Wolf's POV
N.Y. Spanish Harlem
October 30
Not a day goes by that I don't think about her.
Minutes, hours, days, months, years might pass by— but she'll always be there, stuck on my mind like a song on repeat. And I'm calm— these have been the three, longest months of my life— and God knows I've been calm. Patient. Lingering for the moment I get to see her even if it's from afar. But nothing. Three months, and nothing. It's gone from summer to fall and she's still in Puerto Rico, ignoring my calls, my messages. I even flew there and her grandparents told me she wasn't home, but I'm certain she was, because I always know where she's at. And, I really— well, sort of— understand why she doesn't want to have anything to do with me, but part of it was real, right? When we made love, our kisses and few but deep conversations. If none of it was, and if she honestly doesn't want to ever hear from me again, than why hasn't she taken the tracking chip out of her neck? Victor confessed it to her the moment she was conscious again. He surprisingly was the only one she wanted to talk to the moment she woke up— but, she decided to keep it on. Why? Why is she playing with me like this? Why can't she at least tell me if I have the slightest chance...
Jesus Christ I need to know.
Wolf, don't play naïve. She's probably making you pay for all YOU put her through: a drowning experience with Antonella, two stabs, one from the Gladiatrix and the other— I mute my subconscious. It has been really loud lately.
My jaw twitches as I start replaying everything that happened at Sicily. At least what I know, there are still many things I need to solve and questions that need to be answered. And one of the most important ones, who stabbed her at the sex dungeon at Suscitato during the fire?
Tame that rising anger, Wolf, you can do it...
After I got shot, Russo miraculously decided to throw me like a piece of garbage in front of Palermo's hospital; I was there in a coma for three weeks. When I woke up the doctor himself was surprised, explaining to me how I only had a 2% chance of surviving and pulled through. I wasn't surprised though, didn't he see the other 5 bullet hole scars on my torso?
Mr. and Mrs.Carter were there the moment my eyes opened, so was Pearl and Ruby, the Carter's youngest daughter. They had flown from New York to Sicily the minute Detective Bruno called them with the news about Pearl, Jade and my "accident". He decided to take credit for everything, which included tracking down Gian and finding all those missing women and girls he had imprisoned for sex trafficking purposes. But, we all know in reality that he didn't do shit, just accuse Victoria of Richard Arnault's death and find Suscitato and the Cimorelli Chateau burning to pieces.
Pearl, on the other hand, had already spent three weeks with the Carters when I regained consciousness. They told me she and Jade were mostly in shock and hadn't spoken much. Liam, the Carter's oldest son, who's a psychiatrist, explained that it would be normal. They lived hell for 11 years and things we could never imagine. So nobody pressured them, and all of a sudden it actually felt as if Pearl had never left, as if it had all been a terrible nightmare; and the Carters couldn't be more grateful to have their daughter and newly met granddaughter back home.
But there I was, only thinking about her, feeling incomplete, lost. How the hell could this woman in a matter of days get under my skin the way she did? Make me feel the way she did? I swear her dark eyes hunt me day and night. And I'll do anything to win her back, I don't care what it takes. The moment Victor and I were able to be alone he told me everything about how Gian tortured her, how he found her restrained from the ceiling, topless, blood running down her back to her toes. He also told me how she finished killing Gian and that he found her almost dead in the fire afterwards, stabbed by God knows who. I'll never forgive myself for not being there for her; it was all so complicated that I felt that the only way out was if I was dead. I thought that was the only way to save her and the rest. Was I wrong? Would things have gone better if I had stayed and fought?
I slightly shake my head, disappointed at myself. I promised my therapist I wouldn't lose it, but I think I'm really, really close...
Come on, Wolf, breathe in, breathe—-
"FUCK!" I yell, rubbing my buzzcut with both hands, "FUCK!" I abruptly stand up and kick the wooden chair I was sitting on with force, breaking it into pieces. Victor ignores my tantrum from the corner, yawning. White, thick smoke forms in front of his mouth due to the cold weather. How the hell is he only in a goddamn t-shirt?
"I was done with this," I anxiously scratch my groomed stubble with my black, leather glove, "I swore on my life I was done. I fucking swore I would fully dedicate myself to my businesses and not this fucking lifestyle that has left me nothing—"
"Yeah, yeah, only tons of millions, 3 Bentleys," Victor mutters in his heavy, Russian accent, wiping his handgun with a handkerchief. "Power— and pussies—," his face twists into a sour look.
I ignore his stupidity. He always reminds me of the same shit— and I want more. I want her.
