August weighing ten pounds, I guess we'll know for sure, huh? Ha ha!”

  She is super excited. Her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are flushed. I think Gianna is probably still a virgin. We sort of do that, or at least we’re supposed to. One of our charming family traditions. But she is utterly sex obsessed. If her dad doesn't marry her off, she’ll probably toss herself at the first penis that says hello.

  “Seriously, spill it, Marie! I’m dying here!!”

  I shake my head and press my lips together. I’m about to kill her dreams. “Listen, Gianna, there's nothing to tell. We haven't, um...”

  “Haven't what?”

  I finish wiping the counter and then spray it again and start wiping the exact same spot.

  “We haven't… You know.”

  She just shakes her head for a second, then her eyes open wide.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean you haven't… Oh my God, Marie. But you've been married for like two weeks already!”

  I shrug. Honestly, I'm a little surprised too.

  “Why not?” she says, actually sounding a little angry.

  “Well, I barely know the guy!” I say convincingly. I mean, as far she knows anyway. “It's just… I don't know. It will happen. I'm sure.”

  She lowers her voice to a confidential whisper. “Is it because he's ugly?”

  “Gianna…”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” she scowls. “You know, I didn’t want to be rude or anything. But you must have noticed. I mean, what was it like when you first saw him? Were you, like, mortified or whatever?”

  “No, I was not mortified.”

  “Because I don't even know what I would do if my dad set me up with somebody like that. I mean, he's terrifying to look at. I can see why you're waiting.”

  Weirdly, this really gets on my nerves. He's not ugly. He's just… Well, I still do not know what he is. Or maybe he is ugly, but I don't seem to like Gianna saying it very much.

  “And with his brother right there, you know, like for comparison or whatever…”

  I shake my head. I really do not want to talk about this anymore. I feel bad too, because Gianna and I promised to tell each other everything. We have spent many a night sitting around talking about our first chances at being slutty. It was supposed to be awesome. I was supposed to go from Virgin to Whore under those sacred bonds of matrimony in the blink of an eye. Somehow I screwed this all up. What the hell was I thinking?

  “So, like, what is the story with Alek?”

  I shake my head. Story? Who knows.

  “He’s sort of a jerk.” I say, feeling more than a little bit naughty about talking about him behind his back. Not like he doesn't deserve it. He totally does.

  “And he’s living with you too?” she says innocently, spraying glass cleaner on the large door that leads to the cigar room.

  “Yeah,” I shrug, trying to keep it light, “just one big happy family I guess.”

  “So... you can set us up?”

  It takes a full twenty seconds for what she just said to sink into my head, and when it does, I don't even know what to say. My mouth falls open.

  “Well, I mean it's just that… Like, how perfect would that be? If we were with brothers? You know?”

  I shake my head numbly.

  “Like you could have me over for dinner or something?? I could just get to know him a little bit?”

  “Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea,” I say hoa
rsely. Something is tightening up in my shoulders, like a screw being turned. I'm not sure why, but I sort of want to pinch her, hard.

  “Why not? I mean I know it's not some noble sacrifice for the good of the whole family or something like that…” she says, and though I'm not even looking at her I can feel her rolling her eyes.

  “It's not like that, Gianna.”

  She spins toward me, letting her hands slap helplessly against her thighs. “What's it like then?”

  I search for something to say that doesn't sound completely insane and come up with absolutely nothing.

  “Come on, Gianna, you know.”

  “No, I really don't know!” she spits in frustration. “It's not like you can keep them both to yourself, you know!”

  My breath does this thing where it sort of turns into a solid and I feel like I'm choking for just a second. I know that she doesn't know, but still I automatically feel defensive.

  And I think she can see it too. Her eyes go stony as though there's a certain distance I put between us. She may not understand it yet, but I know she can feel it too.

  The front door swings open with a whoosh of air that makes us both flinch. Startled, I turn to the door and see Roman or maybe Alek, I can't tell which. The light is behind him and it takes a second to realize whose face I'm looking at even though my heart started pounding anyway. But my heart doesn't seem to care which one it was at all.

  “Get your purse. Come on,” he says. With that kind of poetry, I assume it must be Roman.

  “No,” I say automatically.

  Roman crosses his arms over his chest and just stands there. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Gianna staring at us both with her eyebrows raised.

  “Get your purse,” he says again in a low voice.

  “Say please.”

  “No.”

  “Marie, you should probably just go,” Gianna says in a warning voice. Deliberately disobeying my husband? Holy cow she probably thinks I’ve lost my mind. Well, at least she's not trying to come along to get a minute alone with Alek or anything like that.

  I just blink at him. I'm not moving a muscle.

  He stands there for at least a couple of minutes and then takes two short steps in one direction and two short steps in the other direction. He looks back over his shoulder with a scowl and then turns to me, letting his hands fall in front of him and folding them politely, if a little bit sarcastically.