Anya

It doesn’t feel right to wear this much black.

Nikolai wears black every single day but since Ivan’s funeral it just feels… different. Everything is too somber. Nikolai has spent so much in his office that I don’t know how to help. I keep trying to rack my brain as much as I can to think of something that will get him out of his funk.

Last night he mentioned something about appointing a new right-hand man today. Somebody from within the ranks that has really proved himself. I think it can only be a good thing. Nikolai has me, of course, he always has me, but Ivan was special to him. A friendship like that isn’t easy to replace and I know that one way or another he needs to fill that role for himself or else the power vacuum will keep, well, sucking.

I know that there was absolutely nothing that I could have done to help save Ivan. I know that it was out of my control, but I still feel somewhat responsible. I just want to do… something. Nikolai is processing as best as he can. Which leaves me here, sitting on the couch watching yet another documentary about my favorite artists. It’s always been soothing to watch art being created. I love listening to them talking about their processes and the way their ideas come to them. At least, I usually do. Today, I have popcorn and snacks and all matter of unhealthy things piled out on the table in front of me while I lounge in my comfiest clothes, one of Nikolai’s shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. But the documentary is mostly just background noise. I can see it happening, the lights and colors dance over the dimmed room that I’m sitting in, but I can’t really hear any of it. Not really.

I don’t even notice the body lingering in the doorway. I’ve gotten far too accustomed to Nikolai’s men hanging around. I think it would be more unusual to not have a giant, muscled man watching my every move. I don’t like dehumanizing the bodyguards, but they are just a constant, permanent fixture in my life now. They don’t even seem to like to talk much. They are good enough to me and I know that they make Nikolai feel safer with me being out and about, so I tolerate them.

Which is precisely why it doesn’t even register when Horus appears with ice cream until he sits down on the couch beside me.

“I was not sure how you liked your Sunday’s, Mrs. Volkovich, so I hope that it is alright that I guessed.” Horus speaks in his accented lilt as he settles into the seat next to me. I notice that he, too, has a large ice cream bowl in his hands. The flavors of his are different, and the toppings slightly more varied but I’m more than happy to indulge in any ice cream whatsoever, so I help myself to the bowl that he brought me.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” I answer, pushing around the freshly whipped cream with my spoon, “but, please, just call me Anya.”

“You looked like you could perhaps use some company,” Horus continues. “I know that I am a new face that you are growing accustomed to, but I hope that I am not intruding.”

He was right. I did need some company. “No, please, anybody can watch tv.” I smile softly at him, even if I don’t feel the true emotions behind the gesture.

“I hope that it is not too forward for me to ask, but how was your day at work?”

The question strikes me as funny. “My day?” I asked with a more genuine laugh. “I think that the events of my day would bore somebody like you greatly.”

Horus angles his head as he looks at me. “Why do you say that?”

“Well it’s not nearly as interesting as what you guys do, is it?”

The corner of Horus’ mouth tilts upward. “And just what do you think that we do all day? I will grant you that certain days are much more interesting than others, but we do not run around shooting things up and rescuing damsels all day every day.”

In truth, I think that is something along the lines of what I thought that they did. The sheer amount of paperwork that I have seen Nikolai do has somewhat disenchanted me from the whole thing, but I thought that was the exception, not the rule.

“Do not delude yourself into thinking that the work that you do with the doctor is any less valuable. I assure you that you are just as vital as I am,” Horus says before he eats some more of his ice cream.

Only for it to fall right off his spoon and onto his very expensive looking tie. He swears under his breath and leans forward to place his bowl down. He grabs a napkin and starts to very carefully blot at the mess and swears again.

The first time I hear him say the word in Arabic, I’m not sure that I hear him right, but when he repeats it I am certain. One of the few languages that I happen to be fluent in.

I can’t stop the smirk from claiming me as I answer him in perfect Arabic. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Horus answers me without thinking. “My mother would turn over in her grave to hear such words.”

It is only after he finishes speaking that he seems to realize that I spoke to him in his native tongue. The shocked look on his face is perhaps that very best thing that I’ve seen all day long. This time, my laughter comes out easily and freely. It feels so good to laugh until my cheeks hurt at the sign of the Bratva second in command, shocked over me and wearing ice cream on his clothes. It’s so desperately human that it cheers me right up.

“I am pleased that my misfortune amuses you, Mrs. Volkovich.”

“I am sorry. It’s not funny,” I say quickly, trying to reign in my laughter and failing miserably. “It’s not! I promise! Can I get you anything? And I did tell you to call me Anya.”

Horus pulls off his tie and carefully folds it into his pocket. “No, I simply need to be more careful, Anya.”

“Now that, I am sure that your mother would be pleased to hear. Tell me more about your family. Where are they?” I ask him conversationally. I’ve forgotten all about the documentary playing in the background.

“Dead, unfortunately. I came to work for Nikolai shortly after I turned eighteen. I had lost my family the year before.” Horus smiles tightly. The pain of losing them so young likely still stings.

I can relate to that. “I’m sorry.”

“It happens all of the time, I am sure. It feels good to speak their language again, though. I feared that I would never have the opportunity. My father passed of a heart attack, my mother of a broken heart shortly after and I left my country and never looked back…”

“Well, I am happy to be the one to bring some joy to your life then, Horus. I know how happy my husband is that you are serving at his side now.”

“I hope to do him proud. I owe Mr. Volkovich a great deal for taking me in, for teaching me skills, letting me climb in the ranks as he has. I am partially the man that I am today because he took a chance on me.”

