The Finisher (Dark Verse Book 4)

Zephyr

HE HADN’T COME TO their room the entire night, and she’d known it was their room because both their weekend bags were there.

Zephyr had lain awake in bed, staring at the ceiling of the unfamiliar room, tossing and turning, and shedding a few tears because she cried at everything. Sometimes, she watched videos of puppies and cried. One time, she’d been on her period at work and a client had complimented her hair and she’d gotten teary-eyed. Her tear ducts were just extra hydrated, always had been.

Every time she felt dejected, she looked at her ring and reminded herself that it meant something. Him finding that particular ring meant something even if he didn’t realize it. It would take time but she had to keep fighting for them.

But it was early morning and Zephyr just couldn’t stay in anymore.

She changed from her sexy pajamas—that’d she’d put on expecting to at least have their first night of sleepover together—and into leggings and a thin sweater, venturing out of their room on the first floor. Down the stairs she went, and out into the gazebo she’d seen the previous evening, enjoying the foggy morning which was a rarity in her city.

A few members of the staff were up and about, already prepping for the big wedding, the lawn behind the mansion turned into something out of a beautiful fairytale. Zephyr simply sat her ass on a cold stone bench in the gazebo, watching them all, wondering if she’d ever get her own big wedding. Zephyr had always wanted one with all her extended family in attendance, with a gorgeous dress and veil, letting everyone see her commit to her love for life. It hadn’t been until she’d met Alpha that she’d ever thought she could spend her life with this guy, definitely not something she ever felt for Alec, even though she gave him two years of her life. She was going to try and delay her mother from planning something for six months until the contract ended, and see at the end if she needed a wedding or a divorce.

“Congratulations on your nuptials.”

A dark voice from the side made her glance up. A man stood against one of the pillars of the gazebo, facing away from her, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, his hands in his pockets, his face not visible to her from the angle.

“Um, thanks,” she replied lightly, looking back at the staff again. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” he answered, something off in his voice. Zephyr glanced at his form again. He appeared tall, muscular but not overly. She could see the muscle definition in his back, but his body didn’t look like a hardcore gym body.

“Have you heard about the murders in Los Fortis?” he asked, a slight accent in his tone, and Zephyr straightened, wondering if he was making small talk or not.

“The hooker murders, right?” That’s what the media had been calling them. The murders had been in the papers recently, but nothing had been solved yet.

“Yes,” the man straightened. “Tell your husband to be alert.”

Zephyr felt herself stiffen, a cold shiver passing over her, suddenly realizing she was in the compound of a mafia boss and sitting alone far away from anyone to call for help.

The man chuckled. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead coming out of the salon last week when your heel snapped, Mrs. Villanova. You need better security.”

What the hell?

She froze on the cold stone bench, watching the man as he brought out a gloved hand from his pocket, dropping a black envelope on the empty stone railing that went around the gazebo. “Give this to your husband. And make sure he reads it.”

Zephyr glanced down at the envelope and looked up, only to see an empty space where he’d been. He’d disappeared, like she’d imagined the entire thing.

Taking a fortifying breath, her body covered in chills, she went to the railing and picked up the paper. The stationery was thick, good quality. The urge to pry it open was strong, but she knew she shouldn’t. It could be something confidential meant only for Alpha, and until he gave her the okay, she couldn’t dig in.

Gripping it in her hand, she went in search of her errant husband.

It took a while.

Not one staff member knew where he was which was ridiculous because how could someone miss a giant man with an eye patch? It was the wedding day, the sun was already rising and bright, and Zephyr was getting seriously pissed, walking around the strange mansion, trying to find one place where her husband could be. For a split second, she wondered if he was in another woman’s room, but she discarded the thought immediately. Until he gave her a reason to think that, she’d keep her overactive imagination contained. He hadn’t been with anyone in a while, and if he needed to be with someone, she was right there. Trust was the cornerstone for any relationship, and she needed to give him trust in order to earn it back.

