Chapter 81 Her Light
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
My lids cracked open, my field of vision no larger than a horizontal slit.
Adrian sat in a hospital chair, angled to look out of the window in just the right way to avoid flying objects. Objects such as bullets.
I felt a solid weight crushing my left arm, and without turning I knew it was the dark-haired woman. My wife.
She was devoted, I’d give her that. I wondered how we’d met and why she’d agreed to be tied to a troubled man such as myself.
I needed answers. Now.
Hidden in the shadows, Adrian’s eyes glinted, adding to his dangerous aura.
If I hadn’t known he was on my side, I would have dreaded waking up to his sulking form seated across from me.
When he leaned forward, hands clasped somberly, he looked almost forty. Worn. Grave.
“What year is it?” I croaked, low, so the woman on my arm would not stir.
“2025,” Adrian replied, his voice equally low. “What is your birthday?” he returned.
I licked my lips, not remembering when I signed up for a bastard test. I was meant to be asking the questions. “October. October 20th.”
“How old are you?”
“I know my own bloody age, coglione.” I hissed with more force.
I glanced down at the dark mop of hair beside me as Adrian chuckled. A pert nose stuck out of it. Steady breaths and a soft snore told me she was deep in sleep.
A sudden warmth spread out from where she touched me. I had a wife.
“She’s a wild card,” Adrian said.
“How?”
In the dim light, his lips thinned. The air grew colder the longer he delayed.
“Darko secured you a marriage contract to acquire the Grand Marlow Hotel from George Marlow. Darko had George dancing in his palm after he blackmailed him using some secret he had. After the deal, George’s consigliere popped them both to get the heir and the assets. We popped Marcus Devries.”
I digested the information. Darko had always been ambitious and loved taking more than building.
The series of events themselves weren’t surprising. So my bride was a casualty of mafia chess.
Adrian stared, unmoving.
Our gazes remained locked, both of us knowing what I really wanted to ask. Waiting to see how I would approach the heavy tension in the air.
“And before that?”
This time, he did not hesitate. “You were in prison for eight years. Got out at twenty-five, married your lady at twenty-six.”
“I told you, I know my fucking age,” I growled.
Hands raised in a protective posture, he leaned back in his chair, assuming his former position.
My heart stuttered even before I formed the next question. The main question.
“Before that?”
“Paulo died, in your arms. You were the last person he saw,” he responded gravelly.
Silence reigned.
I mulled over his intentional choice of words. It was a challenge. Meant to jog my memory and fill the gaps. But I got nothing.
Nothing except that Paulo was dead.
The tremor in my hands turned feverish. It was a wonder how my wife still slept, undisturbed.
I shut my eyes.
The pitch black matched the abyss in my brain, a dying flame in the middle struggling to illuminate years’ worth of memory and information to reach conclusions of my own.
The head on my arm moved. The mouth dragged sideways, something sleek running onto my skin.
She just drooled on me.
Surprisingly, I felt no disgust. Just a burning desire to tease her about it once she woke. She seemed the type to argue against being a snorer and drooler.
I paused.
She had just distracted me from the abyss in my head. I was grateful for it.
I turned back to Adrian. He had been watching me watch her. His sneer, barely noticeable but under the skin, sparked my curiosity.
“What’s her deal?”
“You had a sort of soft spot for her. But you’re always at odds. Your plans of convincing her to sell the hotel to us using seduction and the syndicate angle both failed.” He looked smug. “She says you agreed to a divorce?” he added, his tone serious.
So she didn’t fall for my seductive powers. Not surprising. I barely had any interest in seducing women or wanting to marry.
I must have really given her leeway for her to demand a divorce. Women in the mafia were often docile and fulfilled their roles without complaint.
That was by the way.
“Who did this?” Something clicked. “Was it the Sanchezes?”
Adrian leaned forward again, the glint returning.
“The Sanchezes?”
“Guerrero Sanchez. Darko killed him for skimming. P-Paulo was therrree…” I was slurring. The pressure in my head swelled, pushing against my skull from the inside. “…he couldn’t… the sigil.”
Adrian was up before I could blink. He took my right hand, his grip firm. “Let it go. Just breathe.”
I didn’t want to lose the thread of memory. Desperate to follow it into the darkest parts of the abyss, I held on stubbornly.
I fisted the bed cover in concentration, but the thread slipped.
I gulped a breath, resurfacing like I was drowning underwater.
Adrian squeezed my hand as I wheezed.
My wife stirred again.
Smearing more of that drool on my skin. It was cool when it met the air, calming me faster than should be possible.
She mumbled nonsensical things, settling into sleep once more as I calmed down.
“Did I sign divorce papers?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Find out. If I did, destroy it. And get me more information on the accident. A comprehensive report on everything that happened in the last ten years and everything I should know to be able to keep up the appearance that I don’t have half a brain.”
“I’ll tell you this right off the bat.” His tone dropped conspiratorially. “We’re in passive war with Giancarlo Conti. We need the Grand Marlow to paralyze the syndicate. And your wife dated his son, Orlov Conti, in university.”
My jaw clenched at the last sentence. A wild protective streak seized my chest.
Rosalind Marlow was contracted to me. Married to me. She reeled me up and out of the abyss with a single touch, and I was supposed to not react to the news that someone else had her and still lived?
“And they’re both still alive because?”
“The syndicate. The bigger fish,” Adrian said slowly, as if to ground me in the mission I’d apparently been dedicated to before the accident.
I licked my lips. The honor killing would have to wait then.
“I’m leaving this place tomorrow. I can’t think with all the smells.”
“Of course.”
I looked down at Rosalind Marlow. The unprecedented light in my darkness.
Pillowy lips parted, her lashes stuck against rosy cheeks.
I needed her.
For her own sake I hoped she wasn’t a double agent. And that her relationship with Orlov Conti had just been a blip in time.
Because now, she belonged to me.