Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3)

by Melanie Munton

  I slouched forward, elbows on knees, and took another pull before I began. “I don’t know what to do with her, man. What the hell am I supposed to do with a wife?”

  He snorted. “Well, there’s the obvious, of course.”

  My scowl returned. “That’s not gonna happen. Even if I wanted it to, she’s more likely to shoot it off than sit on it.”

  He took a puff, blew it out. “I take it she’s not too enamored of you?”

  “What woman would be enamored of the man she was forced to marry? The whole situation was fucked from the word ‘go.’ She has to hate me on principle alone.”

  He nodded slowly. “At least you’re acknowledging her side of things. That’s a step in the right direction.”

  “Meaning?”

  He sighed. “You just admitted the situation is fucked. For both of you. She’s no doubt confused, pissed off, maybe a little scared. It wouldn’t kill you to empathize with her circumstances. At least you came back to your home. Around family, people you know, places you’re used to. She left everything she knew behind. Everything here is new to her, and she has to live with a man she barely knows. That would make anyone uneasy.”

  I stabbed my fingers through my hair, ripping strands out of the rubber band. “But she’s so infuriating. Christ, the mouth on her.”

  A mouth I’d like to get inside of and take for a ride. A mouth that would surely bring as much pleasure as it does petulance.

  “She called me a fucking pretty boy.”

  Cris howled with laughter, as expected.

  That was only the beginning. My other brothers were bound to shadow box the hell out of me with jabs the next time I saw them. Which would probably be at Sunday lunch at Mom and Dad’s place.

  Fucking karma.

  I was usually the jokester in the family. The one who ribbed on everyone else.

  “She’s already my favorite sister-in-law,” Cris said after catching his breath.

  “Gia’s bound to like her,” I muttered. “They have the same hard-headed personalities.”

  His smile faded as the atmosphere turned more serious. “All kidding aside, how is she really?”

  I knew what he was asking. Will she fit in with our family, even temporarily? What has being the daughter of a Russian mafia boss done to her? Was she an all-out bitch?

  I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. “She’s tough.” I’d known that from the second I met her. “She might have grown up in luxury, but it hasn’t softened her. Not completely. When her father’s house was getting shot up, she barely batted an eyelash. Only showed concern for Sergei, not herself.”

  Cris puffed again, eyebrows shooting up. “She’s good in intense situations, then.”

  “Seems to be.” Which would serve her well if things between us and the five families didn’t improve soon. “She’s smart, too. She tries to play it off, but she’s got a keen eye and a sharp mind. I get the feeling she’s got a lot of street smarts, which doesn’t make sense if she’s been filthy rich her whole life.”

  “Maybe Sergei gave her lessons over the years. What’s Ace pulled up on her?”

  “Hasn’t gotten back to me yet. Said he’s had to work some overtime for a new client, but he’s supposed to have everything by Sunday.”

  “Pending that,” Cris said in a wry tone, “she doesn’t sound all that bad, bro. Pretty sure you could do worse.”

  I winced.

  I’d told Lexi the same thing just minutes after our marriage had become official.

  “I never said she was bad,” I argued. “But she’s an irritant. Having any woman in my house would be. I’ve got too much shit on my plate to worry about entertaining a wife on top of it. The opening of the distillery is coming up, your bachelor party and wedding, and fuck knows the Esposito trial is going to be one of the biggest shit storms New York has ever seen. I don’t have time for a wife.”

  He tapped out bits of ash onto the ground. “Well, it sounds to me like she’s not too eager to spend time with you anyway. She’s a grown woman, Nico. I think she’ll manage to find ways to occupy herself, especially if she’s a tough woman with street smarts.”

  I shot him a look of bewilderment. “What are you saying? That I should just go on with business as usual?”

  “For the most part. But if I can offer a piece of advice?”

  I threw my hands up. “No, I just came here to discuss our periods and get my hair braided.”