I would imagine so. I remember Nikolai telling me something similar about the way that his own father made him climb the ranks to earn his position. Perhaps Nikolai sees something of his own journey in Horus’.

“I think that everybody needs somebody in this world.” I admit. “I know that I do, anyway. It can get lonely when you’re on your own, it starts to feel too big. That’s why I’m so happy to be here, helping in whatever way I can.”

“I know that feeling all too well.” Horus admits. I can see the sadness behind his eyes, the hope for a friendship that I think that we both desperately need. “But now we are here, part of something bigger than ourselves. A type of family of another kind.”

“Exactly.” I beam. I lean forward and give him a can of soda, which looks horribly out of place in his hand, but he accepts it anyway as I lift mine into a toast. “To finding friends, however they get here.”

“To new friendships, and bright futures.” Horus tapped the aluminum brim against mine, and we both deink.

When I smiled, it doesn’t feel forced at all.

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Alek

Four Months Later

Anya was impossibly beautiful when I met her, but she looks even more like an angel now. She’s only just started to show that darling belly. She and Helena have been taking advantage of the local yoga studio and the pregnancy classes they offer. She is busy with the final touches to our house, then we can move in. I offered to just get the bedroom up and going but she said that she’s ready to start nesting as quickly as possible. I guess that I can’t deny her that.

As if I ever really had the power to deny her anything at all.

Whatever Anya and our child wants, she’s going to get.

We have yet another dinner planned for tonight. I’m planning on asking her a very, very important question. One that will tie the two of us together for life if she says yes. I’ve picked out a stunning ring for her, one that will fit her exotic charm and beauty. But there’s something that I have to do first, even if I don’t want to.

I had to pull a hell of a lot of strings to get the meeting I’m going to today. I need everything to go perfectly so that I can fly back home in time to make my dinner date.

Before Anya can marry me, she has to divorce Nikolai officially in the eyes of the court. While I detest the legal system and just about everything involved with it, I know that there’s really not much of a choice. This is what she wants, to be free from him once and for all so that she can take my name. Anya wants this finished before she gives birth so that there can be no issue with the birth certificate. It’s my job to make that happen. No matter what it takes. So, that’s exactly what I plan on doing.

I’ve had Horus deliver at least a dozen copies of the divorce paperwork to the maximum-security prison where Nikolai is being kept, but the bastard has refused to sign a single one. What he’s hoping he’s going to get out of that is unclear. It’s why I am dragging my ass across the country to go and see his miserable ass. Whatever it takes to change his mind.

I take my sunglasses off as the security camera scans me and permits me access. I’m sure that at least half of the guards here would love to lock me up with the rest of the criminals and throw away the key, but money can buy just about anything. And I have all of Nikolai’s.

They take me to a room where Nikolai is waiting, chained and cuffed to the table, his hands shackled to the floor. He’s wearing a mask over the lower half of his face that looks like something straight out of a horror movie. I guess he tried biting again.

I don’t bother with pleasantries or greetings as I slide into the chair across from his and lean back. I cross one ankle over my knee and wait for him to speak first. I place the papers on the table and pull a pen from my pocket. I’m not stupid enough to put it within his easy reach. Not yet. Not until I know that he’s going to sign.

“You’ve wasted your time, Ivankov,” Nikolai practically spits his words at me. “I’m not signing shit.”

“Still haven’t learned to share in there? Pity.” I grin, mostly because I know that it’s going to piss him off… and I just can’t help myself.

“I’m not signing that.”

“Anya will divorce you one way or another. You can spare yourself the humiliation of being dragged through court and her testimony by just signing, asshole.”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I don’t have to watch anything. I’m not the prisoner here, prick.” I continue. Riling him up isn’t going to help anything, I know that. But if he thinks that he’s going to get something out of this deal, he needs to spit it out fast. I don’t have much time here.

Nikolai growls, fuming.

I sigh, relenting. I check my watch. I really do have to get a move on things. “You’re wasting my time. And, unlike you, I have things to do. So, what’s it going to take for you to sign these papers?”

“You think that I don’t know what you’ve been up to? The things that you’ve stolen from me? You can’t possibly think that it’s going to last.”

“Actually, I do think that. I didn’t make any moves in secret, Volkovich. I wanted you to know that I took everything from you. It’s the very least you deserve. I hope you understand how it feels. Isn’t that part of your rehabilitation program? Humility? Making amends?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Nikolai spits again.

“I would rather fuck your wife.” My smile is bordering on feral. It’s hard to keep from leaning across this table and smashing Nikolai’s face into the metal over and over again. I want nothing more than to see him bleed.

We both seem to have learned excellent restraint, but really, it’s probably just because we are being so closely watched at this exact moment.

“I’m going to get out of here, Ivankov.”

“Not likely,” I gloat as I cross my arms over my chest.

“I am, and you’re going to help me do it if you want me to sign those damned papers.” Nikolai says with a knowing smirk.

Of course that’s what he wants. Of course he does. He probably thinks that there’s some sort of poetic irony over the whole thing. I have to fight to keep from sneering at him for the sheer nerve of asking me such a thing. I would love nothing more than to slap the sheer arrogance right off his damned face.

“And what makes you think that I’m going to give you anything at all? I’m only here as a courtesy that you sure as hell don’t deserve in the first place.” I lean forward, making sure that he’s getting my point.

“Yes, well, when you commandeered all my assets like some bandit in the night, you effectively prevented me from hiring my own council. So you can either hire one on my behalf, or you can give my funds back. Either or.” Nikolai continues.

“I don’t think that you understand the position that you’re in here. You have no leverage. Nothing to bargain with. I don’t have to give you shit.”

