“Your suit has arrived, boss.”
I turned to look at Dimitri, who had slipped in through my open bedroom door.
“And is she also getting ready?” I asked.
“Yes, boss. Julia is currently on her way to the bride's room with it.”
I nodded while I sat, wondering how she'd look in the dress I picked online. Hopefully, I'd get to see her twice as beautiful as she was. My mind went to the not-so-unconscious dream I had while I tried to sleep last night. I saw myself undressing her after the wedding. My hands trailed down her body while I kissed her. It seemed crazy to think that my dream could give me a hard on, but it did. Just the thought of her body was enough to make me hard.
I pictured how I'd kiss her and wondered what her lips might taste like.
“Yes,” I whispered to myself with my eyes closed. The memory came in strong. I remembered how she kissed me in the dream, trailing from my chest ever lower, until she went down on me. Her mouth accepted my cock with ease while she gave me the best head I'd ever had. I imagined how she'd blossom for me like a flower. My left hand grabbed a hold of her neck while the other squeezed her butt. I’d nibbled her nipples, kissing her soft, protruding breasts until she was so wet for me.
Suddenly, I heard glass shattering on the floor, which brought me back to reality.
I walked out of the tub and stood beneath the faucet of the shower, quickly washing off the suds that rested on the surface of my skin.
I brushed my hair, lotioned my skin, and sprayed a lot of deodorant, which made me sneeze. The black suit was custom-made from Armani, and looking at my reflection on the large mirror, the realization dawned on me that indeed I was getting married.
I never really liked weddings, especially weddings with noisy receptions. Papa said loud weddings were nonsensical, too maddening for his comprehension.
“Good weddings aren't meant to be loud, but low-key,” he’d said to me when I was twenty-three. It was Pedro's wedding, which I reckon was the last wedding I ever attended.
“What do you think mafia men marry for, Viktor?”
“Love?” I answered, and he laughed at me almost immediately.
“Love? You think the mafia marries for love? No, Viktor. We marry to strengthen our relationship and make more alliances. Take, for instance, my best guard, Pedro. His wife is the daughter of the prime minister of Colombia. Her father and I are business partners, and according to him, he thinks we should be more than just partners but family. So he offered me two of his daughters, but I rejected his offer. You know I can't find anyone else like your dear mama.” He said, matter-of-factly. “So, guess what I did?”
“You let one of his daughters marry Pedro instead?” I answered, and Papa smiled with a wide grin that I'd never seen before. It felt as though he had never been prouder of me for answering one of his questions correctly.
“Excellent, my boy! Excellent! Now you're catching up. We don't marry for love. Love kills. It's like a man thrown into an airtight room with no windows for ventilation, and then youthrow tear gas inside. The smoke is love, Viktor. It's choking, and it almost leaves you breathless. But the door, my boy. The door is the opportunity. So you have to wait for the right opportunity to come your way in order to walk into the right relationship. It's all business. The love will grow on her sooner or later.”
I didn't understand the full extent of Dad's explanation. However, Pedro's wedding was a blast, and we all had fun. My favorite part was watching my Papa dance with Pedro's bride in the middle of the hall. Papa never danced, but that day, he did. He gifted Pedro, who was a fellow soldier then, a vintage Rolls-Royce, which had the backseat filled with over 2 million dollars. I wondered what dad whispered to Pedro's ear, but after the wedding, everything began to change. Pedro was no longer with us in New York; instead, I heard that he had some work to do at the border of Italy.
I knew that Papa wanted him to bring the trunk of cocaine they had left at the quay of the bay, which was a risky move. It turned out to be unsuccessful. Pedro's body was found in the trunk instead, and this filled Papa with rage. He went out and shot bullets at an oak tree in the backyard. Weeks later, Papa recovered from Pedro's demise and made the least expected move. He married Pedro's wife, and no one dared to question him. If I were in his shoes, I'd have done the same thing. It was best that she was secure with Papa rather than in jeopardy as a widow.
“Congratulations on your big day, brother.”
I froze for a second and turned to see my brother, Mikhail, standing behind me. Excitement flashed across my face, and I couldn't hide my smile.
“I didn't know you were in New York. I would've invited you myself.” I said while I held him in a brief embrace.
“Well, I happened to be around when the news of your wedding spread. I had to come. I couldn't miss my brother's wedding for anything.”
“Well said, Mikhail.”
It surprised me to see Roman and Konstantin walk into my room in their beautiful black suits.
“Don't tell me there’s more.”
“No. We're the only ones that came.” Roman uttered in retort while I stood with a smile.
“I didn't want this wedding to be a big thing. One of you could stand and represent the whole family.”
“It's no big deal, brother,” Konstantin said. “Attending the wedding is the least we could do.”
My guts told me that their attendance meant something more than love. They wanted a meeting, I knew this each time they came together, just like old times. Konstantin was the hard head amongst us, though calm, quiet, and deadly. Mikhail was undeniably the spoilt brat whose sole purpose for going to the gym was to lure more women into his bedroom. Roman, on the other hand, was a bit more mysterious than the other two. But of the four of us, Papa liked me most.