Finally, she caught a break and bumped into one of the guards who told her Alpha was in the training wing. Of course, he’d be there punching at something. Getting directions, her hand holding the envelope, she brisk-walked down the hill to the training building. No wonder people on the property looked extra fit with all the walking they must do daily.

Finally, she reached the gray building. and stopped at the entrance, gaping.

Five shirtless men stood around the mats in the middle, cheering and cursing as her very shirtless husband and a very shirtless Dante went at each other with knives. Honest-to-god knives.

Her jaw open, she watched with fascination as Alpha, despite having a physical disadvantage, danced around the mats, escaping each and every hit coming at him from different angles, counter-attacking with his own set of knives, his hands wrapped in tape, his body a study of scars and ink and sweat. Her face started getting hot watching him move, over and over, the playfulness with which he chuckled when Dante missed, goading him. They were bonding with weapons, and it was bizarre to her, since her idea of sibling bonding involved heart-to-hearts and ice cream, but hey, whatever floated their boat.

They finished their mock-fight, and Dante slapped him on the back, turning to see her standing at the entrance. His eyebrows hit the hairline but he came forward with a smile. “Sister-in-law. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

God, the man was a treasure. The way he’d made her comfortable yesterday, and the way he did so now, she could’ve hugged him.

Before she could say anything, she saw her husband coming up behind Dante, a glower on his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She suddenly remembered she was pissed at him.

Shoving the envelope against his sweaty chest, she hissed. “And you should’ve been in our room last night but life is full of disappointments.”

With that she turned to Dante, gave him a soft smile. “Thank you for having me here.”

“Of course,” he inclined his head, giving her husband a side-eye. “I can have one of the guys escort you back.” He indicated one of the shirtless men in the building.

“She’s fine,” Alpha grit out before she could respond. What the hell was his problem? Whatever.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and left, heading to her room to get ready for the wedding. She was halfway there when her steps faltered and she realized he wouldn’t be able to read the note, and he was prideful enough to not admit it to the others. Sighing, some of her fury seeping out, she went back to see them coming out, Alpha walking to the side, slightly apart from everyone else. She slowed to a walk, meeting him halfway.

“I’ll read that for you if you’d like,” she offered softly, tilting her head back to keep their gazes locked.

He didn’t say anything, just handed her the envelope quietly, and she softened a bit more. Taking it from his hand, she opened the flap, and pulled the white paper out, looking down at the words, sobering.

“What does it say?” he asked, his voice gruff.

She swallowed, and read the note verbatim.

“I know who he is. As a gesture of goodwill, I will share that he will frame you in his next kill. I’ll be in touch.”

What the hell?

‘It’s unsigned.’

She looked up at her husband to find his jaw clenched tight. “How did you get this?”

“A man gave it to me.” She swallowed. “What does he mean?”

His hand fisted, and he took a step closer. “Did you see him?

She shook her head. “He was tall, wearing a sweatshirt. He had the hood up.”

He took the paper from her hand, staring at it for a long minute with his single gaze, before letting out a breath. “I’ll deal with it later.”

This was serious. Who was the guy and why the hell was he talking about a killer framing her husband?

Zephyr frowned as he purposely headed up the hill to the guest wing, leaving her standing there alone.

Her earlier annoyance returned. “Is there a reason you’re being deliberately rude to me or are you just this delightful every morning?” she asked, injecting joviality into her tone as she caught up with his longer strides.

He gave her a side glance but kept on quietly.

“It’s quite a feast for the eyes right now,” she poked at the bear, deliberately eyeing all the shirtless men coming out of the training building.

He didn’t respond, just began walking faster like he could outrun her.

“I mean, not that my eyes don’t appreciate it, but what was even the point of bringing me here?” she kept on. “A girl has her pride, you know? You don’t have to go around telling people it’s not a ‘real marriage’.” She emphasized the words with finger quotes. “Dante probably thinks I’m a hussy who’s tied you down, which granted I am, but he doesn’t need to know about that.”

He was listening, with the way his head was slightly tilted as he walked, his eye patch and scar visible to her in profile. Time to test the waters.

