Page 36 of Beautiful Broken Obsession

“You’re downright Machiavellian.” I sigh.

“Thank you.” He smiles.

“It’s not a compliment.” I glare at him.

“I see it differently.” His smile deepens.

I roll my eyes at him. “Being mafia you would. How is your man doing?”

The smile disappears. “He did not make it.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, wanting to find something else to say but coming up with nothing.

Resignation is clear on his beautiful face. “This is the life. We have to accept the dangers. His family will be compensated. He has been avenged. I lost two men, they have lost four.”

“I thought the MC came to an agreement years ago with the Outfit. They have freedom to operate outside of the city limits, nothing within the city.” I remember Carlo talking about it with pride. It didn’t matter it was Tony Sabatini and Gianni Moretti, who was the Don at the time, that created the agreement with the MC.

“Since the Don and the head of the MC who came to the agreement are dead, they wanted to renegotiate. The Outfit is refusing—which I agree with.”

He shakes his head. “I do not like all this killing. I have done what I can for years to keep a low profile. It took a long time to repair our reputation from the way my father and grandfather ran things. However, these things cannot go unanswered—it emboldens them.”

I nod. “If you don’t, they’ll think you’re weak. If they think you’re weak they’ll hit harder. You should hit them again—keep the pressure on them.”

Tilting his head, he studies me. “It’s the order I gave my brother only a few hours ago. You know far too much about death and destruction,kotyonok.”

“Blame Carlo.” I shrug.

Chapter12

Celia

The next fewdays follow the same pattern of me waking up very late, us eating lunch together, then I take a nap. I’m up for a little while and we watch a movie together, then dinner, then I fall asleep soon after. I learn he is patient, cares deeply for his brothers, mother and even his employees.

Milos doesn’t want to talk about his business. I press him and he gives in, in exchange for me eating all my vegetables, no argument for the week. He’s the source of cocaine to the Outfit and Irish mafia—selling only to other heads of mafia in Chicago. Purchasing it from the Rodriguez cartel in Columbia. He stopped street-level dealing when he took over, as risk outweighed reward.

I’m surprised to learn he brings in arms—everything from guns, bullets, and surface-to-air missiles into the US through the grocery shipments from Russia. While most of the guns and bullets stayed in the US what didn’t as well as the missiles traveled further south to the Rodriguez cartel. When he discusses the brothel that doesn’t sound anything like what the word used to mean, I can see he remembers the trafficking his family used to deal in.

As Milos spoke, I learned something else entirely. I didn’t want him to hide who he is. None of it mattered to me because even though I swore I wanted no part of mafia life, I had tried over the last year to live outside of it, and felt as uncomfortable as being forced to wear too tight clothes. This was the first time since I left for school I wasn’t trying to be something I wasn’t. And as much as I want it to be because of Milos, it isn’t him—it’s me.

It isn’t just Milos I’m attracted to, it’s the power and the darkness of mafia that I trust in to keep me safe.

On ThursdayI wake from my afternoon nap to find the doctor talking with Milos on the balcony. He’s lost the black silk jacket and black tie he wore earlier today and is in a black button-down shirt and black pants. The moment my eyes land on him, Milos turns to find me staring at him. His smile is gentle, he says something to the doctor, then they are both at the side of the bed.

Out comes the flashlight and more questions. Finally, he nods and turns off the flashlight. “Excellent. Keep this up. Even when you go back to school take things slowly. Try to take naps on your own or your body will shut down on you, or give you headaches to force you to slow down if you do not.”

I give in. “I will.”

With a nod to Milos he’s gone.

As he leaves he closes the door behind him. The instant the door closes the air becomes charged with something I can’t define. Turning to Milos, I see he hasn’t moved. He’s still leaning against the side of the desk. Those yellow eyes shimmering with something I can’t define, something that thrills me even as it scares me. His arms are crossed over his broad chest.

“Now that the doctor has stated you are on track for recovery, the time has come for your punishment.” His Russian accent appears, curling around the words with smoky intent.

In seconds he’s undone the cuff link for his right wrist, slipping it into his pocket, then begins rolling up the sleeve before doing the same for his left one. I’m trying not to stare at the tattoos running over his forearms. How had they been hiding just below the surface without any hint they were there?

I shake my head—words won’t come. Anticipation is twisting in my stomach then spreading low,thereat the apex of my thighs. This can’t be. No, not at the idea of himpunishingme.

An exhale of air that might be a laugh, but there is no humor on his beautiful face or in his eyes. “Yes. I did not speak of it before now, as I wanted your focus on healing. Punishment is necessary. You were almost raped and left for dead in the back roads of nowhere. If he was smart he would have killed you. On your stomach, lift your dress.”

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