“If you want me to sign those papers you do. Hire my lawyer, and you can have the whore.”

My knuckles crack from the force of not punching him. What I wouldn’t give to be able to lock him in a room somewhere and punch him until every bone in my fist breaks.

“And just who might this lawyer that you’re wanting be?”

“Kate Thorne.” Nikolai says flatly.

I scoff. Everybody has heard of her. “She’s never going to work with somebody like you.”

“Of course she will. She is known for taking on the toughest challenges, and my case will be for her. She will take it, because you’re going to pay whatever fee that she names, no matter how high. Or else, I’m keeping Anya.”

I sneer at him. I push away from the table. “We’re done here.”

“Oh, and you’re going to testify in my favor too.” Nikolai adds.

“You’re truly delusional, do you know that?”

“I’m correct. That is what’s going to happen. If you want to storm out of here and talk it over with Anya, be my guest, but you will be back here because you’re going to realize that this is your only option. I’m getting out of this prison whether you like it or not. You will do this, and we will finish our business later. As free men. Don’t you want to see which one of us is really going to come out on top?” Nikolai taunts.

I do. I do want to see how that fight goes. But it’s not just me that I have to think about. It’s Anya and the baby. We still haven’t even learned the sex of the child yet. Anya says that she doesn’t want to know because it doesn’t matter.

No lawyer in their right might will let him out. No judge or jury will permit something like that with the a crime list as long as his.

It might be a mistake, but I know in my bones that he’s going to rot in here.

Besides, if he’s out of prison it will make it all the easier for me to put a bullet between his eyes. I won’t even feel bad about it. “Fine.” The word is like bile on my tongue.

“I want more than that, Ivankov.”

“You have my word, Volkovich, I’ll get you the damned lawyer but we both know it’s not going to be enough to get out of here.”

Nikolai leans forward, his fingertips brushing the bottom of the divorce decree and pulls it closer to him. He holds his hand out expectantly for me to put the pen in his hands, and I oblige him. What choice is there? There is nothing that I won’t do for Anya’s happiness. If she wants a huge wedding and rings and a legal ceremony, then that’s exactly what she’s going to get.

No matter the cost.

“Actually,” Nicolai smirks gleefully. “Perhaps my new lawyer ought to be the one to look over these papers before I go ahead and sign them. Why don’t you just go ahead and pass all of those on along to Ms. Thorne and she can bring them back here when she’s done looking over everything.”

Of course, the bastard would pull something like this. Of course, he’s going to try to pull something at the very last minute to ensure that he keeps having the upper hand.

The plastic of the pen threatens to break in my hand.

“You should probably get a move on, though. My sources say that my wife is a good few months along now. I don’t think that I have to remind you what will happen if she still has my last name when the child is born?”

I don’t even want to know how he knows. Anya is going to be devastated when she finds out that he knows. She’s been so damned careful. It’s almost impossible to get her out of the house since she started showing, all for nothing. All of this, all of our vigilance and efforts have been for fucking nothing.

“And I will lay claim to that child, Alek, if it is born with my name. Mark my word., Nikolai promises, a sinister twist in his voice as his lips twist higher into a feral smile.

I tuck the divorce papers away in my coat, slip my glasses back on my face and head out of the prison. Anything for the happiness of my family. Anything.

***

Tonight was supposed to be a wonderful occasion and I can’t help but feel like I ruined it. We have only just finished our meal but the engagement ring in my pocket already feels like a weight. How am I supposed to look Anya in the eye and tell her what happened today? I had hoped that I could present her with the papers signed. I was going to grant her the freedom that she has been obsessed with over the last few months, and rightly so. Then, I was going to present her with the option of joining herself to me.

I know that she wants to. She’s been hinting at it. Not subtly either.

The ring that I have purchased for her, she practically picked out herself. Short of going there and pulling it out and taking my card. She talks about marriage all the time and how things in our future are going to be. It wasn’t something that I had ever given any true serious thought to before her. Lilian and I would have probably gotten married at some point, but not for love. We would have done it for Henry.

Henry who has become the light of our lives.

Just this morning he finished picking the final touches that he wants to put onto his room when it is finished at our house. Anya has been furniture shopping while helping Helena with some of her online courses. My sister has decided that in addition to being a middle school teacher, she also wants to obtain her master’s degree.

I don’t know who in our little found family is the proudest of her if I’m being honest.

“Spit it out.” Anya says over dessert. She wipes the corners of her mouth before slapping her cloth napkin down onto the table in front of her.

I turn my focus to her, truly looking at her. She looks ethereal in the gown I chose for her. Jewel tones and panels of fabric that drape so prettily over her rounded belly, pushing her breasts up and accentuating every curve of her body. It would have been perfect. Will be. The answer to her question is right on the very tip of my tongue. The words are right there, ready to spill out.

No secrets. We did promise one another that. I certainly am not going to start keeping stuff from her now.

“I went to the prison today and saw him.” I don’t have to specify who I mean, she knows.

Anya visibly pales at the comment.

“See?” I gesture to her. “That is why I hesitated to tell you. He still has this grip of terror over you and nothing I do or say is going to make it any better.”

It makes me feel weak. My whole purpose in life now is to protect her and our child. To make her feel safe. To know that all of them can depend on me no matter what comes. And yet there’s doubt on her face.

“What did he say? Why did you go?”

I pick at an invisible spec of lint on the tablecloth. “I wanted him to sign the damned papers, it was supposed to be a present for you.”

“Naturally he didn’t sign them.”

