Call me old-fashioned though, but I didn’t want anything else. I wanted my pretty wife, and although she hated me now—sooner or later, she’d come around.
On the third day, I woke her up early. I didn’t barge into her room, although I wanted to. I knocked a few times until I heard her stumbling around in there. “Just a second, shit, what time is it? Stop knocking,” she said, her voice muffled by the door. I leaned up against the wall opposite until she opened the door by a crack and stared out at me.
“Morning,” I said.
“It’s barely after six. What do you want?”
“I bought you a present last night.”
“I’m not interested.” She moved to shut the door but I caught it before it could close. She looked a little surprised as I held it open.
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
“Let go.” Her eyes hardened.
“Come downstairs and see what I got you.”
“No, thanks.”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
She kept staring. “Let go of the door.”
I released it and she slammed it in my face.
I sighed and walked back downstairs. I heard her moving around in her room then listened as the shower water began to run. I drank my coffee and read the paper and after about an hour, she came down the steps wearing a pair of black sweats and a gray t-shirt. I let my eyes roam along her body as I pushed my chair back and stood.
“I’m not interested,” she said before I could open my mouth.
“Come on. It’s a present. Everyone loves presents.”
“I have a feeling your presents come with lots of strings attached.”
I laughed. “Normally, that’s true. But not this time.”
She walked into the kitchen and poured herself some coffee. She studied me while I went past her into the living room, and opened the closet.
A mound of boxes tumbled out. I laughed as I tried to straighten them up. She walked toward me, chewing her lip, and nodded.
“What is all that?”
“Presents.” I gave up trying to corral the stuff and stepped back. “What do you think?”
“Is that for real?”
I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. “You’ll be happy to know that I didn’t pick it out myself. I had someone else do it.”
She walked over and gingerly touched a Dolce and Gabbana box. I had no clue what was inside since I vastly overpaid some skinny white lady to do all my shopping for me, but I figured she was worth it.
“Why?” The word sounded more surprised than anything else.
“I noticed you didn’t have a lot when we moved your stuff over.”
Another flash of anger, but she wrestled it back. “Not all of us rob people for a living.”
I snorted. “Your father does.”
“Just because my father’s a wealthy gangster doesn’t mean I have a dime of that money.”
“I guess that’s true.” I tilted my head to the side. “I just figured—”
“Don’t figure.” She turned back to the boxes. “My relationship with my father isn’t exactly great.”
“Why not?”
She paused as she lifted off the lid of the D&G box. She lifted out a light sweater, modest and gray, that shimmered slightly in the light. Based on the way it draped over her hands, I’d guess cashmere, and really good cashmere at that. She sucked in a breath and held it up, pressing it against her chest, letting the fabric drape over her breasts and body—and I had the sudden urge to see her wearing nothing but that damn sweater.
“He’s an asshole,” she said, as if that explained much.
“Go on.”
She hesitated, put the sweater back, opened another box from Steven Madden. Gorgeous, supple brown leather ankle boots were inside, and she seemed delighted as she took them out and held them up to the light.
“My father wasn’t an easy man to live with, especially after my mother died. After she was gone, it was like he had permission to go through woman after woman, and he always brought them home like they were going to be my new mom, but they never lasted more than a few weeks. I got used to it, then I got bitter about it, and eventually we started fighting.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked. Most mafia families aren’t full of gentlemen.”
She gave me a look. “What’s that say about you?”
I grinned back at her. “I’m not in a mafia family.”
“What do you call—” She gestured at me. “Whatever it is?”
“The Volkov Crew. We’re a loose conglomerate of affiliated gangs.”
She put the boots back and stared at me. “That sounds like something you just made up.”
I sat down in a chair and crossed my legs, my coffee mug perched on my ankle. “Hedeon brought us all together. Some of us had our own groups before he got his claws into us, and those groups melded into the greater whole. Those that didn’t have a crew already were given some guys. We worked independently of each other and still do to some extent—but Hedeon’s the head of it all. Without him, we’d break apart.”