In war, I have always known what to do, what is expected of me. But binding Rosa to me is a battle I’m not sure I’m equipped to win. I’d lay my empire to ruin, burn it all down, if I thought it would be the key to unlocking her heart. I had a taste of its sweetness once, but nothing I do seems to grant me access to it again.
As promised, she has let me into her body, but never into her heart, and it’s driving me insane. I fuck the insubordination out of her at every turn. Fucking her seven or eight times a day if needed. I’ve even resorted to waking her up in the middle of the night just so she can ride my cock until the glimmer of the woman that professed her love for me shines through. I fucking live for those few seconds when she truly is mine, but once it disappears and evaporates into thin air, my grief multiplies tenfold.
Her flawless petals are withering right before my very eyes, and my love is the cold winter that is slowly killing her.
If all of this wasn’t doing me in, then my brother coming into my office every day, hassling me and demanding to see my wife, isn’t doing me any favors, either. The only one that hasn’t come out and made his demands of me is Colin. No. He’s done far worse. After the first few weeks when I ceased all access to her, Colin requested to leave Boston and return to Ireland. Unlike my hot-tempered brother, he understood why I no longer wanted them near her. That I wanted my rose only for myself and refused to share her. After I declined his request to leave, every time he looks at me now, I can see the growing resentment starting to build up inside him. Soon he’ll forget we’re kin, forget his allegiance to me, and become my enemy—all in the name of love.
And fuck, he does loves her.
Even my whoremonger of a brother has fallen under her spell.
The woman has bewitched us all.
The question is, do I love her like they do—unconditionally and unselfishly?
A part of me screams to submit and give her whatever she wants, but the possessive part of me, the one where my obsession for her completely corrupts me, selfishly wants her only to myself. I feel my resolve waning with each day that passes and then reprimand myself for being so weak.
“Any mail for me, Jermaine?” I ask the doorman when I pass through The Avalon’s front doors after a day of ruling over an empire that no longer excites me as it once did.
When I was part of the grime and dirt of the streets, using my gun and blade to put fear into the hearts of men, it had its appeal. Now that I’m forced to reign over Boston from up high in my tower, where my days are full of board meetings, sleazy politicians, and dirty cops, it lacks its luster.
A part of me used to envy Colin and Shay for being able to fight down in the ditches.
Now my envy has only increased with the knowledge that not only do they have the life I wish I could have back, but they also have my wife’s heart.
“Here it is,” Jermaine says, handing me my mail.
“Thank you.”
I walk into the elevator, flipping through the envelopes, one by one, until a postcard with the Vegas strip grabs my attention.
Iris.
Hurriedly, I flip it over and smile at what she’s written.
I’m still alive and kicking.
Giving the Volkovs a run for their money.
Someone should have told them lady luck was a woman.
And Irish.
Xoxo
Iris.
I let out a relieved exhale, knowing that my sister still has her humor. She’s either found a way to coexist with them, or she has them eating out of the palm of her hand. Whatever she’s up to, I can breathe easy knowing that the Volkovs haven’t broken her yet.
You mean like you’re breaking Rosa?
Fuck.
Guilt immediately replaces the good feeling Iris’ postcard gave me, and once again I’m burdened with my conscience as well as my heavy heart. Once the elevator doors swing open to my apartment, my guilt strangles me further when I see my wife sitting on the hardwood floor, spinning something in front of her with her finger.
When she lifts her head up, I can tell she must have spent most of her day crying. I take off my suit jacket and loosen my tie.
“The only time I like seeing you on your knees is when you’re sucking my cock, acushla. Otherwise, the floor is off-limits to you. A queen should never be found kneeling in any circumstance.”
“Is that what I am? Your queen?” she scoffs.
I kneel down beside her and lovingly caress her cheek with my knuckles.
“You are my heart, wife. Far more precious to me than the crown on your head.”
“I wish that was true,” she mumbles, gripping in her hand whatever toy she was playing with when I walked in.
“What can I do to make you believe me?” I plea softly.
“Give me what I want, and I will.”
I pull my hand away from her and sit on my legs in front of her.
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you don’t love me.”
I run my fingers through my hair and pull on its strands. It’s obvious that my wife will only be satisfied once she has successfully turned me into a raging lunatic. I breathe in and count to ten just so I don’t hurt her with my frustration and words I don’t actually mean. I’ve been hurting her enough as it is.
“Let me help you off the floor, love. I’ll give you a bath and order some food for us. How does that sound?”
When she doesn’t move, and I verify that her face is awfully pale, my hackles rise with new concern.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
She snaps her eyes at me like I should know better than to ask that question.
“I meant physically, wife. If you’re hurt or sick, I need to know so I can call a doctor.”
“If that’s your only concern, then yes. I’ll be sick for the foreseeable future. At least I think I will.”
I pull out my phone and immediately start dialing our family doctor. I pay him a small ransom to always be on call in case one of my men needs tending to. When he picks up, I don’t even greet him.
“Come to The Avalon now. My wife needs to be looked at. You have ten minutes.”
“Tiernan,” she whispers, latching her hand over my wrist once I’ve hung up. “You didn’t have to do that. I already know why I feel sick.”
“I’ll feel a whole lot better once a professional has a look at you.”