"Did I fucking lie to myself, Victor? Again? Because here I am at this fucking, cold-as-fuck, abandoned warehouse, waiting for this motherfucker to wake the fuck up!"
"You're here to defend your sister's honor, boss," he reminds me, impassively.
I desperately take off my Balenciaga, gray, trench coat and toss it on a fucked-up desk on my left. I feel hot as hell even though it's 31 degrees outside.
"What the fuck did you give him, Victor? We've been here for a goddamn hour waiting for this asshole to wake up."
I start restlessly fidgeting with my clip point blade, pacing up and down as I fucking wonder what the fuck happened between Ruby and this guy. He weights like 100 pounds, at least five, fake, gold chains are hanging around his neck, all of them with Jesus' face on it and he had on baggy pants that hung low on his thighs, showing off his red boxers. Victor also found on him some heroine, ecstasy and weed. A complete charmer.
"It's the chloroform, boss," he states, still busily cleaning his gun.
"For fuck's sake, how much did this fucker inhale?" I ask him, irritated, taking a look at my Rolex. "I thought we had decided no more of that shit since Kata—"
Victor's eerie, blue eyes immediately lock on mine.
Shit, I haven't been able to say her name... it fucking hurts too much... her not wanting me hurts too fucking much.
I swallow hard, my heart twisting.
My eyes finally skitter away from Victor's, "You know I'm in a fucking hurry. I have an important meeting at 12 at Vier Enterprises and then fucking Tatsu's opening at 9."
And I'm fucking exhausted. I need a goddamn break.
I motion with my head at him to throw Santos another bucket of ice cold water over his head to see if he woke up this fucking time. It was cold as hell and dear Santos here had his clothes already soaking wet and his lips a dark purple. I didn't want him dying on me of hypothermia, at least not before he got a piece of my mind.
Victor mercilessly throws him another bucket of water and he finally reacts, taking a big gasp of air.
"Mierda!" Shit, he yelps in Spanish, coughing and trembling.
"Good fucking morning," I mutter under my breath.
Santos looks at us through wide, brown eyes, desperately trying to break free from the cuffs that are holding his wrists behind his back together.
"What do y'all motherfuckas want from me?! I already paid Enzo's gang all the drugs I stole from him, 'ight? And I promised Juanito I wouldn't fuck his little bitch of a sister anymore and I've kept my word! That bitch gave me gonorrhea!"
I heavily sigh, throwing my head back and closing my eyes, God, I'm fucking losing it again.
I give Victor one look and he immediately slaps the shit out of him.
"Shut the fuck up," he snaps at Santos.
"I ain't talkin' no shit!" He flinches when Victor fakes a lunge at him, "Wait till Rico hears about this! Los va a matar!" He's going to kill you, he starts screaming at us in Spanish.
Victor chuckles, stepping away from him to give me space, "Rico can suck my cock."
I step closer to Santos and tower over him. He looks up at me, nervously twisting his body from side to side on his chair as he notices the sharp blade in my hand.
"Have you heard about Ling chi?" I ask him in my usual impassive tone, never taking my eyes off of his panicked ones. They keep shifting from the blade and up to my face as he shakes his head.
"It was a torturous execution used in China. They also call it 'slow slicing' or 'death by a thousand cuts," I explain, scowling down at him, feeling my heart starting to beat furiously as I remember Ruby's bruised eye and fractured arm. Jesus, I could never ever wrap my head over the fact that fucking men abuse women and children.
He chuckles nervously, "C'mon, hermano. I don't even know you—"
Victor slaps him again, irritated, "He's not your fucking brother. Have more respect."
Santos curses, his cheek a deep red.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for patience, "But you do know Ruby Carter, don't you?"
He scoffs and laughs, abruptly forcing my cold gaze to him. "Fuckin' Ruby? Is that slut your bitch? What the fuck did that puta say? She doesn't even like dick!" He laughs some more.
Blood hums in my veins as more anger takes over me. Then I find myself automatically swinging at him, hitting his jaw with such force that he falls back on his chair and blood starts pooling in his mouth.
I purse my lips together and wince in pain quietly, staring down at my knuckles. It had been a while since I had hit something— or someone.
"She's my sister," I inform him as collected as possible, ignoring the throbbing pain in my right hand.
Victor sits a disoriented Santos back up.
"I'm, I'm gonna go to the po— police." He threatens through whines, blood flowing down his mouth and chin.
I smirk, knowing damn well he wouldn't be going to the police. Victor did some digging and found out he was a pathetic thug with a fucked up record who belonged to a Puertorican gang called "The Reapers".