“Quite the opposite. It seems that he’s been damned busy since he’s been behind bars. He wants me to hire a lawy-”

“You said no. Right? That’s fucking insane. No way in fuck are we hiring somebody to defend him! There’s a reason that he can’t find representation! He’s a fucking psychopath, Alek! The judge will grant me a divorce on the grounds of estrangement eventually, they have to…” Anya’s hands drop to her belly, to our child, as if she can cover their ears so that no sound can carry through her skin.

“We both know he’s still buying every judge that he comes across.”

“He can’t! There has to be a limit! Alek! This cannot-”

“He knows that you’re pregnant Anya…” I answer bluntly, ripping off the bandage. I can hardly meet her eyes as my own rage simmers just below the surface.

Anya says nothing but tears start to well in her eyes. “It’s never going to be over… is it?”

I hate the way her shoulders slump. I hate that she looks so damned tormented and there’s nothing I can do about it. At least, nothing that is not terribly complicated. “If we play along with his little game, then we have the chance to twist this in a way that will work to our advantage.”

The words sound cheap to my own damn ears.

“No. That’s how he works. He’s going to use this to his advantage just so that he can have another chance to kill me… to kill Helena… to hurt Henry… our child. Alek, we can’t!”

She’s starting to hyperventilate. I move out of my seat and move to kneel in front of her. I take both of her hands into my own and shake my head. “I’m never going to allow that to happen. Surely you have to know that I’m never going to allow somebody like him near you again. The ball is in our court this time, we have the cards. We will make this work in our favor.”

“You can’t know that, you can’t.”

“You have to trust me. Trust this plan. And if worse comes to worse, then he can be free just so I can kill him myself.” I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t a damned appealing prospect in and of itself.

Anya sniffles and pushes her fingers through mine with a sad nod.

“I’m sorry that it has to come to this. I really am.” I say, and I mean it. “It’s certainly not how I wanted tonight to go…”

“How did you want tonight to go?” Anya asks.

I pull the ring box from my pocket and place it on the table, closed. I let it sit between us on the table with a sigh. “I had a whole plan to give you the papers and then ask you to share your freedom with me…”

Anya snatches the box and openes it. “Shh.” She says, her tears drying as she looks at the ring and pulls it from the box. She placed it on her finger slowly and holds her hand out in front of her and admires the way the diamonds catch the light.

She flings her hands around my neck next and hugs herself to my body with enough force that she nearly knocks us both backward onto the ground.

“You’re right.” She mutters against the side of my face. “We will face this together.”

“Always.” I kiss her temple and smile. “Is that a yes? Will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course! I love you, Alek.”

“Whatever else comes, we will overcome it as a family.” I kiss her softly. “I love you too.”

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Alek

“On your knees.”

There’s something so damned intoxicating about seeing Anya on her knees for me. Her stunning face looking up at me with her eyes bright and wide. Perfect submission is the best gift that I think that I’ve ever gotten in my life. She’s terrified. Not because of me but because of what might happen tomorrow or the day after if we can’t figure something out.

Tomorrow morning the first order of business is going to be to meet with Daniel so that we can make a plan to merc Nikolai in any way that we can. I don’t care what it takes, the idea of Nikolai’s hands on Anya in any capacity ever again makes me blind with rage.

She’s looking up at me like this might be our last time together.

The look in her eyes is resolute, like there won’t be another opportunity to be with one another or that she will go off and play the martyr. Henry will be safe. Of course he will. But tonight, we both need the break. We have to let some steam off, remind ourselves that we are still alive and kicking. At least for now. We’ve both come so far in the short amount of time that we’ve known each other. I won’t allow us to backslide now.

“Hands behind your back princess.” I command. There’s no room for argument in my voice. She slides her arms behind her back slowly and I see that shift in her eyes. The comfortable look that comes each time that she’s been present and settled inside of her body, and ready to be commanded. Ready for me to use as I see fit.

Her knees part, her back arches her chest forward as she holds her opposite elbow behind her back. She’s so damned perfect. I can hardly believe it. Her eyes flutter closed, and her breathing starts to even out.

“If you say stop, we stop princess. Nod that you understand me.”

My breath is locked inside of my chest until she answers me. She nods. I exhale. It’s a comfortable sort of calm that settles over me as the tension slowly starts to ease out of my shoulders. Little by little the plan of action unfolds in my mind. Her skin is so soft, it’s a hard choice where to start. I don’t think that I’m ever going to be over wanting her. I don’t think that it will ever be possible to get my fill of her. I think that I could easily spend the rest of my life trying to sate my hunger for her, and also be totally fine with never accomplishing that goal. I restrain her easily, tethering her to the footboard of the bed so that she can’t fall forward or move too much.

“Pain or pleasure?” I ask. One is going to be significantly harder than the other right now, as I can already feel my heart reaching for her. It’s my job to be here for anything that she needs. No matter which option she chooses.

At the same time, she needs to know that I am still in control here, no matter what choice she makes. As such, not answering my direct question will never be an option that I’m going to tolerate. My knuckles graze down the curve of her arm and shift over to cup her full breast into my hand. My thumb brushes over her nipple through her shirt, rubbing until the skin is hard and peaked before pinching it sharply to force her to answer me. I haven’t had any reason to punish her yet, but I will if I have to.

“I asked you a question, princess.” I hope my voice sounds controlled, because I feel like if she keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to lose control entirely.

“…pleasure.” She whispers without breaking eye contact.

That was what I was hoping that she would choose. “Good girl, princess,” I hum softly and she watches with hunger as I pull my shirt over my head slowly. I slide my pants down, hard and straining for her as I reach forward and cup the back of her head softly. “Earn your pleasure, princess.” I command softly.