“I mean just yesterday someone asked me if it wasn’t a ‘real marriage’ and if I wanted to hook up for the wedding, which was very flattering but—”

He pivoted so suddenly she barely had a second to stop before tripping.

“Who?”

Bingo.

Zephyr shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. My point is you saying that will give people the impression that we’re in some kind of open relationship here—”

His free, scarred right hand came to her chin, interrupting her as his golden gaze seared her. “This is not an open marriage. I don’t share.”

Oh, she liked that.

“Great. I don’t want to be shared,” she nodded profusely and threw her hands out. “But they don’t know that. Not with the way you’ve been acting. I’ve already had someone flirt with me—” his grip tightened on her chin “—and if you don’t make it clear that I’m taken, I think it’ll just escalate, me being so irresistible and all. Someone might even risk your wrath and steal me away like we’re in some B-grade crime movie—”

Before she knew what was happening, she was up and over his shoulder, her world tilted upside down, blood rushing to her head, her leggings stretching over her ass as his palm covered it.

“You talk to my wife, you die,” he announced coldly.

Dante whistled in the distance, and Zephyr flushed. That was the most ‘Me Tarzan, You Jane’ thing she’d ever seen in her life. She was as taken as she could get.

He declared to the men lingering on the ground and simply carried her to their room to get ready for the wedding. Zephyr shut up after that, satisfied that his possessive streak still existed somewhere deep down, and while he was being cold, he wasn’t unaffected by her. If the last 24 hours had been any indication, it was a long, long road ahead of her. But today began with a win, and she’d take that.

Happy as a clam, she hung over his shoulder as he carried her away.

***

Dante and Amara’s wedding was beautiful. Not just the setting and the day itself, but the couple. She didn’t even know them but she cried when Amara came out on with little Tempest on her hip. Zephyr looked at the way Dante gazed at her, the love so visceral in his look it reminded her of a time long ago when the man at her side had looked at her like that. And it wasn’t just Dante, but the dangerous-looking man at his side looking at the spectacled woman beside Amara. What the hell did these guys eat up here? She needed to bottle that love. Maybe she could sell it on the black market and become a mafia lordess. Lordess? Was that even a word? It should be. She wondered if her husband ever would look at her like that again, and that made her sniffle.

He handed her a tissue silently, sitting in a white formal shirt that she was sure he’d had tailored because there was absolutely no way they made it in his size. The shirt was left open at the collar, the fabric taut over his chest, a smart navy jacket covering the rest of him. His short beard was trimmed, his hair pushed back, and damn he cleaned up so well. And why he had tissues in his pocket, she didn’t know, but Zephyr took it, blowing her nose as delicately as she could.

“You cry a lot,” a young voice from her side made her look down at a boy with blue eyes who just sat down at her side. He was around ten years but the way he was studying her made him seem older.

Zephyr wiped her nose with the tissue. “I’m an emotional girl.”

The boy kept staring at her unnervingly for his age. “How do you do that? Cry?”

Zephyr focused on her little companion, intrigued by his line of questioning. “I just feel it, and tears come out. You don’t cry?”

The boy shook his head.

Damn. “Do you want to?”

He gave a nod.

Poor baby.

“Tell you what,” she leaned closer to him to whisper. “I’ll cry for you, so that way you don’t have to waste your tears. What do you say?”

He blinked, his leg restlessly moving up-down. “Someone else can cry for me?”

That was a weird question. Before she could reply, Tempest’s grandmother came to take the boy. “Come, Xander. We have to sit up in the front.”

The boy left to go to the front from the seating area, and Zephyr turned to the wedding too, momentarily distracted by musing about what kind of a world she’d stepped into where little kids didn’t know how to cry. It reminded her of seeing Alpha that first time, roaring with the pain of losing his mother. She looked at him now, sitting still with a permanent scowl on his face, and it made her wonder if this world had killed that boy completely or if he still existed somewhere inside the one-eyed beast he’d become.