I press the point of my blade across the bottom of his chin, forcing his head to tilt up and his eyes to meet mine, "I might be up in my office day and night now, but I still know everything and everyone in this fucking city, Santos, and that's why I know you won't fucking go to the police or anywhere near my sister ever again, you piece of shit," I hiss at him in a threatening tone.
He gulps, wincing in pain, "I'll fuckin' do whatever the fuck I want," he challenges me.
"Fine," I put my lips in a hard line and shrug, "We'll have it your way than."
I look down at my Fendi, turtleneck shirt and black slacks, remembering I didn't bring any extra clothing and I couldn't risk fucking this one up since I had a business meeting in less than 2 hours.
I exchange Victor's gun for my blade, "At least 3 fingers."
Victor eyes gleam as he gives me a smug smile, "It'll be my pleasure, boss."
"Wait, what?!" Santos chuckles nervously, "Wait, c'mon! I, I won't go near, Ruby, I swear on my mother's grave!"
I give Santos a disgusted glare, "You swear on your mother's grave?" What I would do to have Martina back and this motherfucker is swearing on his mother's grave when she's well and alive?
"We check everything, asshole," Victor slaps the back of Santos' head as he explains, "We know your mother is well and alive, working a double shift right now at the mini market on the corner of Arthur Avenue."
I blow out a deep breath through my mouth.
What do I do with this disrespectful piece of scum...
"Let's make it 3 from each hand," I turn my attention to Victor, "Get both thumbs."
"No! No! Wait!" Santos cries and starts praying in Spanish, "Please!"
I grab my coat without another word, turn on my heels and stride back to my Bentley Bentayga to wait for Victor; the cold wind hitting me like a wall of bricks as I climb into the back seat and shut close the SUV's door angrily.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I curse, punching the leather seat in front of me over and over again. My anger was a mixture of this fucking-gangster-wannabe who dared to touch Ruby and her. "Let her go, Wolf!" I hiss at myself, "It's fucking over, you should forget her! Let her fucking—"
My Iphone vibrates and beeps, cutting my fit of rage. I hastily take it out of my back pocket. Its screen is bright and a notification from my tracking device app keeps popping up.
My heart beats loud and fast as I realize what's happening.
She's here. At JFK Airport, just a few miles away from me. She's back in New York. She's fucking back...
In that moment Victor appears, his white 'Godfather' t-shirt covered with blood spots and a smirk dancing on his lips.
"Aren't you fucking cold? And why the hell are you carrying that look on your face?" I ask him as he opens the door and climbs into the driver's seat enthusiastically.
"First of all, I don't get cold, I'm Russian," he grabs his hoodie from the passenger seat and puts it over his bloody shirt to cover it, "And, boss, I've been 93 days with no action, no knives only boring guns, just looking at you writing emails all day on your little tablet and crying for Kat —"
"I don't fucking know what you're talking about. I wasn't crying," I mumble defensively, because I did cry various times, drunk as fuck, that's my excuse, "My allergies just got fucking wor—"
"Cut the bullshit. You cried at at least 6 bars in Manhattan," he suddenly starts laughing, "And then you got her named tat—"
"Shut up, Victor," I order him seriously, but he only laughs louder.
Ok, I admit it has been a couple of tough weeks, but the sadness and pain that consumes me hasn't been only because of her—well, yes, mostly— but, the last image of my biological mother hunts me daily, the stench of the burning remains in my scorched chateau, Mateo's death, Russo's betrayal...
I grunt, annoyed at myself for not being able to control my thoughts, "Just fucking drive me to JFK."
He looks over his shoulder at me, "But you have an important meeting in an hour with economic's professor, Erika Thompson and Emily Laurent about the long term loans to help individuals wanting to start their own small businesses in Venezuela as a way to escape poverty—" he stops midway and I just lift both brows quite astonished.
"Who the hell are you?" I ask him in a confused tone.
"I have no idea. Ever since I stopped using coke I'm not myself," he says, turning his full attention to the front and pulling out of the warehouse's abandoned parking lot.
I roll my eyes and put my sunglasses on, "Anyways, if you fucking hurry, in half an hour you can get me to the airport, that gives us enough time to get to the meeting early."
"Oh, I get it. She got here, didn't she?" He asks, eyeing me through the rearview mirror, "She texted me a few days ago that she'd be coming back soon."
I scoff in disbelief, "And there I was, thinking you fucking hated her, but you just wanted to become her best fucking friend."
