Reign (The Italian Cartel Book 3)

by Shandi Boyes

  When Dimitri’s chin rests at the apex of my sex, I assume he’s about to once again devour the feast growing more pungent with every nip, lick, and bite he does, so you can imagine my utter despair when he stops a couple of inches away from what I believe is his projected target.

  There’s no bump in my belly—even if I were still pregnant, there wouldn’t be—but Dimitri cups it as if there is before he raises his eyes to me. My brain screams at me to tell him the truth, to expose that he didn’t just right Audrey and Fien’s injustices tonight, but I can’t. There’s too much life in his eyes for me to douse, too much happiness. I’m partly responsible for the misery they’ve held the past twenty-two months, so I refuse to steal the light from them for the second time.

  I will tell him what happened, just not tonight, not when he finally feels capable of gulping in an entire breath. Instead, I tell him the only thing that matters, and since it is straight-up honest, not even the crackling of my words can take away from its authenticity.

  “I love you, Dimitri Petretti. Your fierceness, your craziness, your protectiveness. I love it all… as will your children.”

  26

  Dimitri

  I shoot Rocco a warning look, wordlessly suggesting he keep his riling comment in his mouth or risk losing some teeth. I’m not sneaking out of Roxanne’s room at five in the morning because I’m ashamed we treated India’s guest bedroom as if it’s a brothel. I didn’t unyieldingly pound my cock into Roxanne’s mouth to lower her moans. I love how out of control she is in the bedroom. She forever puts everyone first, except when we’re messing the sheets. There, nothing but chasing the next thrill is on her mind.

  The same can be said for me, except I’m not seeking the quick, unenjoyable releases I sought before Roxanne stormed into my life. I want all the shit that comes before it. The flickers in her eyes, the scent of her sweat-slicked skin, her little declarations of love I had no clue I’d crave more than the drugs that regularly tracked through my veins as a teen. They thrill me even more than knowing Rimi finally got what was coming to him.

  He chirped like a bird, tattled like the rat he is, yet, he’s still dead. Killed by my hands under the watchful eye of Henry Gottle, the now rightful boss of all bosses. He came to the plate for me like no one else has in this industry. It earned him both my respect and my backing.

  Forever willing to test my patience, Rocco ignores my unvoiced threat. “Your sneaking around is making me feel dirty.” He shivers like someone just walked over his grave. “Do you mind if I borrow your shower again so I can wash off the funk? I promise to get undressed in the bathroom this time around.”

  I close Roxanne’s door harder than intended before sliding out a key from my pocket and slotting it into the lock. I asked Rocco to come here so Roxanne wouldn’t wake up alone in a foreign place, with her head still a little murky about what happened yesterday, not to make himself fucking comfortable.

  I’d stay myself if I didn’t want to offer Fien the same level of comfort. She didn’t cry when I held her for the first time last night, but her wish to stay in my arms ended the instant India attempted to leave the room.

  I’m keen to change that.

  I don’t want to be a hero, but I do want to be the man my daughter runs to when she’s in trouble.

  “Make sure Roxanne has something to eat when she wakes. She needs to recoup her energy.”

  I’m not bragging, Roxanne’s moans could be heard two states over, I’m just—all right, maybe I am bragging. I’ll fluff out my feathers and strut like a peacock if it gives Rocco the hint to fuck off. He played his hand. I won his chips. He isn’t ready for round two.

  “And stay out of her room.” I thrust the key for Roxanne’s room into Rocco’s palm with more force than what is needed, hopeful it will get my message across. “Smith may not be watching, but he’s always listening.”

  Like a perfectly-timed skit—or perhaps a sick fucking pervert—Smith’s voice booms out of both Rocco and my cell phones not even a second later. “Fuckin’ oath I am.” His voice has the same springy edge Rocco and mine has.

  Victory has a way of making the toughest men sound soft and the weakest men sound strong.

