But it is Your Wife’s 7: This Isn’t Your First Rodeo…
But it is Your Wife’s The rhythmic, quiet beep of the hospital monitors echoed softly through the large, luxurious private room.
Esme lay face up on the bed, her breathing slow and shallow beneath an oxygen mask.
Rowan stood by her bedside, gazing down at her pale face.
He reached out and touched her forehead with gentle fingers, his voice barely more than a ragged whisper.
“Who did this to you…?” He closed his eyes, taking a heavy breath, then slowly opened them as he ran a hand through his hair.
“I was incredibly careless.
I should have…” The heavy wooden doors clicked and swung open slowly.
Rowan’s posture instantly shifted.
He turned his head sharply toward the entrance.
A tall, bulky man with dark skin and a visible scar slitting through his right eyebrow stepped into the room, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit.
“Have you found out who did it, Xavier?” Rowan asked, his tone dropping into a cold, lethal calm.
Xavier nodded gently.
“Yes, sir.” Rowan’s gaze locked onto him intensely.
“Who was it?” “We checked the CCTV footage throughout the house,” Xavier reported.
“We isolated the female staff member who served Mrs.
Esme a drink right before she went up to her room.” Rowan’s brows furrowed, his eyes darting to the floor as he processed the information.
“A female staff member…” Xavier looked toward Esme’s still form on the bed before turning back to Rowan.
“But sir…” Rowan raised his eyes.
“What?” “We tracked her down and brought her in,” Xavier explained smoothly.
“And we discovered she wasn’t actually a woman.
It was a man in disguise.” A dangerous, quiet smile tugged at the edge of Rowan’s lips.
“And what else did you find?” Xavier placed his hands behind his back, standing at attention.
“We found a fresh tattoo on the back of his neck.” “The Commando Syndicate?” Rowan asked directly.
Xavier nodded.
“Yes, sir.
It was.” Rowan began walking slowly toward the door, his steps deliberate.
“Where is he?” “He’s in the back room downstairs, sir.
The boys are keeping him company.” Rowan placed his palm on the heavy metal handle of the door, pausing to look back over his shoulder.
“Stay with her.
Do not, under any circumstance, let her out of your sight.” “Understood, sir,” Xavier replied with a firm nod.
Rowan opened the door, stepped out into the quiet corridor, and shut it firmly behind him, leaving Xavier alone with Esme.
Xavier turned his attention to the bed.
Esme’s brows began to twist in distress, her fingers twitching against the white sheets.
A soft, barely audible murmur escaped from beneath the plastic oxygen mask.
“Please…
let me go, Eli…” Xavier stared down at her, his expression remaining entirely unreadable.
“They should have stayed hidden,” he muttered softly under his breath.
“Targeting you was their biggest mistake.
You’re as much Rowan’s ultimate strength as you are his weakness.” …
Outside, the cool evening air hit Rowan as he stepped onto the sleek pavement in front of the hospital entrance.
A dark luxury sedan pulled up to the curb, its doors unlocking.
Before Rowan could reach the vehicle, two young girls, looking no older than nineteen, approached him timidly.
The one with short blonde hair held tightly to her friend’s arm, while the other blushed deeply, keeping her head down.
“Sir, please wait!” the blonde girl called out nervously.
Rowan stopped, turning his head to look at them.
His face was entirely devoid of warmth, his eyes cold and distant.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the blonde hurried to explain, clutching her friend.
“I’m Sara, and this is my friend Ria.” Rowan stared down at them blankly.
“What exactly do you need?” Ria looked up at him, her fingers nervously wringing the fabric of her dress.
“I…
I really like you.” Before Rowan could answer, his phone began to vibrate violently in his inner coat pocket.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and then looked back down at the two teenagers.
“How old are you?” he demanded bluntly.
Sara swallowed hard.
“We’re…
we’re eighteen.” Rowan glared at them, his voice sharp and unyielding.
