Page 24 of Bound Bride
It makes no sense to me.
"What would you have me do? Pat him on the head and send him on his way back to his family? Thank him for testing our defenses and highlighting problem areas?" Bitterness drips from my tone. "I do not care who steals from me. I do not care who betrays me. In the end, the result is the same."
The general slumps back in his seat and regards his warm drink, then he turns away in disgust.
"It doesn't matter.” Another general speaks up. "The Italians started this, but we lack the intel to hit them back. We've hit a couple of restaurants and stolen a handful of weapon shipments, but the value isn't even half of what we've lost from those cookhouses."
"So we dig deeper," says another. "Maybe if we stopped killing everyone we came across, we would have someone to interrogate to find out more about the deals we're disrupting."
"We can't just let them live," says another. "Konstantin is right. They stole from us and then expected mercy just because it was the Don's son. Being the heir and blood doesn't buy you immunity from your enemies."
I have more to say.
Orders to give.
Anger to express.
It all fades because behind the generals' heads, the glass doors slide open and my wife, Rose, steps out into the sun wearing nothing but a white string bikini.
There's scarcely enough fabric to cover her breasts, and the little bows tied at her hips are attached to the bottom half and look seconds away from unraveling.
My heart stalls in my chest.
She steps out, barefoot, and clasps her hands together.
Then she stretches her arms high above her head and arches her body with a soft, subtle groan that's just loud enough to catch the attention of every other man around the table.
The moment they all glance around to the source of the noise, anger ignites in my chest.
Rose doesn't look our way.
After she stretches, she gathers her dark hair in one fist at the back of her head, then secures it into a ponytail with an elastic.
Then she walks across the sun-warmed paving stones toward the pool, all while adjusting the top of her bikini.
"If I were twenty years younger—-“ says one of my generals.
"I bet she's keeping you busy," says another.
"A beauty like that is so rare," comments a third. "How the devil do you keep up with a young thing like that?"
Understanding noises and rumbles move around the table and I know I should tell them to stop looking, but I'm just as transfixed—and pissed the hell off that she dares to display herself like that in front of my men.
Calvin bursts through the door, visibly panicked.
He spots Rose in an instant, but as he darts forward, she reaches the edge of the pool and stretches her hands up to the sky.
After a deep breath that makes her chest shift and lift, she dives into the deep blue water just as Calvin makes it to the edge of the pool.
He catches himself with a wobble, just shy of falling over the edge.
After balancing himself, he drops to his haunches and his hushed whispers don't reach my ears, but it's clear he's doing everything he can to get her out of the pool.
"As I was saying." Anger licks at my words and brings all six generals' attention back to me, but it's not as focused as before. None of them can resist sly glances at the beautiful woman lazily backstroking through the water. "We need more intel. Eight is nothing to us right now, but if they continue to chip away at us, we will be in trouble. I would rather catch that before it happens. Given that one leak has been plugged, we must have another."
"Another?" The general to my left fixes his gaze on me and holds it while tension bleeds across his face. He's clearly fighting the urge to follow the sound of Rose's laughter and splashing to the pool.
"No one has all the information. Four cookhouses, I would believe. But eight? That information did not come from a single person. I want everyone double-checked and the next time we get our hands on an Italian shipment, ask questions first, understand?"
