Page 17 of Always Meant To Be
Antonio snaps at me, “Andher sisterwants you. You’re spending all your fucking time with her instead of the woman you're married to. Fuck, even I’m starting to think something is going on between you both.”
I turn and glare at him. “Liliya fucking caught an STI last week, fucker. I wouldn’t touch her if she were the last woman on earth, just like I haven’t touched any woman since that day in the café when I realized I wanted El. My cock only hardens for my wife.”
Antonio grins, clearly wanting to rile me up, and Leonardo smirks because I fell for it like an idiot. I look at Mario, his bleach-blonde hair sticking up.
I state, “My brother has been eating rabbit shit after his wife thought he was cheating with the maid, who has a thing for him,” throwing my troublemaking brother into the fire.
Mario’s blue eyes widen in shock as Leonardo laughs while Antonio groans, “Fuck’s sake….”
Leonardo takes a few steps away from him, causing him to try grabbing him, as I throw the knife on the floor.
“Clean this shit up. I’m working from home today so I can clear some fucking shit up with my wife.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and admit, “I know Mikhail didn’t want her involved, but I think I need to explain what exactly is going on, and how I manipulated her father into giving her to me.”
Antonio nods. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all morning,fratello. It’s clear as day she’s fallen for you, and the fact you’ve not left her after the fertility troubles should prove to her what you feel for her.”
I sigh but nod in agreement. Four years and she’s not fallen pregnant, but she’s refused to go through tests, and fuck me, it’s hard not to be disappointed, and it’s even fucking harder not to tie her down and force her to have blood tests done.
I really fucking wanted a little girl that looked like her.
“Uh, brother,” Leonardo says as I wipe my hands and look at him. He winces as he lifts his phone and rasps, “Piper just messaged….”
Mario cuts in, “You mean your fuck buddy?”
Leonardo sends him a glare, making my smirk come out, knowing he can’t stand her after she became clingy. He’s been obsessed with Holly, a girl my wife went to college with, and is still in contact with for years, but she wants fuck all to do with him.
He looks my way with sympathy. “It, uh, turns out you’re not having fertility issues. Apparently, El has been on the contraceptive shot.” My body stiffens because there’s no way, but he continues, “She has an appointment after school for a booster. Piper stated she first got it two weeks before your wedding, it’s in her notes.”
Motherfucker….
Fury courses through me as Antonio snorts. “Well, that explains a lot, but uh,fratello, think of it this way; she knows she can’t leave unless she gives you an heir.”
I scoff. “Unless she’s trying to figure out a way to leave without giving me one, and she only has a year left to get pregnant, or she loses her job and everything that belongs to her.”
Mario furrows his brows. “But surely she wouldn’t want to leave you and not just to save her career, something a mafia wife, a Don’s one at that, never has. Even I can see she loves you, and I don’t even believe in that shit.”
Antonio butts in, “She will if she thinks he’s fucking Liliya. Everyone has a limit, and screwing a sister, yeah, that’s a hard no for everyone.”
Trying to breathe through my anger, I look at Leonardo and demand, “Tell her to swap the injection with fucking water; I’d have had at least four fucking kids with her by now.”
He nods, and I look at Antonio. “Inform papa of her antics. He’s ready to fucking knock her out to do the necessary tests.”
He winces but nods, getting his phone out as Mario calls in a few men to help clear the traitor out. They’ll send him to the Irish in pieces.
I walk out of the basement, ready to wash this fucker’s blood off me. Going into the kitchen, though, I halt and furrow my brows, seeing it empty, the chef nowhere to be seen.
What the fuck?
Growling my anger hitting hard again, I storm to the stairs and head toward the room I share with my wife. I grab my phone, searching for my chef’s number to find out where the fuck he is.
“I’m not fucking paying for him to sit on his ass,” I mutter as I pass the maid, Melinda, in the hallway, and she halts and says, “Uh, Mr. Russo?” making me stop. I look at her coldly, my mood not improving, and she flinches and stutters, “Mrs. Russo made the bed again this-this morning. Do you want me to strip it still? I uh don’t want to hurt her feelings….”
I furrow my brows in confusion, “She makes the bed?”
Melinda nods. “Yes sir, every day, and strips them herself on Sundays. She also cooks your evening meals, demanding it.”
I blink. Fuck me, maybe I have been blind to my wife.
“Leave the bed,” I command, and she nods before running away. I head to the room, looking around the large space properly. Everything is neat, the bed crease-free, the dark gray covers turning over a little near the pillows, and a few pictures of us on her nightstand.