HIS RUTHLESS MAFIA OBSESSION

CHAPTER SEVEN

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both. — Niccolò Machiavelli ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

|Genevieve |

The office door slams shut, and a familiar scent fills the room.

"I've been calling you for days, Gen..."

Ingrid walks toward me, but I don't look up.

She's been gone for five days. Although I know she'd still been doing her job to protect me in the shadows.

Yet, I miss her. I'm furious at her, but we needed space, especially since the last time she was over wasn't a pleasant memory.

Sighing, I raise my head to meet her gaze.

"I lost my phone."

"What? Are you okay?"

I watch her face go from fear to hurt to self-disappointment.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

Ingrid nods, looking away.

"I'm glad."

A beat of silence passes until she speaks again, quietly.

"It's not just one account anymore."

"I know, " I reply.

"I told you this would happen," she continues, her voice clipped. "Andrey's freezing everything. Cayman. Switzerland. Now, Ruslow."

The last word strikes a nerve in my chest, but I don't show it. Instead, I turn away from Ingrid, folding my arms. "How many have we lost?"

"Four, maybe five."

I nod. That should terrify me, but it doesn't. What gets under my skin is how fast the bastard moved.

"You didn't even tell me any of your plan." Ingrid spins me around gently, but I avert my eyes.

"I'm your best friend. You want to pretend that I'm just your shadow? Fine. But don't make me stand while you light everything on fire."

My head snaps to meet her beautiful green eyes. A flicker of heat and hurt is layered under fury. Now, she's mad.

"You left!"

"Yeah. You didn't stop me."

I stare at her, shaking my head. "Then, why are you here?"

"Because I knew this would happen." She crosses her arms. "Because you'll need someone watching your back when you stop pretending you don't care that your empire is bleeding out."

I say nothing.

Ingrid sighs, arms still crossed. "You've got that look again."

"What look?"

She furrows her brows. "The one you wear right before someone ends up dead."

I lean back against the edge of the desk and glance at her. "Gabe made a mess. A costly one."

Ingrid's jaw ticks. "He didn't sell you out."

"I know, but I can't afford anyone looking at me like I've gone soft." I shrug.

"You could demote him. Reassign. Scare the s**t out of him."

I tilt my head. "What part of me says mercy?"

Ingrid holds my stare. "The part that doesn't kill people just to make a statement."

I pause.

"This isn't a statement," I say, voice flat. "It's an example."

Ingrid doesn't like it. I can see it.

But she nods once. "I'll prep the room."

I don't reply. Ingrid's not wrong. And I hate that I miss her, even right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quiet around me after I leave Ingrid is dangerously uncomfortable.

I slide into my sports convertible, and that's when it hits me.

The memory of the photo and that f*****g message.

I haven't stopped thinking about them—not once, since I threw my phone out of the window.

"Cat got your tongue, Malyshka? I know you can see my messages, or do you wish it were my tongue on your kitty instead?"

God.

My body stiffens.

I close my eyes and exhale, trying hard not to think, not just the words, the voice, the cadence, and the audacity.

The way he makes me feel like I'm not in control of my own damn skin. The way his breath had skipped across my collarbone that night.

I feel the heat pool below my belly, down to my thighs, before I can stop it.

Crossing my legs, I force it away.

No.

He doesn't get that part of me again. Not even through a memory.

And yet—

My mind flashes back to the picture he sent, lingering, until I feel a question tug at the back of my mind.

How the f**k did he get a picture of me naked in my penthouse?

I picture the angle, the height, and the lighting. It wasn't from a phone camera.

It doesn't seem like an amateur job either.

Then, realisation dawns on me.

The motherfucker bugged my place!

My eyes snap open. I didn't see that coming.

The bastard didn't just beat me financially, he reached into my f*****g sanctuary and ripped the covers off me.

I press a button, and the engine revs to life.

Stepping on the accelerator, the car skids along at high speed. My fingers twitch. I grip the wheel tightly, barely holding back the rage clawing up my throat.

Oh, the game is so f*****g on, and I know just where to start.

My f*****g closet.

Let him keep watching. For now, at least.

I can use it to my advantage if he thinks I haven't figured it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The closet lights are soft.

One of my mother's old vinyl records spins in the background, low and sensual.

I slowly let my dress fall from my body, leaving me in my matching Victoria's Secret underwear.

Humming along to the song, I slide my fingers down a rack of dresses, moving my hips slowly to the rhythm.

Black, red, burgundy, blue, pearl, but none feels right.

Tonight, Andrey will come to me.

Because I'll call him.

And I want him distracted. Off-balance. Twisted up in his own game.

He thinks I'm losing to him. Maybe. But I'll let him believe that a little longer.

My fingers stop on a dress I haven't worn in years—a silk, deep forest green, sinful, and backless dress with diamond straps.

Perfect.

I hang it near the full-length mirror and catch my reflection.

A sweet smile plays on my lips.

I don't look shaken. That's good. Because I actually am.

But no one gets to see that.

Exiting the closet, I head to the drawer under my vanity and pull out a picture I haven't touched in years.

That deep forest green dress stirred up memories I've tried to suppress over the years.

Seeing this picture is the only way to navigate the whirling emotions that threaten to burst out.

Damian, my second husband.

The only man I've ever loved stares back at me with those beautiful brown orbs from the picture.

He didn't love me back, but understood me in a way no one else had. He let me be soft, let me be me, until I wanted more than he could give.

And then he was murdered, just like my first and third husbands.

I trace the edge of the frame with my finger, revelling in the thoughts that wish it could be different.

But it isn't. Not in my part of the world, or the kind of life I was born into. Every life decision is taken with a survival instinct.

Sighing, I put it away, just like every part of myself that ever softened.

Turning away from the vanity, a loud buzz fills the apartment.

It sounds like a phone, but I don't have one. Not anymore.

I trace the sound to the cellar, and amongst them lies a new phone. I pick it up consciously, and Ingrid's name flashes across the notification bar.

Rolling my eyes, I swipe open the message.

"Got you a new phone, and the warehouse is ready. Be there in one hour."

Gabe is already tied to the chair when I enter the warehouse.

He looks like he's been crying.

The click of my heels catches his attention, and his head snaps in my direction.

"Genevieve—please—I didn't sell you out, I swear—"

"I know,” I cut him off, circling him, “but you were supposed to secure and keep your eyes on Cayman. Andrey found it in under three hours. Do you know how that makes me look?”

His lips tremble.

“I—I didn't mean—”

I roll my eyes. “Intentions don't fix f**k-ups, Gabe,” I say, raising the gun. “Now, you'll be the reason no one screws up again.”

The gunshot silences him mid-plea, and he drops dead, still tied to the chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I return to the penthouse, Ingrid is in the kitchen.

She doesn’t say anything as I step past her, wipe my hands, and pour a glass of wine.

“I need you to do something,” I say, swirling the wine around.

Her eyes flick to mine.

“Luc de Vries.”

She straightens. “You want him warned?”

“I want him removed. Tonight.”

She hesitates, then nods, but I didn't fail to catch the look of hurt again.

I don't want to burden her with stories of allies already betraying me. That will take a toll on her, and I don't like it.

A moment passes in an uncomfortable silence, then I turn to her again.

“Ingrid?”

“Yes?” She glances at me.

“I need you to do one more thing. Please message my dear husband to clear his schedule for tonight.”

“What? Why?”

Ingrid shoots me a stare.

I hold her stare, aware of the blinking red dot behind her. Andrey’s watching. Good.

“Just tell my husband to come home hungry.” A quick, sharp smile curves on my lips. “I’m in the mood to devour something.”