  Once our joint laughter has settled, Smith clears the humor from his voice before adding, “When you’ve finished settling Fien, Ollie has been buzzing you most of the morning. I told him you didn’t want to be disturbed, but he said it was important.”

  “Is it about Fien?” When a hum of rejection vibrates out of my cell, I ask, “Roxanne?”

  “No.” I can’t tell if Smith’s sigh is in frustration or humor. It may be a combination of both. “But she is the reason he didn’t get a chance to assess Roxanne yesterday.”

  It takes me replaying what he said through my head three times before my brain finally clicks on. I’m so fucking high on the good shit money can’t buy, I completely forgot my wife is holed up in a hospital bed downstairs, so unwell, she couldn’t have any visitors last night. Not even our daughter.

  “Tell Ollie I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  Acting ignorant to the regret in my tone, Smith replies, “On it,” before he disconnects our connection.

  “Don’t bother,” I say to Rocco when he attempts to tell me I have nothing to be regretful about.

  Guilt is eating me alive, but it has nothing to do with Roxanne. She put her life on the line for a child she had never met—my child. I’ll never feel guilty about relaying how much that meant to me, and don’t get me started on the fact she loves me, or I may never leave this room.

  “Just make sure she eats, okay? I’ll handle the rest.”

  With my mood uneased, it takes me a little longer to reach Fien’s room than my travels last night when I headed in the opposite direction. Once I was assured Fien was settled and safe, I practically sprinted for Roxanne’s room, my race only slowing when I discovered someone had locked her door.

  Rocco assured me it wasn’t him, but he was determined to find out who it was.

  It’s fortunate the keys in this residence open all the locks, or my wish to join Roxanne in the shower would have been thwarted by me kicking down her door.

  The guilt I was experiencing only minutes ago pummels back into me when the creak of Fien’s door is gobbled up by someone singing a lullaby. I don’t recognize the words since they’re foreign, but their flow is oddly similar to “Hush Little Baby.” It seems like the type of nursery rhyme you’d sing if a baby was upset.

  My intuition is proven right when my glance into Fien’s crib comes up empty. She isn’t curled into the corner of the wooden crib she’s a couple of months too big for, she’s resting on India’s chest, her breathing in sync to the gentle rocks India does in an antique rocking chair.

  It takes everything I have to hold back my naturally engrained vicious tongue when India shakes her head at my silent approach. She glares at me like I have no right to look over my flesh and blood before she presses her finger to her lips.

  Stupidly believing she’s in control around here, she gestures for someone in the room next to Fien’s to enter before she attempts to stand to her feet.

  I work my jaw side to side when she shunts away my endeavor to assist her to her feet with another brisk shake of her head. It’s clear she’s pissed. I guarantee she isn’t the only one. I basically skipped out of Roxanne’s room since my mood was so carefree and light. Now I won’t be able to take one fucking step without waking the entire continent.

  “Can I speak with you outside.” Anyone who doesn’t know India would assume she’s asking a question. I don’t face that issue—regretfully. She isn’t asking for a quiet word. She’s demanding.

  I should tell her to fuck off before reminding her who’s running the show around here, then I should put plans into play to change our hideout location to anywhere but here, but since India is Audrey’s best friend, and Audrey will need her support when I advise her I don’t believe couples need to stay together purely for their chi
ldren, I hold back the urge—barely.

  It’s a fucking hard feat. The strain is heard in my voice when I ask, “What is this about?”

  India splays her hands across her hips before arching a brow. “Seriously? You’re going to act clueless as to why I’ve spent the last four hours comforting your daughter.” I’m about to tell her to cut the theatrics before I do worse to her vocal cords, but she continues talking, stealing my gamble, “Your wife is in a hospital bed fighting for her life, your daughter just came out of a life-threatening ordeal, yet you spent the last four hours fucking your current side-dish whore of the month.”

  I try to keep a cool head. I tell myself time and time again that I don’t give a fuck what India thinks, but I lose my cool when the word ‘whore’ rings on repeat in my ears.