It’s a test for both of us. Both for her, to work for what she’s wanting, and for me to give her just that tiny bit of control that I’ve never let another woman have over me before. I’ve never even let another woman come close. I stand just out of reach of her perfect, sensual mouth on purpose. With the way that she’s tethered she’s going to have to strain to the point of just past discomfort to reach me.

But by god, does she try.

I’m not going to last long with her tongue lapping at my head like that. Her perfect tongue, divine as it swirls around me, struggling to pull me further into her mouth with every pass that she makes. I want nothing more than to grab onto her head and fuck that perfect little mouth, but I can’t. She makes me want to lose control every single time that I get to have her all to myself like this.

Knowing that she wants me, wants more of my cock, that she’s hungry for it, is intoxicating. “You can do better than that. Don’t you want your reward, princess?” I goad her.

It works.

She moves forward, pulling me in closer and I have no choice but to buck my hips toward her, disappearing further into her mouth. It feels so damned divine that my head falls back as my hand slips down to hold the soft hair on the back of her head as a groan of pleasure leaves me.

The normal feelings of hesitation aren’t there. Normally, a move like that has my lungs locking up and bile rising in the back of my throat. Touch is hard for me, I wasn’t lying about that. Perhaps it’s different because it’s with her. Because Anya is the one, and she’s already more than proven herself to me. She would not do the things that still fill my nightmares.

“Deeper,” I growl, my voice husky with need as I struggle to keep my hands off her. My skin doesn’t crawl. I don’t feel the need to run away from her as fast as I can. Perhaps if I can do this, we can do more. Perhaps with Anya it could be different than it has been with the other girls in the past. I have to know.

I reach down to cup her chin, my fingers curling possessively over the bone and urging her forward again. I watch with rapt attention as every bit of my cock that could fit disappears between those perfect lips. She gags again, the sound more erotic than it has any right to be. Even still, she tries to take me again, wanting all of me. I can tell. Saliva strings out in ropes as I ease myself from her lips. I bend at the waist and kiss her, wiping away the spit as I remove my hand from under her chin.

The feeling of pride that fills me is surreal. “Good job, princess.”

I love the way her eyes seem to sparkle each and every time I call her princess.

I scoop her up by the elbows and bending her over the footboard. I slide her shorts down my legs, admiring the shape of them, the delicate muscle and the way her skin feels against my hands before kissing the curve of her hip, the back of her thigh and calf, before bending one leg at the knee to hook over the end of the bed. She teeters for a moment, and catches her balance the next.

Before she can guess my next move, I sink to a knee behind her, my tongue returning the favor that she has given me moments ago. Her moans of pleasure are swallowed by the soft begging as she bucks and writhes against my face. My tongue delves inside of her, curling to a place that makes her cry out in pleasure before moving back to her clit and lavishing my attention there. I wait until her breaths start to catch – until her gasps and moans are wild and unchecked as she tries to frantically turn herself against my face. I know that she’s close, I can feel it.

We can’t have her finishing too soon now, can we?

I pull tongue away from the apex of her thighs. The noise of loss that she makes is desperate enough that I almost take pity on her. I certainly haven’t yet had my fill of her sweetness. She tastes unlike anything that I’ve ever had before and I’m addicted to it.

My hands find her hips a moment later. I have to have her now, neither one of us can take the anticipation any longer and when she cums, she’s going to do so on my dick. I bury myself inside of her in one quick thrust. She tries to push back into me, her hips finding a rhythm with mine, but each time that I feel her walls gripping me anew, every time that she gets closer, I change pace to make sure that she doesn’t orgasm. When she does, I know that it’s going to be explosive.

It doesn’t take long at all until her moans and softly pleaded words turn into something else entirely. Desperate and frantic as she seeks sensation, harder, more, something that she doesn’t even know. I love watching her come undone. I don’t even truly mind that she’s fucking herself back onto my dick despite the restraints. I keep going until she’s screaming. Until she’s lost all sense of herself, until I am positive that I am the absolute only thing that she can think of and that nothing exists outside of this room, and only our bodies matter.

It’s physically painful for me to pull out from inside of her. I need her, my body is shaking with need for her. I pick her up by the hips, flipping her onto her back and pushing the pair of us up onto the bed, pushing back inside of her as quickly as I can. Her scream drowns out my own guttural groan of pleasure. Just the feeling of her is intense. I almost lose it right then and there. I think that chunks of my sanity are slipping away from me with every thrust, closer and closer to the finish line until then it’s there, no more denial, no more waiting as I empty myself into her with force and a torrent that feels never ending as Anya grips me tighter and tighter. Her perfect body twitching and writing underneath me as she barrels through wave after wave of pleasure.

I think she passes out for a moment as I ease from her when I’m capable of moving again. When my sanity is enough to free her arms and pull her body into my chest. Her hands press into my chest, and it feels… right.

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Vittoria

“Are you close?”

“Yes, I’m driving into the estate now,” Eva giggles on the phone.

“Eva, don’t give us away. It has to be a secret until we are sure,” I suck my teeth and I know she just rolled her eyes even though I cannot see her.

“Yeah, yeah… blah blah blah.”

“Eva,” I try for a firmer tone, but who am I kidding? She does whatever she wants half the time. “We are best friends, have my back here.” There goes the never-failing emotional blackmail.

“Fine,” she sucks her teeth, “you will see me soon.”

I start to say something, but she ends the call. That’s classic Eva. I take a deep breath and try to distract myself. My legs move before my brain clicks that I’m pacing in her bedroom.

Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four… I halt, spin in a different direction, and continue my pacing.

I’m counting the portraits on Eva’s wall while waiting impatiently for her to show up with the test strips.