Victor stays silent, his face like stone now. He never says much when it comes to her, even though he knows I know they talk and text sometimes. About what? I have no idea, I don't invade her privacy like I used to. Ever since what happened in Sicily they've unexpectedly become friends and that's just something I can't fucking wrap my head around. She can talk to Victor, but not me? What the fuck.
In less than 25 minutes we're parked right across the airline's exit Katarina is closest to according to the app. My heart pounds loud and clear as the red dot on my phone's screen comes closer and closer to us.
I bite my lower lip hard as my ears ring and my hands start sweating. It feels like an eternity since I last
saw her. God I'm nervous. Anxious. Excited. Scared.
I've behaved. I have given her her space, left her alone, done as Victor has told me— but I know that if I see her now all of that will change and I won't ever be able to leave her alone again, because I love her, I love her and only her.
And then all of the sudden I swear the world stops spinning.
"Krazy Kat is back," Victor mutters and I can hear the grin in his voice.
There she is. There she fucking is.
Fuck, am I breathing?
She looks beautiful, fine as fuck. Better, I would say if it was even possible. Goddamnit, look at that face, those fuckable red lips— and I'm hard now. Shit. Her black hair is in a low, sleek bone and a pair of large shades cover her dark eyes. She's wearing black, leather leggings with a tight, black cropped top and a matching, single-breasted, leather trench coat with the Prada boots I gifted her back in Sicily.
"She still has the boots I gave her— that's a good sign, right?" I ask Victor in an almost mesmerized tone, not really caring for an answer since all my attention was on her.
I can see him shrugging from the corner of my eye, "Are you planning on talking to her or just being a creep?"
Right. Right.
"Yeah, sure," I clear my throat, "I've got this..." Fuck, I don't sound convincing at all.
I hesitantly open the door and just as I'm about to climb out of my SUV, a red, Ferrari Purosangue pulls up to the curb next to Katarina. Someone probably came to pick her up. I wonder who it is— if it's another man I swear to God—
That you won't do shit cause you don't want to push her away. Again.
Yeah, yeah, of course not.
I find myself closing the door again like a fucking coward.
Evan climbs out of the red SUV, a wide grin on his face as he walks over to Katarina and hugs her tightly, helping her with the luggage on her hand.
"Good, it's just him," I inevitably sigh in relief.
Then the passenger's door also opens.
It's another dark haired woman, but it can't be Victoria, she's in jail— nor Emily because she's probably already at Vier Enterprises for the upcoming meeting we have.
Who the hell—
"What the fuck!" I bark, taking my sunglasses off and tossing them to the side.
OLGA?!
She also gives Katarina a hug. A warm smile on her face as she lovingly cradles her face.
"What the hell is Olga doing with Evan?!" I snap at Victor, my eyes never leaving them.
"They're dating," he replies nonchalantly.
"What?! Wh— but, how?! Evan?! God, please, she can do fucking better!"
How did I go from knowing everything to knowing shit?
"He saved her from the fire at the Cimorelli Chateau. She was under a pile of debris—"
I turn my cold gaze to him, "I know! You told me that part! But not— this!"
"You're only pissed because you don't like Evan," Victor states, suddenly waving at Katarina's direction, "It's okay, he doesn't like you either."
"Victor, what, what the fuck are you doing?" I rapidly turn my gaze to Katarina again, "Why are you waving?! The windows are tinted, she can't see—"
I'm abruptly cut off, realizing that her attention is completely on us. Even through her sunglasses, I can feel her dark, penetrating eyes on us— and that rush of electricity that only she's been able to make me fucking feel in my lifetime.
"She knows this is your SUV, I sent her a picture the day you sent me to buy it," Victor adds in his usual, dead tone, "She was the one who chose this color, actually."
I close and open my mouth various times, but no words are able to come out.
"Wolf! Fucking go!" Victor orders me, completely out of patience by now because he knows I'm never this pathetic. Only when it comes to her.
"Ok! Ok!" I snap back, a thousand emotions going through me at the same time.
I'll just go over to her and I'll kiss her. I'll remind her of all the good things I was also capable of making her feel. I'll tell her I love her and that I don't care if she doesn't love me back, I'll do anything to gain her trust and love, no matter how long it takes.
As I confidently rest my hand on the door handle, my phone rings. I stare down at it and then my eyes automatically meet with Victor's through the rearview mirror again.
He already knows who it is.
"Don't pick it up, boss. Kat is here— this is what you've been waiting for," he almost pleads, "Don't fucking pick—"
But I have to and it might be an emergency.
I warily press the green button on my phone, accepting the call and lifting it to my ear.
"Is everything alright, Pearl?"
And by the time I look back at where Katarina was, she's far gone by now.