Obsessed with His Bride

I closed my eyes and let out my breath.

Aida stayed in her room all yesterday and all that night. I had Gino watch over her, and he said she never once came out. He brought her a meal, which disappeared inside, but he didn’t hear a peep.

But I checked on her. A little after midnight, when I got back from the job, I opened the door and saw her body sprawled out on the bed. The shaft of light from the hallway illuminated her long, lean, pale legs, her perky ass, her tight tank top with one strap down her shoulder, her mass of thick black hair splayed out on the pillow. I shut the door quietly and let her sleep.

I opened my eyes again and came out from behind the counter. I began to take down the chairs and stools from where they’d been put up the day before. I grabbed a spray bottle and a rag then wiped down the tables, their scarred wooden tops covered in a thick layer of lacquer, and made sure they were pristine. I arranged the front display of fake plastic cupcakes, made sure they weren’t falling over or dusty, and wiped down the pastry case next to the counter. I went to refill the milk and creamer just as Sergio came out from the back with a big tray of sourdough bread.

He spotted me and grinned. “You know you don’t have to do that,” he said as I opened the top of the silver container and began to dump in the milk I took from the refrigerator underneath the espresso machine.

“I don’t mind,” I said. “Keeps me busy.”

He snorted. Sergio was in his fifties, heavy in the middle, big bags under his eyes from working nights his whole life. His hands were rough and scarred, and his hair was a shock of black and gray, shoved back in a lazy wave. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he was missing a tooth on the bottom. Despite that, Sergio was sharp, one of the smartest men I knew. There was a reason he was a former Capo for the Leone family and was allowed to retire in peace. Not many mobsters got to walk away from the life, but Sergio did.

At least so long as he let me use his bakery for whatever nefarious purposes I came up with. Usually money laundering, but sometimes I borrowed the refrigerator.

“Pretty sure you’re plenty busy.” He took the tray to the baskets stacked up on the counter behind the pastry display case and began to put the loaves inside. The white bread was already stacked high, and I could smell the pumpernickel baking next.

“You know how it is. Life as a Capo.” I screwed the top on the milk container, put the jug back in the refrigerator, then began on the creamer.

“You got soldiers for a reason, you know,” Sergio said. He put the tray under his arm and looked at me, his other fist on his hip. “You work too goddamn hard. Micromanage too much.”

“Shit, Serg,” I said. “I didn’t realize I was getting a lecture this morning.”

Sergio laughed. “Guess I’m still annoyed about a couple nights ago.”

“Ah, come on,” I said. “I told you, that was important.”

“I know.” He frowned. “Did Vlas get the message?”

I shrugged. “Hoped you heard something.”

He shook his head and looked worried. He adjusted the string on his apron and looked at the floor. “Haven’t heard a peep, which makes me nervous. You know the Russians, they love to talk shit. But when they stop talking, then there’s a problem.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Vlas got the message. He doesn’t want war as much as I don’t. Just not profitable.”

Sergio grunted. “I don’t know. There are other rumors going around, rumors about Maksim himself.”

I raised an eyebrow as I finished with the creamer. I put the container back in the refrigerator, screwed on the lid, and carried the milk and the creamer pitchers back to their spot next to the wooden stirrers and to-go sleeves. “There are always rumors about the Russian boss.”

“Rumors about bad health this time. Could be Vlas is looking to gain some power before the succession.”

I shrugged and tried not to let that worry me. “He’s still not dumb enough to come at me, even with good pretext.”

“Yeah, true, true. I can’t deny that.” Sergio laughed. “When I was a Capo, you know how many soldiers I had?”

“Twelve,” I said.

“Twelve!” he repeated. “And you got how many?”

“Thirty,” I said.

“Thirty!” he repeated. “How the fuck did you get thirty guys to pledge their undying loyalty to you? Thirty fuckin’ made men. All sworn omerta.” He shook his head.

“Vlas has thirty-five,” I said, absently adjusting the to-go sleeves before I turned to him. “Look, I’m sorry I dropped a body on you. I really am. If I have another option next time, I’ll take it.”