Because, good or bad, I know that I will meet them with you by my side.
I love you, signora.
Yours forever,
Angelo
“Meet our baby?” I whisper, almost losing the crying battle. Is he trying to sabotage my stylists or something? “When did you write this?”
“Just after I got out of the hospital,” he murmurs.
“You waited a year to give me this?” I gasp. “Why?”
He laughs quietly. “I suppose I wanted it to mean something.”
I don’t give myself time to second-guess my decision. I just throw the door open, revealing Angelo there in his steel-blue suit, his face clean-shaven just for the wedding—he was letting his beard grow out before that—and his bright eyes lit up with happiness.
“Dani!” he gasps as he shields his eyes.
I step forward, prying his hand loose, and then pull him into the room. I shut the door behind him, gesturing with the letter. “This was a twisted plan, wasn’t it? You wrote this letter just now as a way to seduce me.”
I’m teasing, big-time, and I can see he’s loving every sassy second of it. He grins, smoothing his hand softly down my back, toward my ass, being careful not to crumple my wedding dress. This might have something to do with the fact that I warned him, on penalty of death, that he’d be in big trouble if he ruined my outfit.
But I can’t take his soft touch, and I grind against him, moaning softly. So in tune with each other’s bodies, he grabs me harder, knowing that’s what I want, palming my ass and then sliding his other hand up my leg, his fingertips rustling my white stockings.
“We can’t make love,” I say firmly. “But I want to, bad. You’re a jerk, you know that? I promised myself I wouldn’t get all worked up until after the wedding.”
He leans close, breath caressing me as his fingers inch higher and higher up my thigh. “Don’t be so unimaginative, fidanzato.”
Fiancé. He’s been saying it for a year straight, and it still makes me shiver every time.
In answer, I grab his wrist and guide his hand to my center. There is something so sexy about the necessity of not messing up our outfits, like we want to just devour each other but we have to show some—just a tiny bit—self-restraint. He pushes aside my underwear and finds my wanting clit.
“Quicker,” I moan, voice catching.
He picks up speed as my incoming orgasm gathers steam. Outside, I can hear people talking. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can hear somebody asking where Angelo is. We’re racing against the clock, and it just makes me even hornier.
When I move my hand to his crotch, he knocks it aside lightly with his elbow. “No, signora. We’ll be here all fucking day if you do that. I won’t be able to control myself. This is for you.”
I try to argue, but then my voice is catching. The orgasm spreads from my clit all throughout my body. I shudder, gasping, and then have to bite down on his suit to stop myself from screaming, breaking the no-ruining-outfits rule. But I just can’t help myself. My legs are quivering like they’re trying to run away from my body. Angelo kisses my cheek, and then we find each other’s lips as we collapse into animal passion.
It’s only Wyatt knocking on the door that stops us.
“Shit,” Angelo says, sighing. “Think he’ll go away?”
I giggle. “We were going to have sex then, weren’t we? What the hell’s wrong with us?”
“There’s nothing wrong with not being able to keep your hands off your fiancé, Dani,” Angelo smiles, his hand still toying with my ass, making me want to go another round. Or ten.
“Hey!” Wyatt calls. “I’m guessing you two are doing some funny business in there, which is fine. But people are sort of getting worried.”
“Don’t stress, Einstein!” I call. “We’re coming. You still good to walk me down the aisle?”
Wyatt laughs. “Why do you think I’m here, sis? Jeez. Are you gonna unlock this or what?”
I adjust my underwear, mock scowling at Angelo. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I tease. “For real, this time?”
He steps forward seriously, looping his strong arms around my shoulders. Pulling me close to him, our bodies alive with desire and love for each other, he says, “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Thanks for reading, but don’t stop now! Click below to get the Extended Epilogue to “Devil at the Altar” if you want a glimpse at Angelo and Dani five years into the future.
https://dl.bookfunnel.com/wzq21k0ym6
Sneak Preview (Broken Vows)
Keep reading for a sneak preview of my bestselling dark mafia forced marriage romance novel, BROKEN VOWS!
She’s my fake wife, my property… and my last chance at redemption.
She’s beautiful. An angel.
I’m dangerous. A killer.
She’s my fake bride for a single reason – so I can crush her father’s resistance.
But marrying Eve brings me far more than I bargained for.
She’s fiery. Feisty. Won’t take no for an answer.
She makes me believe that I might be worth redemption.
Until I discover a past she’s been hiding from me.
One that threatens everything.
Now, I know that our wedding vows are not enough.
I need to make sure she’s mine for good.
A baby in her belly is the only way to seal the deal.
In the end, the Bratva always gets what it wants.
Luka
Their fear tingles against my skin like a whisper. As my leather-soled shoes tap against the concrete floor, I can sense it in the way their eyes dart towards and away from me. In the way they scurry around the production floor like mice, meek and unseen in the shadows. I enjoy it.
Even before I rose through the ranks of my family, I could inspire fear. Being a large man made that simple. But now, with brawn and power behind me, people cower. These people—the employees at the soda factory—don’t even know why they fear me. Other than me being the owner’s son, they have no real reason to be afraid of me, and yet, like prey in the grasslands, they sense the lion is near. I observe each of them as I weave my way around conveyors filled with plastic bottles and aluminum cans, carbonated soda being pumped into them, filling the room with a syrupy sweet smell.
I recognize their faces, though not their names. The people upstairs don’t concern me. Or, at least, they shouldn’t. The soda factory is a cover for the real operation downstairs, which must be protected at all costs. It’s why I’m here on a Friday evening sniffing around for rats. For anyone who looks unfamiliar or out of place.
The floor manager—a Hispanic woman with a severe braid running down her back—calls out orders to the employees on the floor below in both English and Spanish, directing attention where necessary. She doesn’t look at me once.
Noise permeates the metal shell of the building. The whirr of conveyor belts and grinding of gears makes the concrete floors feel like they are vibrating from the sheer power of the sound waves. A lot of people find the sights and smells overwhelming, but I’ve never minded. You don’t become a mob underboss by shrinking in the face of chaos.