I’m not sure what it is I’m feeling, but I have been nauseous for two days and I cannot stand the smell of my favorite perfume. I get dizzy, too. Not to add the embarrassing moment I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation with Emanuele yesterday. He was talking about business in the study, and I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the middle of the night on the mattress in our bedroom.

It might not be what I’m thinking, but what if? I halt. What if I’m pregnant? My stomach ruffles, and I gulp, trying to tamper my giddiness so I don’t go overboard and get disappointed if that isn’t the case.

I inhale sharply and then continue to count the portraits on Eva’s wall.

It feels more like a gallery here than a bedroom. But it’s only pictures of people she cares about on the walls. Emanuele, me, and Fabio. More of her father than anyone. There are three of mine, and Fabio has only one. It’s not a clear take, a little blurry, and it’s not because of the editing. It’s more like she was moving when she took the picture of him because he seems to be standing in place. It looks different, too, in an unprofessional way. The rest are pictures of her and Emanuele. No Salvatore in sight. When Emanuele told us the day after my accident what had happened it was a terrible shock, especially for Eva, but I honestly wasn’t all that surprised. The traitor should run because while Emanuele may not be able to kill his son, I will stop at nothing to protect ​what is mine​. He should ask around.

I sit on her queen-size mattress that is covered in cherry pink bed sheets with a duvet of a lighter shade of the same color. I begin to bounce my army green suede boot-covered feet and pick at the chipped black polish on my nails. I have been indoctrinated into denim and oversized T-shirts.

“I’m here,” Eva bursts into her bedroom in gray sweatpants and a white gym bra, and I stand, dropping my phone on the mattress. “Here you go,” she opens a camera bag and pulls out a grocery bag, then tosses it at me. “Go on,” she rubs her hands eagerly against each other.

I nod, gulp, and inhale loudly.

“It will be fine,” she smiles and shushes me away towards the bathroom with her hand.

I grunt, letting her push me till I am at the door of her bathroom. She opens the door and continues to push me until I’m inside. Then she closes it.

I glare at myself in the mirror. It might be what I think it is. My lips look fuller, or maybe I’m exaggerating because I want to see physical signs.

I pull out the test strips. There are seven in here, Eva got four extra—a best friend indeed, matching my craziness.

I take the first test, and my heart drops to my stomach and shoots straight up to hit my chest hard. I’m pregnant. My eyes prick, and my throat goes dry.

It is with shaky hands I take the rest of the tests, and all seven of them come out with the same result. I can hear Eva grunting and pacing by the door, but I take a moment for myself. I try to take deep breaths to calm my nerves.

I open the door slowly, one hand resting protectively on my stomach, my eyes clouded with tears.

“Are you…?” Eva is already tearing up.

I nod, “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

“Yes!” She squeaks and lifts me off the floor, then spins me around. “Can I be the baby’s aunt instead of sister?” she chews her lips eagerly. “You know, because of the age difference,” she swipes a tear off her cheeks, and mine run free down my cheek.

“No.”

We both turn in the direction of the door of her bedroom to see Emanuele standing there in black jeans and a black t-shirt.

“You didn’t lock the door?” I click my teeth at Eva.

She gives a Cheshire smile, “Oops.”

I thought a romantic dinner would be a good way to tell him about it. Or even cuddling at night after sex. But, Eva… I pout, but Emanuele prances to us. I don’t let him get close; instead, I run up to him and hurl myself at him. He captures me and kisses me fervently.

“I’m pregnant,” I tilt my head to meet his eyes.

He smiles. “We are pregnant,” he kisses me softly on the lips.

I nod into the kiss, “We are pregnant.”

“Having a baby sister at this point is a little…” Eva blows raspberries.

“Or baby brother,” Emanuele says firmly, “And there is nothing wrong with that. Besides, you will have your own family to care for.”

Oh, no. I bury my face in Emanuele’s chest to avoid looking at her because I can feel what is coming next.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend, how am I starting a family already?” Eva scoffs.

“You have Fabio,” Emanuele retorts, and I grit my teeth for her sake.

“I have who?” Eva snorts, “That’s a joke, right?”

“You are marrying him,” Emanuele makes it firmer.

“Why?”

“Why not?” he clips.

“Dad, we are talking about Fabio here, and me,” her voice is breaking, and it’s the last thing I want for her.

I pull away from Emanuele and go to her, then wrap my arms around her.

“I don’t want to be married to him,” Eva sniffs.

“Come on, baby,” Emanuele opens his arms, and she goes to him, dropping her head on his chest, “I want what is best for you.”

Eva may not want to admit it now, but I can swear there is something there. I might be wrong, too, but… I join the embrace, and Emanuele wraps one hand around me while I do the same to Eva.

She is not alone. I will be with her every step of the way and make sure it is truly in her best interest, more than anyone else. We have something in common, and that is infuriating men in our lives. But my heart is going out to Eva because Fabio is a different breed of dominant.

“I don’t like him,” she mumbles.

“Maybe that’s a good start,” I stroke her back.

Not liking him is a good start. All the best love stories start with that lie… line.

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Emanuele

Blood. Sweat. Tears.

I’m ready to spill them all in order to protect la Famiglia. To protect what has been given to me to look after. And every bloody tortured soul that I have sent to hell knows I will go above and beyond for what is mine.

Especially before.

I flick open my customized gold electronic lighter and close it. The clicking sound has a way of bringing my mind back to the present and keeping it grounded on things that are important.

There was a time when this problem would have been met with the same severity the Bratva is conjuring. A time when I could afford to follow them to hell and have our demons dance the dance of death.

