Resting my elbows on the ship’s rail, my eyes admired the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea glistening magically under the moonlight, creating a mysterious yet welcoming atmosphere. The stars shone brightly in the deep blue sky, reflecting in the water where you could see ripples and fish swimming. The light breeze in the air nipped at my skin. My pink knee-length cocktail dress rose swiftly, but I was always conscious to tug on it.
The last thing I needed was to show off my goodies for everyone to see.
Laughter behind me caught my attention, and I turned around. Ciara entertained a group of people by the deck while Oliver glared at her. He rarely liked her outgoing nature, claiming if she’d spend more time on her education than flirting, she could go places. Considering she was already a world-famous skater with two gold medals, I didn't understand his statement. As if a young, vibrant woman should ever apologize for enjoying her life to the fullest. The only reason her dating life bothered me was because she kept on dumping all those men. Well who knew, maybe with me breaking it off they could give this thing a chance? After that failed kiss attempt in my studio, Oliver didn't really send out a sexual vibe. Chaste kisses here and there, and promises, but after the passion with which Dom went after me, I doubted Oliver had a great desire for me to begin with.
Dominic. My heart instantly beat faster against my ribcage, threatening to spill out at the mere memory and beauty of our moments. How he created a world where only the two of us existed as his touch joined all the missing pieces of my identity as a woman. In his arms, I understood that passion was not a foreign concept, but rather a language few men spoke. Although I couldn't imagine another man besides him.
But I would have to. He wasn't a part of my life, just a fantasy lover who opened my eyes to the errors of my way. A sign from God and a gift. It all depended on how one wanted to look at it, I guessed.
Shaking my head from the haze and creeping sadness, I decided to focus on the party and not lose my mind here.
The ship was huge as hell, one of the most expensive yachts, according to my father, and belonged to Uncle Vito, who hosted the party. The luxurious thing had three levels, each with a different theme, and it was made out of gold.
No freaking joke, gold.
The first level was strictly for staff, the ship captain, waitresses, security, and chefs. The wide kitchen had the latest equipment, several cabins with double beds, and even game rooms with pool tables for the staff to lounge in during breaks. Vito valued hard work like no one else, and he liked to reward his staff for the exceptional service they provided. As if anyone would dare give him anything else.
The second level had more than twenty wide cabins with indoor bathrooms, which allowed the guests to spend the night or engage in a longer cruise when my uncle felt like traveling. The cabins were designed with themes of movies from the fifties and sixties. Each room was decorated with a specific scene with various paintings and photos scattered on the walls of actors and the famous lines they performed during the shooting. Shiny wooden floors and dusky lights created an atmosphere of the old chic, and as much as I detested Vito’s tendency to show us, even I had to admit to loving the idea of it. For a short time, guests got to transfer back in time to get the feeling of beauty and aura of the past. Not many places could claim that, I imagined.
The hallways were so many and complicated that I once got lost and couldn't find my way out. Thank God this crazy man had cameras everywhere, and I was noticed by a guard who monitored the place.
And finally, the third level, the one that had the party in full swing, was the main area of “fun.” It had a stage with musicians playing light blues—Vito’s favorite, a bar with expensive drinks created so fast by the talented bartender I barely had time to blink, and a marble dance floor that was polished daily, because how else could it stay so freaking shiny and surprisingly not slippery? And finally, the wooden deck had small dining tables and places to stand and admire the view. The main colors dominating were red, black, and gold. Golden statues, vases, and trays were in plain sight for everyone to see. Vito couldn't have people doubting his power or wealth, after all.
“Little loner,” he called, holding my stare as he slowly walked toward me. The smell of his cigar instantly washed over me, and oddly enough, it tugged on a memory. Recently, I kept having more and more of those incidents with smells or sounds or simple words triggering my nerves. As if I should have remembered it, something made my head hurt.
Or maybe it just hurt because Vito stood near me. As much as I tried, I couldn't stand the man who had so much blood on his hands. Daily in the hospital, I treated people who were subjected to violence, a word that he represented well.
