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dies irae (m.) day of wrath

EMILIANO

Boredom slowly consumed me as I sat before my brother, wearing an annoyed frown. Oh, how the roles had reversed – now it was him who was the one wearing a smug grin.

After completing my works, Just when I was rushing to meet my pretty muse, Aleksandr called me to the club to discuss God-knows-what.

"You seem distracted, brother," he remarked, raising an eyebrow as I glared at him. "What's bothering you?"

Rarely did I lose my composure, but when it came to Rosabelle, I felt like I'd unravel.

Seriously, who the hell did he think he was, ruining my meeting with her? I hadn't spoken to her in twelve hours for God's sake.

"Why am I here?" I inquired, eliciting an exasperated headshake from him. "I've told you a thousand times already."

"Tell me one more time, and I might listen this time, who knows," I replied through gritted teeth, already scheming in my head how I would disrupt one of his dates with Genevieve someday.

"What's going on with you lately?" he asked, his tone growing serious. "Stop saying nothing is wrong. I noticed how distracted you were during dinner the other day."

Part of me knew that he had noticed. Nothing would ever escape the man's keen eyes, after all. "And you think I didn't notice how you've stopped fucking everything that breaths?"

I smirked. "You seem too invested in my love life, brother. Tired of the one-woman life already?"

If Aleksandr knew how to get under my skin, I knew how to make him willing to pull a trigger on me.

He made a sound of disgust, not bothering to hide his irritation at my words. "I assume it's you who's tired of the women-induced lifestyle you've been leading. Perhaps you're thinking of following in my footsteps. Who knows."

Other times, it would've disturbed me. But now the mere thought of making Rosabelle my wife stirred a rush of heat through my groin.

She could be mine forever.

However, now wasn't the time to reveal her to my brother. Rosabelle didn't even know my true identity.

I wondered if she'd stay with me once she found out though.

I'll keep her. I'll make her stay.

A growling voice inside me declared.

Pretty Rosabelle wasn't the type to disobey her dad, neither was I the type to go against my brother's will. So, I'll have to convince both of them.

Even if it meant sparking a war between two mafia families.

"I assume we're here for business, Ale. I don't have time for this," I said, not giving a damn about his opinion.

So what if I wanted to follow in his footsteps? I would. Now that I have found someone willing (maybe?) to walk beside me.

A breathy chuckle escaped his lips, amusement dancing in his emerald green eyes at my behavior.

Then he started off to speak, however, he paused when he noticed one of my men approaching us, looking frantic as he reached us.

"Boss," terror was evident on his face as I frowned at him, and he hesitated to speak. But finally, he found his voice. "That young lady visited the club a while ago... and then she left."

My blood ran cold at the news.

Rosabelle had been at the club and left without meeting me?

There was no way she hadn't seen me. I had been sitting in the front rows, and I would have noticed her if she'd come a bit closer.

"When did she leave?"

"... An hour ago."

The glass in my hand shattered, red drink spilling all over the floor. I barely noticed the slight pain from the shards cutting my skin.

I ignored Aleksandr's cunning grin from across the table and stood up, grabbing the man by his collar.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" I tried to lower my voice, but I failed. "B-boss, I didn't know," the man's mouth trembled as he stammered. Other times, I would have relished the fear in his eyes, but this time, I wanted to throttle him, snap the petite head off his neck.

Rosabelle had seen me. Rosabelle has misunderstood me.

Fuck.

All because of that one bitch who decided to sit on my lap and seduce me, even when I told her that I wasn't here for any service. I had to force myself to grab her by her waist and thrash her away.

She rushed after seeing my bloodshot glare, but I didn't know that I already messed up.

"Did you see her? Where was she going?" I snapped, still gripping his collar. "Y-yes, she was crying and-"

"She was crying."

I had made my muse cry. . .

If looks could kill, my man would have been sliced to pieces by now.

I felt my brother raising up from the couch. He approached us and then removed my grip from the man's collar, probably because of the pleading gaze he was giving at Aleksandr's way.

He knew that at moment like this, I'd listen to my brother.

"Go, Emi. Taking it out on him won't solve your problem," he said, his tone turned serious, as if in realization that how agitated I was.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my blood-soaked hand, glaring at the man for one last moment before following Aleksandr's advice.

I turned to leave, but before that, I gave an order, "Kill that stripper."

No one would escape my wrath if Rosabelle didn't forgive me.

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"She has a tracking chip; you don't need to find her through other means. Just hack the chip," one of my men called from the other end while I sped away in my car, not knowing where I was heading. Rosabelle had already moved out of her villa, leaving me with no way to find her.

Damn.

My girl was fast. But I was faster.

"Hurry, Kultz," my patience was wearing thin. Two hours had passed since Rosabelle left the club, and one hour since I had almost killed anyone who crossed my path. That's why I was driving alone. I knew that if my men were with me, they would be dead by now.

"We found her, boss," I groaned upon hearing the news, feeling relief wash over me, but it quickly dissipated. "She boarded a flight to Chicago. The plane has already left Moscow's airspace."

I had to restrain myself from hurling my phone out of the car window. My head was throbbing with frustration.

"Bring it back," then I said.

"What?"

"Bring the fucking plane back, Kultz," I closed my eyes in frustration when the line went silent from the other end.

"You don't hear me, Kultz?"

"Y-yes, boss, but-"

"I don't want excuses. You said the plane had left Moscow's airspace. But not Russia's, right? So, bring it back. I don't know how you'll do it, neither do I want to. Do what I've told you to," I said, and then continued, "Or you're fired."

They knew the actual meaning behind being fired, so they obliged easily. "Yes, boss."

"You've got an hour."

With that, I tossed my phone onto the back seat pulled on my engine as I made a U-turn.

I was heading to the airport.

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