  He gave me the finger. “Have your wife handle that, pretty boy. My advice is to drop the cocky bachelor act with her.”

  My head reared back. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I never said I—”

  “Dude, please,” he interrupted. “I know you better than anyone. I know your game, and I know why you play it. You travel constantly, never in one place for very long. I know you don’t want to form ties with anyone, but you still have to get laid. It’s an approach that’s worked for you all these years.”

  I stared down at my almost empty glass, feeling a heaviness in my chest that had been growing for some time. “Your point?”

  “Don’t play that game with this woman.”

  My eyes darted to his.

  “She’s still going to be there the next day and the day after that,” he went on. “You can’t drop your usual lines on her and then bail, never having to face the consequences. She doesn’t sound like the type who would fall for that routine anyway.”

  “I have no plans to fuck her,” I bit out. “I don’t need any more complications.”

  He nodded. “Good. Because you’re right, that would complicate the situation. But I wasn’t just talking about sex. Neither of you have a choice here. She’s staying, and you have to accept that. Which means you have to switch tactics.”

  I swallowed, unsure if I wanted to hear this. “How?”

  “You have to make room for her in your life. Fake marriage or not, it’s not just you anymore. There’s someone else you actually have to consider here, have to think about. Your duty is to take care of her, and that goes beyond putting a roof over her head.”

  He held up his hand when I opened my mouth to say something. “You don’t have to tell me that you understand your duty. I know that you know that. I know you’ll protect her and fulfill your responsibility to Sergei. All I’m saying is if you want a more harmonious homelife, it’s going to start with you, not her.”

  Cris talking duty and responsibility with me made me feel like the biggest shithead brother in existence. In fact, it was a constant source of my guilt and shame. Being the second-born, he’d taken on a lot of the family responsibilities over the years in my stead. Tasks that should have gone to the eldest son, but I’d done what I do best and hauled ass in the complete opposite direction. I’d gone into an industry and built a business that required me to be on the road and out of the country eighty percent of the time.

  Dad had relied on me in the beginning and I’d balked.

  I’d let him down.

  I’d caved under pressure. Another skill set of mine.

  I’d felt that impending weight heading for my shoulders. Knew there was going to come a day when everyone in my family turned to me, relied on me. And I wasn’t my father. I wasn’t Enzo Rossetti. I didn’t have all the right answers. I didn’t have a steady moral compass.

  Bottom line, Cris stepped up when I didn’t.

  When I should have.

  And the worst goddamn part of it all—the part I couldn’t fucking stomach to this day—was the knowledge that I’d lost a good deal of my father’s respect when I’d walked away.

  Christ, I couldn’t even manage being a good son and brother, so there was no way in hell I’d make a good husband to Lexi. Even a fake one. And forget about being a father someday. That wasn’t even in the ballpark for me. Hell, I’d ruin the kid beyond repair.

  “I gotta ask you something,” Cris said in a somber tone, drawing me out of my inner turmoil.

  “What?”

  He watched me,
unblinking. “Do we need to be prepared for something from the Russians? You said you can’t say for sure that attack at Sergei’s compound didn’t have something to do with Lexi or with the deal you made with Sergei. So, I need to know if bringing his daughter back with you is going to cause shrapnel damage to this family.”

  My insides hardened. “I’m not putting this family in anymore danger than it’s already in. And no more than you put it in whenever you gunned down Stefano Esposito.”

  Cris shot forward, his eyes going black with fury. “Who fucking kidnapped my woman! Who had her strung up off the ground by goddamn chains! Fucking right I shot the son of a bitch. And I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant saving Jasmine’s life. Just like Ace wouldn’t change anything he did when Dominic Gabbiano held a gun to Roxy’s head.”

  I sighed, rubbing the elusive knot on the back of my neck. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like—”

  I cut myself off to drain the rest of my glass. Sometimes I really didn’t know when to shut my fucking mouth.