  Just like she did in the limousine all those months ago, India freezes like a statue when I pin her to the wall outside of Fien’s room by her throat. “Who I fuck is none of your business.” My words are as cold as ice, but as quiet as a wilted leaf blowing over a frozen pond. “It wasn’t anytime you tried to weasel your way into my bed after I married your best friend, and it wasn’t the many times you encouraged me to move on when you thought she was dead, so why the fuck do you care now?” I don’t wait for her to answer me. I just hit her where it hurts. “Because you know Roxanne is more than a side-dish whore, and you’re worried—”

  “Of course, I am. Audrey is my best friend.” She shouldn’t be able to talk through the brutal clutch I have on her throat, but as Rocco has said previously, bitches don’t stay down even when they should. “She deserves to be treated better than you’re treating her, and so does Fien.”

  I compress her throat a little tighter, ensuring I get across my point before snarling out, “This has nothing to do with Fien.”

  I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until her pulse is nearly nonexistent, and then I let her go.

  A smart woman would shut the fuck up before licking her wounds in private.

  India clearly isn’t smart.

  “She bludgeoned herself to secure your attention, but it still wasn’t enough for you, was it? What will it take for you to pay her an ounce of attention, Dimi? Her life? Fien’s?” My hands firm into tight balls during her last question. “She fought with the strength you said she’d never have, maintained it for almost two years, yet you still ignore her.”

  “You’re lying.” My short statement is an overall generalization of what she said.

  I agree, Audrey is stronger, but I don’t know what to think about the first half of her statement. Audrey is a meek, shy woman who’d prefer to die a painful death than face any type of angst head-on, so it seems odd for her to use brutality as a way of demanding attention. She didn’t want my attention for the first few weeks of our ‘courtship.’ I had to show her otherwise.

  India waits for our eyes to lock and hold before she shakes her head, assuring I see the truth in them. “That’s why Ollie has been trying to reach you all night. Audrey’s wounds were self-inflicted. She used the knife you dropped when you couldn’t take your eyes off Roxanne because she knew everything she had strived for the past twenty-two months wasn’t going to happen. You had moved on.” When the honesty in her tone stumps me of a reply, she uses my unusual quiet to her advantage. “Prove her wrong, Dimi. Chase her like you did when she was the one rejecting you.”

  “It isn’t that simple. Things have changed.”

  India pulls a ‘duh’ face. Considering the intensity of our situation, her response is ridiculous. “Yeah, they have. You have a daughter together. A family—”

  “And I’m going to have a child with another woman.” I almost say to a woman I love but realizing our raised voices have gained us an audience harnesses my reply. It’s barely dawn, but India’s home is brimming with people. Most are staff, but I don’t give a fuck. I hate having my personal business aired. Why do you think I’ve been so quiet about Fien’s birth? Most fathers shout their triumphs from the rooftop. I kept it under wraps because I knew it was the best way to keep her safe.

  I plan to do the same now that she is freed. I’m not hiding her because I believe I am incapable of protecting her. I’m doing it so she can grow up without needing to prove she isn’t as grubby as her surname. My father shrouded our family name with so much controversy, I can’t even say it without tasting dirt.

  My brows join together when India whispers, “She hasn’t told you.”

  “Told me what?” I hate falling for her tricks, but I’m tired and overwhelmed, so my change-up can be easily excused.

  After rising to her feet, India straightens out her nightwear before moving to stand in front of us. Her breath, which is awfully minty for the early hour, fans my lips when she says, “Roxanne isn’t pregnant. She never was.”

  Now I know she is lying. I saw the test myself. From Roxanne peeing in the cup to Dr. Bates dipping the test into her urine, I saw every step—just as I did Audrey’s.

  “Spurting lies will get you killed,” I spit out in warning. “It’ll do you best to remember that.”

  I anticipate for India to come out swinging—she’s worse than Theresa when it comes to retaliation, so you can imagine my shock when her eyes soften a mere second before she scoops my hand into hers. “The sedative Smith gave to numb the site of Roxanne’s tracker had traces of the HGC hormone.”