“You should be in school focusing on your studies, not confessing your feelings to a complete stranger on the street…
especially one who has a wife who would snap your heads off.” The front passenger window of the sedan rolled down, and an associate looked back at him.
“Sir, we need to move.” Without acknowledging the girls any further, Rowan opened the rear door, stepped inside the car, and pulled the door shut.
The sedan smoothly pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Sara watched the car disappear down the street, crossing her arms.
“What a incredibly rude guy.” She turned to look at her friend, but Rhea was standing there with a slow, intrigued smile spreading across her face.
“He’s married…” Rhea whispered softly, her eyes locked on the road ahead.
“That makes it even better.” Sara stared at her with an expression of pure disgust.
“Ew, Ria.
Seriously?” …
Inside the moving car, Rowan answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear.
“Hello.
Who is this?” An incredibly deep, aging voice carrying a heavy, refined accent echoed through the line.
“Hello there, Rowan Carven.” Rowan’s composure visibly hardened, his jaw tightening instantly.
“Vincenzo Moretti.
It’s never a pleasure to hear your voice.” Vincenzo’s dark, gravelly laugh vibrated over the speaker.
“Still the joker, aren’t you, Rowan?” Rowan remained silent, offering no reaction.
“I see you received my return gift,” Vincenzo continued, his tone slow, calculating, and dripping with mockery.
“I couldn’t attend your sudden wedding, so I decided to send a proper surprise instead.
Tell me…
how is your sweet new wife doing?
I do hope she’s doing well.” Rowan’s expression remained entirely stone-faced, though his right hand clamped down on his knee, his knuckles turning stark white with intense force.
“You’re remarkably cheap, Vincenzo,” Rowan said, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register.
“Targeting my newlywed wife…
someone who knows absolutely nothing about our history or this rivalry.” Vincenzo’s voice darkened on the other end, the playful tone evaporating into harsh reality.
“You know the rules of our world better than anyone, Rowan.
Anyone who takes your name automatically inherits your fate.
For most, it’s a blessing of absolute power.
But for your dear wife…
it seems to be a curse.” “We caught your operative,” Rowan stated coldly.
“He’s in our hands.” Vincenzo paused, then let out a casual, dismissive chuckle.
“So?
What do you think is going to happen now?
You think if your men break his bones, he’s going to hand you my location or list off all my dark secrets and weaknesses?” Rowan stared straight ahead as the associate in the front passenger seat glanced back at him.
“Don’t be naive, Rowan,” Vincenzo added softly.
“This isn’t your first rodeo.
But it certainly is your wife’s.” Rowan ended the call instantly, throwing the phone onto the seat next to him.
“Turn back to the hospital.
Now.” The associate in the front seat turned around quickly.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Rowan caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his command absolute.
“Turn the car around and get us back to the hospital immediately.” The driver slammed his foot on the gas, executing a sharp U-turn and speeding back toward the medical complex.
…
Miles away, tucked deep within a dimly lit, vintage office, the thick scent of expensive cigars and heavy liquor hung in the air.
Dim yellow light reflected off polished mahogany panels, while armed guards stood silently at every corner of the room.
Several provocatively dressed women lingered near the lounge area.
Behind a massive antique desk sat an older man whose weathered face carried the weight of decades of ruthless authority.
He held a lit cigarette between his fingers, while a young woman sat comfortably on his lap, slowly unbuttoning his silk dress shirt with practiced ease.
He set his phone down onto the polished wood table and let out a deep, low chuckle that turned into a quiet laugh.
“Rowan Carven…” he whispered into the quiet room.
“I’m back.
And I am going to make your life an absolute living nightmare…
just like you did to my son’s.” Vincenzo reached across the desk, his ringed fingers gently picking up a framed photograph of a handsome young man who looked to be around Rowan’s age.
He stared at the picture with dark, sorrowful eyes.
“Rest well, mio figlio,” he whispered softly.
Also why would this old rag mafia dude, attack my baby Esme, like my girl is trying to live.
Rowan better clear his mess up before it gets worse.
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