  “If there’s any blowback from this, I’ll take it,” I said vehemently. “I’m still trying to get information on the situation, but there was already unrest in Sergei’s syndicate. The Voiny are trying to overthrow him and take the boss seat. I don’t think the masked gunmen were there for me or Lexi, but I’m not taking any chances. Especially if they were trying to get to her to hold her for ransom.”

  “Or use her as a bargaining chip to get Sergei to agree to their demands,” Cris interjected.

  I gave a curt nod. “A lot of things still don’t add up with that theory, though.”

  Like why they would have waited until the day I showed up to make their move.

  Unless…the wedding ceremony had expedited their plan.

  Everything had happened so quickly, it may have taken the enemy by surprise. Hell, the meeting with Sergei himself had come out of nowhere. I’d been trying to court him for months about buying some of his shares, but he hadn’t been very responsive. Up until last week, when he’d called me out of nowhere, wanting to negotiate a deal. I’d been so surprised and eager, I hadn’t considered the reasons behind his abrupt turnaround.

  And if the Voiny were behind the attack, they would have known the day of the wedding was their last opportunity to get to Lexi before I took her away.

  “Maybe Ace will have found something by Sunday,” Cris said as he stabbed out his cigar.

  Christ, I hoped so. I needed answers.

  But more than that, I needed to figure out how to deal with my new wife.

  And how to deal with the reality that I wanted to fuck her raw on every single surface in my goddamn house.

  The first night in my new prison—er, house—was pleasantly uneventful.

  I made myself a sandwich for dinner and ate it while snuggled up on the living room couch, where I stared out the windows at the New York skyline. Then I went for a swim in the pool, followed by a dip in the jacuzzi. And let me tell you, that jacuzzi was choice. After I was relaxed to the point of almost falling asleep and drowning myself, I shuffled off to bed and promptly went into a coma. I hadn’t realized how jet-lagged I was.

  Not a bad way to spend the evening, I had to admit.

  When I woke up the next morning, I was beyond shocked to see it was almost eleven. I rarely ever slept past eight, thanks to my annoying internal alarm clock. Assuming Nico had left for work hours ago, I didn’t bother righting my appearance before going downstairs. I simply dragged myself out of bed and slipped on my favorite thick winter socks that I wore year-round. Not only were my feet perpetually cold, warm temperatures in Russia never lasted very long. Nor in England, for that matter. I was used to dressing for cooler temperatures throughout the entire year.

  Glancing out the windows to see another sunny September day, I concluded that fall in Brooklyn might not be too bad. Much warmer than in Moscow. I might actually get to experience autumn, rather than just barreling straight through the season into winter.

  I trudged downstairs toward the kitchen, my hankering for a caffeine fix driving me. If Nico didn’t have any tea in his cupboards, I was signing those annulments papers today. That’s all I had to say.

  I crossed the threshold to the kitchen, rubbing my groggy eyes, and stopped on a dime.

  “Good morning.”

  Bloody. Hell.

  Nico stood mere feet away, shirtless.

  And he was magnificent.

  All dusky skin and rippled muscles.

  I felt the ridiculous impulse to rub my eyes, like they did in cartoons, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Because this exact scenario held eerie similarities to an erotic dream I had the night before—about him.

  He grinned knowingly as he tipped his head back to drink from an aluminum water bottle. His defined torso was slick with sweat, his black training shorts riding low on his V-framed hipbones. His abs were rigid and compact, a clearly outlined six-pack proudly displayed. The sparse chest hair between his pecs and below his navel was dark, adding to his brawny appeal. There was a black tattoo on his left pec that looked like some kind of family crest. He also had a line of text tattooed on his right side, stretching from hip to rib, though I couldn’t read what it said.

  In short, my husband was a stud.

  Even his man bun looked like perfection. The hair at the nape of his neck and around his temples was matted with sweat, yet it only added to the appeal. I was starting to think he only grew his hair out and threw it up like that out of pure laziness.

