Ruined Secrets (Perfectly Imperfect #4)

I turn back to Bogdan. “I need the correct ammo on Sunday.”

“I can’t get anything within the next ten days, Luca. All my trucks are already loaded and have routes planned out. How about the weekend after next?”

How unfortunate. I walk to the open crates lined along the truck, take out a Beretta, then reach for a magazine in the adjacent container. “I have a feeling you are not taking our arrangement seriously, Bogdan.” I load the magazine inside the gun. “Let’s change the narrative.”

“Oh, come on. You know how it is. Mistakes happen.”

“Indeed.” I cock the gun. “The thing is, Bogdan, I’ve been in an extremely bad mood recently. I didn’t need this today.”

I lift the gun and shoot the asshole who apparently caused this clusterfuck, hitting his forehead dead-center.

“What the fuck!” Bogdan yells, staring at the dead guy now at his feet.

“You see, I’ve just mistaken Gavril for you. Mistakes happen,” I say and shoot Bogdan’s other guy. His body drops next to the first one. “Should I continue? It’s only you left. I’m pretty sure I won’t make a mistake a third time.”

Bogdan’s eyes bulge, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“I want my ammunition here on Sunday. Can you do that for me?”

He nods.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve found a language that makes it easier for you to understand.” I throw the gun back in the crate. “Ask around and see if you can get me a tank.”

My arms supplier just stares at me.

“Can you?” I ask again.

“A tank . . . as in . . . an actual tank?”

“Do you sell imaginary ones as well?” I shake my head. “Belov sounded interested when we met. Says he’s asking for a friend.”

“They’re all insane, those Russians,” he mumbles.

“Let me know what you find out.”

My phone rings as I’m getting behind the wheel, showing Isabella’s name. She probably asked Damian for my number, since I never offered it to her. But I certainly made sure I have hers. It’s a shitty move, I know, but I’ve already been thinking about my wife way more than I should. I don’t need her calling me, especially now when all I can think about are the sounds she was making last evening.

I let the phone ring and throw it onto the passenger’s seat. Maybe if I avoid her, I might be able to forget how edible she looked last night. The moment I come home I’m ordering her to move out of that damn room.

It’s already five in the afternoon, and Luca still hasn’t returned. I tried calling him several times, but each call wentunanswered. Finally, I decide I’m done waiting for him, so I head down to the ground floor and approach the security guy standing at the front door.

“Can you please get me a car and a driver?”

“Of course, Mrs. Rossi. Did Mr. Rossi approve it?”

“I don’t need my husband to approve anything for me. Please get me a car.”

He fidgets, visibly unsure of what to do, and it looks like I’ll have to help him decide.

“Are you disobeying my direct request, Emilio?”

“No, of course not, Mrs. Rossi. I’ll get you a car immediately.” He quickly takes out his phone.

I don’t like pulling rank with the staff, but sometimes it’s necessary. Being a woman in mafia circles is not easy. I watched my mother be ignored too many times when she tried to join the “men’s conversations” at Family dinners. Even though she has a degree in economics, no one except my grandfather has ever asked for her opinion. The mafia world is ruled by men, and women are often perceived as less important and weak. It is imperative I make my position clear from the beginning if I want to be treated as equal. I’ve never had a problem with authority in my grandfather’s house. Here, on the other hand, even though I’m a capo’s wife, they still see a nineteen-year-old girl, and that’s not something either Luca or I can afford. He might not have wanted me, but he got me, and I will not end up as a burden or a trophy wife.

I resigned myself to becoming a capo’s wife a long time ago. I’ve been groomed for it since I was ten. While other girls my age were having playdates and obsessing over their latest celebrity crushes, I was learning how to feign interest even whena conversation bored me to death. I learned how to smile and what to say to make people open up and spill information they wouldn’t normally share. As well as how to make myself seem a little stupid, if the situation required it. There were key lessons on how to pretend to be having a great time even when the only thing I wanted was to go to my room and be alone. But the most important training I ever received was to never show weakness. Never cry when someone can see, and never show if their words hurt you. In a tank full of sharks, I can’t allow myself to bleed, or they would eat me alive.

While my friends stalked cute boys on Facebook and Instagram, I spent hours sitting with my mother at social events, listening to her and learning as she explained who was who in our world and about their roles in the Family. But most of all, I discovered everyone’s dirty laundry, and there were lots of it. I smile inwardly at the recollection. How I would love to see the faces of all those men who believed my mother to be just another pretty, harmless face. They had no idea how dangerous she was.