  She’s losing me with the technical talk. I’m a father, but I have no clue about anything related to pregnancy and hormones.

  “An increase in the HCG hormone in both blood and urine usually indicates a pregnancy, but in Roxanne’s case, that isn’t what happened.” She steps back, folds her arms in front of her chest, then adds, “If you don’t believe me, ask Smith. Or better yet, the real mother of your child.”

  Smith’s lack of interruption reveals he’s listening in on our conversation, because the only time he goes quiet is when he’s being proven wrong.

  With my mood souring, my words get snappy. “Did the sedative you gave Roxanne have HCG in it?”

  It takes Smith a couple of seconds to reply, “Yes, but the amount was small.”

  “Enough to make a pregnancy test positive?” When nothing but silence resonates out of my phone for the next several seconds, my last nerve is obliviated. “Smith…”

  He huffs, hating that I’m listening to a single thing India has to say. He doesn’t dislike her as much as Rocco, but he isn’t friendly with her either. “I doubt it.”

  “Doubt it or know. Those are two entirely different things.”

  He punishes his keyboard long enough to notch my annoyance from a five to an eight before he replies, “Her sedative could have possibly resulted in a false positive.”

  Disappointment is the last thing I expected to feel, but it is all I’m feeling. I liked the idea of Roxanne being knocked up with my baby, not to mention having the chance to experience all the things I missed with Fien. Her first word, the horrendous teething India harped on about yesterday, her first steps. There are so many things I can’t get back but had planned to replicate with my child with Roxanne.

  I guess I’ll just have to get her knocked up again.

  I can’t pretend I’m disappointed by the prospect.

  “Where are you going?” India asks, shocked.

  Smith’s frustration is a thing of the past when he snickers about my reply, “To fix an injustice.”

  Since my steps are thumping, India has to shout to ensure I hear her scorn, “You are seriously delusional! Your mistress fakes a pregnancy, then lies about it, but instead of killing her as you would have any other woman, you encourage her lies.”

  She should be glad I walked away because if I was within touching distance of her, I would finish what I started only moments ago. “Roxanne didn’t lie about anything. She thought she was pregnant. She still does.” My last three words don’t come out as irritable as my first couple.

  I’m a prick, have always been a prick, and will forever be a prick, but I�
��m not looking forward to breaking Roxanne’s heart when I tell her she isn’t pregnant with my kid just yet. I’ll make it right. It may just take a couple of attempts.

  Once again, I’m not disappointed at the prospect.

  India throws her hands into the air, her nostrils flaring as she gets lost in her anger. “She doesn’t think she’s pregnant. She knows she isn’t. Audrey said she had her period the first night at the ranch.”

  When I jackknife back, certain she’s lying, the smugness on her face is almost her undoing. I’ve wanted an excuse to kill her for years, and her self-righteous expression may very well be her undoing.

  Clueless as to how close to death she is, India steps closer to me. “Let me guess, she didn’t tell you that either, did she?”

  It’s weaselly for me to shake my head, but I’m too stunned to think up another response. Roxanne acted odd when I cupped her stomach last night, but I figured she was still in shock she was about to become a mother.

  Now I’m not so sure.

  “If you’re lying…” I don’t finalize my threat. I take a deep breath and exhale before letting my glare take care of it on my behalf.

  “I’m not lying, Dimi,” India assures, as cool as a cucumber. “And I have the means to prove it if you can’t trust the word of your mistress.”

  Ignoring Rocco’s warning glance behind India’s shoulder, I lift my chin, accepting her offer. I’ve only just stopped being fucked in the ass by my enemies. I’m nowhere near ready for round two, so if what India is saying is true, someone is about to die. I just have no clue who it will be. Should I kill the people responsible for unearthing the truth so my reputation remains intact, or the person lying to me? Thirty seconds ago, I would have swayed toward the former. Now I have no fucking clue which way is up.