Back when it was easier to fight a war, knowing I had nothing but my life to lose. It was easier to be the first one to lift a sword and slash when it was just my life on the line. It was a time when I was that man who swung into action and let mayhem rain. But that was until I found out how much I had to lose ten years ago.

I flick my lighter again, and this time, I take it to the cigar between my lips and light it up. Then, I flip it closed, savoring the smoky leather taste and the smell of the cigar.

This time, I choose the pen, and by the Saints, I pray the screwball, Boris, doesn’t reach for the sword as is expected of him.

I adjust the French sleeve of my black dress shirt and clip the diamond cufflinks in the buttonhole.

I drag and puff, using the corner of my lips to blow out flurrying leather-scented smoke.

An Apocalypse.

That is what I’m fighting against.

No matter the amount of heat from my long enemy, Boris, I won’t shrink away. I detest the fucking fact that he is still standing. Boris is the kind of enemy that has woken me up every day with cuss words on my lips. He has been tossing problems my way constantly. He is like a cancer to my soul. He keeps reoccurring when I least expect it.

Now it’s a fight for dominance and the bloody fact that the screwball is ruining business for me in Los Angeles. That thing of the sky being wide enough for every star isn’t something the bastard has heard of.

I stare blankly at my reflection in the mirror, with a scowl forming on the corner of my lips as I clip in my other diamond cufflinks.

The problems won’t stop coming. And the solutions are radioactive. Bloody questionable by reasonable standards.

I snort and pick up my black suit hanging on the armrest of the black leather sofa beside me.

I don’t have a problem with what we are about to do, but I hate that Boris is influencing it. I don’t like to be pushed into making decisions. I don’t like the bloody idea of feeling cornered and having my options narrowed down to one.

I slip my hand into the sleeve of the suit.

Or maybe it’s the fucking fact that I now have to depend on some girl, who reeks of trouble from the little I know about her, to bring salvation to the whirlpool of madness Boris seems to keep sending my way.

I slip my second hand into the sleeve of the suit and adjust it to sit properly on me, then button it.

I do deserve him.

I can’t deny that.

A man like me does not have the luxury of saying I did something in a previous life to deserve being fucked over continuously in this one because, I have already done too bloody much in this one, and if I’m being honest, I can admit the punishment is still too small.

A measly punishment for the havoc I rained when I was much younger and power-hungry. The benefit of which the Teso clan still enjoys to date. I planted the seed with my ruthlessness, and we are enjoying the shade from its branches.

I pick up my black diamond-encrusted wristwatch on the armrest.

He is goading me. Every time he strikes, he is closing the walls around me. He wants the same thing I want, which is war, but he doesn’t have the same thing I have to lose, which is a family I care about. Maybe I can allow my son Salvatore to find his way in this world of shadows, but what about my little girl, Eva?

I clip the wristwatch in. Glower at my reflection. I’m draped in black. A perfect contrast to the clinical white walls of the hotel room I’m standing in. The color has been mine for ten years now, and I’m not done with it. I don’t think I will be any time soon.

“Ready?” Salvatore, the son I have been sourly displeased with, pokes his head into my room in a crisp white shirt and black dress pants. An undone tie hangs loosely from his neck. Strands of his unruly black curls bounce forward to cover his bushy eyebrows.

I have tried in every way to make a proper man out of him. And I am not even asking too much. I can’t ask him to be perfect because who am I deceiving? I know he has his demons. I can see the darkness in him through his eyes as clearly as mine. But he can start by dressing up to look less like a delinquent.

“Come here,” I twirl the ring’s band on my index finger to position the bezel so that the sign is visible.

He grumbles, as expected, and strides toward me.

“If you don’t know what to do with a tie, it’s not a must.” I don’t have time to help him, a fucking twenty-eight-year-old man knot his tie. I will not do that. Not on a day like today, when he is supposed to step up and make an attempt to show he is man enough for the type of deal we are going to discuss.

“Thank God.” He throws the tie on the bed.

“Thank God?” I knit my brows together. “If you can’t knot a damn tie, how are you going to hold your home?” My cold tone is nothing like the fire in my stomach because of how much he has consistently disappointed me.

“We measure that with fashion know-how now?” He has the nerve to snort, “Dad, anyone can learn it, but it doesn’t make them a proper man.”

“It’s a start,” because hell, the journey of a thousand miles starts with one fucking baby step, and this son of mine won’t even crawl for me to begin the journey. By the bloody Saints.

“I’m here at least, I’m doing this.”

“You think you have a choice?”

“Isn’t it a good thing that I know I don’t, and I’m acting accordingly?”

As much as every father wants to have a child who is compliant, it wouldn’t hurt to sometimes see their child speak up and fight back. The only bloody time he fights back is when his sister has something he wants. What leader will he be if he can’t ever speak up against a decision I’m making for the clan? They have not all been good, and sometimes I deliberately suggest some bad ones to see if he will rebel. But he never does.

I arch an eyebrow, “Button up, we can’t be late,” I strut past him and out of the room. I can’t stand him any more than I can stand his choice of cologne. He smells like dust and spice.

He takes his time but does as told. I’m almost at the elevator when I hear the sound of the room door closing and Salvatore hurrying behind me.

“Listen,” I turn to him, and he halts, close enough to me to show me that the only thing he takes after me is his height. “Stay calm, stay collected.”

“I can do that,” he shrugs.

He can. He is good at that— perhaps another thing he got from me.

I don’t have unrealistic expectations for him, I just need him to show me he can be the leader that I have invested time and resources trying to groom him into. He is unfailing with his disappointment, and I have it up to my neck with him.