  And my hair looked like a wild animal had made a nest in it.

  Just before it ripped its way out and attacked me.

  Awesome.

  “See anything you want to eat?”

  My eyes were wide awake now. They flew up to his like a speeding bullet. “Pardon?”

  Clearly stifling his laughter, he nodded down at the stove. “It’s cold now, but it can all be warmed up.”

  I took in the skillets and pans littering the stovetop. Were those eggs? And sausage? And…danishes? “You made breakfast?”

  Red tinged his cheeks as he glanced away. “Yeah, well, I was hungry. Didn’t eat much for dinner last night. Figured I might as well make extra. If I had known you were that late of a sleeper, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  I attempted to smooth my hair behind my ears, even though I knew it was a lost cause. “I’m usually not. I haven’t dealt with jet lag that bad in a long time.” I waved at him. “You obviously recover much quicker than I do.”

  His expression turned pensive as his gaze moved back to me. “I’ve gotten used to it. After this many years, it hardly affects me anymore.”

  When his eyes flicked down to my chest, I felt stripped bare. Until that moment, I had forgotten just how revealing my silk jammies were. I wasn’t wearing a bra, which was painfully obvious when my nipples puckered beneath the camisole as he stared intently at them. My matching silk shorts were so tiny that my arse cheeks hung out the bottom.

  When I attempted to discreetly pull them down, Nico’s jaw hardened, looking displeased with the action. In fact, his jaw muscle didn’t stop ticking until I removed my hand, leaving the shorts right where they were.

  Then I swear, he responded with the smallest, barely discernable nod.

  As if saying good girl.

  “Are you not going to work today?” I blushed when my voice came out far too husky.

  Finally, he removed his gaze from my body, his hand clenching around his water bottle. “I had my morning schedule cleared in case there were any delays with our trip. Thought I’d get a quick workout in before I have to go to my afternoon meetings.”

  Oh, don’t picture that.

  Do not picture his muscles bulging as he pushed weights over his head. Or his abdominals tightening as he did sit-ups. Or his arse clenching as he went into a squat. Don’t do it or—

  Yep, there went my nipples again.

  And there went his eyes again, zoning in on them, burning off my cloth
es with those twin amber fires.

  “You have a gym here?” I croaked, unwittingly cluing him in to my arousal.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah. It’s downstairs to the right. Feel free to use it whenever.”

  “Thanks. I already made use of the pool last night.”

  His pupils dilated. “You went swimming after I left?”

  He’d told me I could, hadn’t he?

  I nodded. “I’d take swimming over a treadmill or weights any day.”

  “Good to know,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

  Wait, why is that good?

  He shook his head, clearing his throat. “So, uh, breakfast is there if you want it. Be forewarned, it’s all American fare.”

  Warmth spread through my chest. He was actually being considerate. Nice. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  He shrugged. “The eggs were about to expire anyway. Don’t expect breakfast every morning.”

  Why did he always have to counter a kind gesture or compliment with a snide comment like that?

  I rolled my eyes, that warmth already cooling. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m no longer in my spoiled, privileged world, am I? Looks like I might actually have to fend for myself.” I sighed sarcastically. “However will I survive?”

  “Good question, legs. Ought to be fun to watch you figure it out.”

  He turned to leave the room, then changed directions to grab something from one of the cupboards. He placed the box in front of me, but wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “It’s all I have. I’ll get more when I go to the store.”

  I didn’t look inside the box until after he left the room.

  It was filled with tea packets.

  I hadn’t done much exploring the night before due to my excitement to try out the pool. So, after eating breakfast/lunch and going for another swim, followed by a shower, I spent the rest of the afternoon traipsing through the house.

  Not Nico’s bedroom, though.

  I didn’t need to see where he rested his head every night. Where he slept mostly unclothed, possibly even naked. And where he took showers where he was most definitely naked.