Page 28 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

I’m on the verge of saying ‘fuck them,’ but I help her stand and look back at the two generations of Italian and Sicilian women in my mother’s kitchen. “We let my wife rest today. If she feels better tomorrow, you can come. For now, make yourselves useful and make her a spezzatino.” Stew .

I shouldn't bark orders. But seeing Sabrina so pale and exhausted, trying to please them for my sake makes me feel sick.

“Maksim,”

I look down at my overstimulated bride, and before she can open her lips again and protest, I bend and pick her up bridal-style, making sure to keep my hands over her clothes, and take her back to her room.

Our room. There's no way in hell I'm letting her sleep alone.

Not until I get a few things situated, so she's comfortable here and doesn't have another… fit .

I deposit her on the bed, take off the apron she put on to please the older generations, and tuck her in. “Stay here,” I say, but when I look down, she's already asleep, her cheeks rosy. My brows pin together, and I put my hand on her forehead. Christ, she's warm.

I go to my room and dial Niko.

“That was quick.”

I roll my eyes at him, even though he can't see me. “I need a few things. Also, how's the club?”

“Club's good. What do you need?”

“I need allergy medicine and… a weighted blanket. The heavier the better.”

“Done. What else?”

I sigh. “How was the rest of the wedding?”

“Fucking great. But her bodyguard disappeared at the same time you did.”

I quirk a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he took her best friend’s car and tried to follow you out to the tarmac. Almost got shot by our guys. Had to tell them to stand down.”

“Have you seen him around?”

“No.”

I nod. “Alright. Keep an eye out.”

“Sdelayu.” Will do. He hangs up, and I go deal with the hens clucking in the kitchen who are very much so making a stew for my new, beautiful bride.

She wakes up just two hours later to eat, looking a little better, but I still give her the pills Niko was able to get delivered to me. No weighted blanket yet though, that will arrive tomorrow. I'm about to ask her if she's feeling better when my phone rings.

“Yeah?”

“Hey boss, sorry to call but Donahue is here again. Says he's got a search warrant this time.”

I roll my eyes. “You let him through, obviously.”

“Yeah. That's not the issue. It's that Harley girl - she's freaking out. Tried to climb up the wall and get into the ceiling.”

“What the fuck?”

“Not only that, but Donahue is also saying something about drugs in this club being reported. Heavy drugs in the VIP rooms.”

“He'll need another warrant for the rooms. We know Judge Malarky won't let it go through but try to see if what Donahue's saying has merit. I don't want that shit in my house. If anyone is bringing it in, I want them out.”

He sighs. “On it, but if I'm honest, you may have to cut that honeymoon short. That's days ’ worth of footage we have to go through.”

I grunt in disapproval. “Get Sasha to start helping you, Jonathan, too.”

“Sdelayu.” Will do.

I darken my screen after hanging up and put it on the table face up. Sabrina blinks at it, then me.

“Trouble in Eden?” She asks, blowing on her spezzatino.

I contemplate not telling her, but my father's words ring in my ear - “... a queen will eradicate the vermin and snakes in her king's gardens.”

“Cops are at Eden with a search warrant.

It's the third time in the past few months.

A new girl there freaks out every time she sees Donahue.

But the issue right now is that he's claiming report of heavy drugs in our facility, and I'll be fucking damned if there are drugs being brought, bought, and used at my establishment.”

She chews her food and swallows before spooning up more and blowing.

“Do you know how many couples in the past year alone that I've helped divorce because one of them was suffering from an addiction that started at Eden or Inferno?

At least once a month. If it wasn't gambling, it was the girls.

If it wasn't the girls, it was the drugs. It seems you have the beginnings of an infestation, Maksim.”

I quirk a brow in her direction before grabbing my spoon. “What do you mean?”

“If you don't allow patrons to bring in drugs and you're not providing them yourself, someone inside of your club is. Probably someone that flies under the radar or someone very close to you that you would just take their word for it, someone you trust maybe a little too much or maybe too little.”

I clench my spoon a little too tight.

“Tell me, what does the money control other than gambling, sex workers and… last I heard from one of the wives, but realty and buildings? I know that's how you launder your money for your cut of what the girls at your club make, but is it drugs? It's no longer alcohol - prohibition is over.”

“You have it all right.”

“The Bratva then, Packman?”