I have lived through every bloody hell imaginable for a human, and I can’t say I’m grateful that I’m still alive because it only means getting tortured over and over again in every way possible.

Salvatore is one of the many torture weapons inflicted upon me, and every shortcoming of his digs into my skin no matter how thick I’ve coated it with layers.

I nod curtly and turn to press the elevator button. It opens, and we both walk into the steel box. Father and son. But today, I’m going as his consigliere.

I push for the seventh floor which is the exclusive restaurant of the hotel where we will be meeting with Massimo to discuss the offer he is making, which we need more than anything at this point to help with the Bratva situation. It is for this reason we came from the city of angels to the city that never sleeps. I still feel jet lagged from the late-night flight from LA to New York. But I’ve had worse days. And I will have more if we don’t fix this problem soon.

The elevator opens, and we walk out to find Massimo already seated on a leather sofa with a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

His piercing light blue eyes make and hold eye contact with us as we walk to him, his one hand resting on the armrest of the sofa, and one leg stretched under the table authoritatively. The air around him is charged in a way I’m hoping Salvatore will manage someday.

The restaurant is dusky, with only a warm light from the chandelier hanging over Massimo’s head. And empty, cleared out for this meeting. There’s a waiter behind the bar in a mushroom shirt who doesn’t look much like a waiter, more like a bodyguard doubling as a waiter for the meeting, now arranging two more whiskey glasses on a tray.

“Salvatore,” Massimo looks at the gold wristwatch he has on, “right on time,” he lifts his chin, showing something akin to a smile. “Emanuele,” he nods slightly in acknowledgment of my presence.

“Massimo,” Salvatore reaches for a handshake and sits opposite him.

“Massimo,” I nod curtly and take my seat beside Salvatore.

The waiter walks out of the bar to us with the whiskey glasses and sets them on the table.

“I’m hoping we have the same preference, but if not,” Massimo uses his head as a pointer to gesture we can make our orders.

“We do,” Salvatore smiles, and the waiter pours him a drink. Too agreeable. He hates whiskey, and I only know because I heard him grumbling to a friend about it on the phone when he was twenty-one. Every single time he comes to my study, I offer him whiskey, waiting to see the day when he says no and has the balls to demand the drink he wants. So here we are, with him being handed a glass of whiskey. I might as well kiss the wish of his competence bloody goodbye.

“I have a family to get back to,” Massimo picks up his glass of whiskey, “we are going for a vacation,” he slides to the edge of his seat and leans forward, “so I will make this quick,” he sips his whiskey.

“Only someone like you would end a merger like the one Giuseppe proposed,” Salvatore leans back in his seat and crosses a leg over the other.

“What can I say, the heart wants what it wants,” Massimo does his chin-lift smile again, “You should try that sometimes, Salvatore.”

Brutal.

Bloody brutal.

But where is the fucking lie?

“Vittoria tried to sell my wife to the Camorra, and as much as I would think death was an appropriate retribution for such an act, starting a war with Giuseppe after rejecting his daughter and having a family with the woman I rejected his daughter for, won’t mix,” Massimo drops his glass of whiskey, “I know there’s something you need that Giuseppe can give you with ease, and my connection can strengthen your hand here in New York.”

“The Bratva is a pain in the ass,” Salvatore chimes in, “business is hard with them around.”

“You won’t have to worry about them to do your business, not when you have a man like Giuseppe by your side,” Massimo continues. “This way, everyone gets what they want,” Massimo twists the signet ring on his left index finger. “He is looking to marry her off for a good deal, so with this arrangement he gets his daughter married into a reputable family that he can get a better deal from than mine, and you have your problem fixed because he has a connection with La eMe. You can continue business better with the alliance, and I…” he chuckles, “I get what I want, too.”

“To have her married to me?” Salvatore blows, “I must be a horrible person if you think marrying me is enough punishment for what she did to you.”

“Is it not?” Massimo drops his head to the side to look at Salvatore with narrowed eyes. “You are the kind of horrible, using your choice of word, that she needs.” He leans back in his seat, resting his elbow on the armrest, “to put it plainly, Salvatore, tame her, break her wings, and choke her with her bitter herb if you are up to the challenge, because Vittoria Mancuso is no easy one.”

“At least I get something worth the while,” Salvatore sips his whiskey, “I will have fun with this one.”

Problem solved.

Salvatore seems like he is doing this more for himself than for the reason we set out to do this, and I can’t say it doesn’t make me relax a bit. I’m still his father, after all, and if this Vittoria can assist with bringing out this side of him, then I’m all for it. If he can show me he has balls and he can tame a wild one like her, then he will pass the test of leadership, and I won’t hold the past failures against him.

“Good luck with her,” Massimo smiles now.

“I need it, don’t I?” Salvatore chuckles dryly.

There are no normal men in this business. Everyone has their demon. It’s the perfect balance. The Ying to whatever little bloody Yang we have left. It is where you channel the bloody thing that makes any difference.

“We can say we have an understanding,” Massimo lifts his glass of whiskey.

“I assure you we do,” Salvatore lifts his glass of whiskey, too.

They make a silent toast, and both sip.

One down. One more to go.

We have a meeting with the Mancusos next.

This new deal looks easy on the eye. Having an alliance with a family like the Mancusos is one way to solve the problems of our business constantly being interrupted by Boris and his beavers. But the problem with things that look too easy is that they’re often the tricky ones.

Vittoria feels like a rose with thorns sharp enough to cut through steel. She can save my clan or she can bring us down. My gut tells me she will unquestionably opt for the latter.

Bloody Saints.

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