“It's Pakhan. I'm not a werewolf.”

“Okay then, Pecan .” She smiles at me and it's like all the air has left the room, but it's such a genuine smile I can't help but chuckle at her lame attempt at a joke.

“ Funny .”

“One of us has to be. You're so fucking serious all the time, I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh in all the months I've known you.”

“Less ogre?”

“Still brutish.” She retorts. “Nonetheless, your men in the Bratva - what are their jobs?”

“They're my runners. My enforcers. They do everything including run a vodka company under my mother's maiden name.” While all of that is true - we also deal with weapons…

and launder money. Yes, some of it goes to charities…

some of it does not. Not to mention all three of my clubs bring in well over two million quarterly each, after everyone gets their cut.

We kept our ways going – sex, money, power .

It doesn't end. It's a tale as old as time, a profession as old as time. Keep the rich drunk, show them a good time, and well, when they leave, I have more of their money and secrets in my pocket. Not to mention video evidence for extortion. But that’s neither here nor there.

Sabrina’s blonde brows shoot up as though she’s just made the connection. “ SokoloVodka . That's your mother's? Sokolov was her maiden name?”

I give one solemn nod. Of course she would know the vodka - she’s a recovering alcoholic. “Everything we do is legitimate until it’s not.”

One impeccable blonde brow shoots up. “Meaning?”

I sniff and deflect. There's no way I'm going to tell her about my dungeon or the type of men I take down there for retribution. “It isn't appropriate to talk business at the table, Mrs. Giordano.”

She hums. “On the contrary, Mr. Giordano, I find it easier to brainstorm and bounce ideas off the other while my stomach is being filled.

And it's Mrs. Winters. I'm not changing my last name.

I worked hard to earn my degrees, not you.

Your last name won't be on them. Besides, do you know how many clients I'd lose if they knew I was a Giordano?”

I blink at her, and this time I raise a brow at her, swallowing my mouthful. “Tell me.”

“A lot. It cost me money once we started appearing in the tabloids together, and once I approve our pictures from the photographer of our wedding, those will be going in the New York Times. Socialite Sabrina Winters marries Billionaire Maksim Giordano .” She says with a transatlantic accent like we're in the 40s.

I keep myself from smiling. “We'll be seven-page news again, and that means even less clients. Not everyone may know what you do, dear husband, but your name instills fear and hate.”

“Does this bother you?”

“Not entirely enough.” She says softly, looking down at her bowl then back up. “About last night.”

She reaches out.

I hold my breath, watching as her gloveless hand stops mid-air, as though she's realized she’s about to touch me without them. Her hand goes under the table, out of my sight.

My heart thumps in my chest, and I inhale silently.

How can there be so much tension like this? How can I want to feel the soft skin of her hands on me, if only for the smallest of seconds?

Because it would mean you don't repulse her. Because it means she'll let you touch her when she's not asleep. Because you want her to want you… my brain replies.

Christ, I feel like I'm in a Jane Austen novel. My thoughts flit to my mother for a second, sitting side by side with her in the library, reading the same books, and talking about the characters like they were our friends.

What kind of books does Sabrina read? She said something about a ‘ trope’ , but I have no idea what that means.

And she reads a lot. There are stacks of books at her house, not to mention her Kindle or her audiobooks, and when she's baking or cleaning her kitchen, she sometimes gasps or says, “ What did you just say to me right now?!” and “ Are you really that daft?” as though she's taken severe offense to whatever the character is going through.

Or she shouts my favorite, “ You're being an absolute cockwomble and I can't handle you right now.”

I… had to google ‘cockwomble.’ My wife has a… colorful vocabulary.

There have been times I've been listening and watching that I've seen Parker come out of the shadows and watch her as she mutters to herself, with a smile gracing his face. I don't blame him. It makes my own lips unwillingly turn up.

“I appreciate that you brought your blanket to cover me.

I-I- I'm sorry I woke you and you had to…

comfort me. I wish I could say it won't happen again, but the truth is, I can't sleep properly in strange places-” This I already knew, thanks to Parker “-And this was so impromptu I wasn't able to grab any of my necessities.

I can somewhat nap without an issue. But when I fall into a slumber, it's hard for me to crawl out of… that.”

“That's why you have issues with moving into my penthouse.” I add for her, forcefully feeding myself another spoonful.