“Uncle,” I replied, and his mouth split into a smile and small wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes, softening his usually piercing green-as-grass eyes. He seemed almost human in that moment.
Vito had the lumberjack-look going on, with his bearded face, Mohawk hair, and ripped arms. He was around 6’3”, his body covered in a white T-shirt and white pants, which emphasized his fit physique. No wonder women went all gaga over the guy. Apparently, him being in his late forties did nothing to change their minds. “Are you having fun?”
Sipping my glass of red wine, I nodded, making an effort to show at least some interest in this whole charade. “Of course. The food is excellent.” At least there was that. His chef, Ricardo, cooked some of the best pasta in the world with just the right amount of sauce. In the depressive state I had been in for the last couple of months, the only solace was good Italian food, which melted on my tongue. Added bonus? Nerves burned those calories real fast.
Tilting his head back, he laughed loudly, bringing the attention of everyone to us, since the mood of the “boss” was one of the most important things. No one even breathed as they assessed whether his laughter was a good thing or if it meant he’d burst into freaking flames and shoot someone.
Mother gulped her champagne nervously while running her fingers through her heavy pearl necklace that she didn't hesitate to display to all those ladies with rich husbands.
Father, on the other hand, glared in our direction, but still grinned to his business associates. I vaguely remembered he and Oliver worked hard to bring their shipment deal to life, so he actively searched for more investors to speed up the process. He didn't much like his daughter near his wife’s mob family unless we had to attend a gathering under strict orders. Then we played the charade. After all, mob money was too good to pass up.
“Funny, how I do not doubt that. You cannot lie to save your life, Angelica,” Vito murmured, raising his hand and patting my cheek, and I barely restrained myself from shifting back to avoid his touch. “Shame you ended up with some weak American. What you see in him, I’ll never know.” He focused his attention on Oliver, who argued over something with Ciara, who ducked her head guiltily as if apologizing for something. “What both of you see in him,” he added so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.
Erm… what? Surely he didn't mean what I thought he did? Before I could think about it, the words just spilled from my mouth. “She is your niece!”
His eyes narrowed on me, and I seriously regretted my outburst. After all, maybe he just didn't want anyone from outside his family mingling with foreigners. “Interesting how you defend your sister, but don’t do the same for your fiancé,” he mused, and then took a step back. “Is she though?” With this one last tidbit of shocking information, he left to join the circle of young women who were brought here solely for the entrainment of the attached and unattached men who wanted some casual sex. Immediately, two such women hung on his arms, while he took the glass of whiskey, raised it, and was about to drink from it, when the unexpected guests arrived.
And everything inside me froze as I struggled to breathe.
Dominic.
No, no, no. What the hell was he doing here? I surely never expected to see him again after my bachelorette party and what we did after.
Dominic
Vito jerked his chin at me as a signal before spreading a wide, fake smile on his face, and greeting me loudly, “Pakhan, welcome!” He met me halfway as we slapped each other’s backs while people around me scanned my appearance and my byki behind me. The majority of them didn't even bat an eye that another mafia boss joined the party, but some men tugged on their ties as if it was hard for them to breathe. Michael stepped onto the deck, holding a plate with Russian souvenirs such as figurines calledmatreshkiand an instrument known as abololaikialong with expensive vodka, and questioned, “Where should I put the gifts?” Vito clicked his fingers, and in a second, a waiter appeared in front of us as instructed. “Show the gentleman here where the kitchen and other stuff is.” The young guy, around eighteen years old, curtly nodded and smiled at Michael, pointing at the elevator a few feet away from us.
They disappeared behind the grey doors as Vito muttered for my ears only. “Grino is my recruit. He’ll help him install the cameras and bugging devices.” Then he chuckled, as we noticed Oliver stride to us with excitement. “Like a fucking puppy,” Vito murmured, right before Oliver exclaimed, “Dominic!”
He shook my hand, holding it with both of his. “I was just speaking with investors and your name came up.” He searched for someone and then waved for him to come closer, and in a moment, a man with grey hair and narrowed eyes, in black shorts and shirt, stood next to him, as if rarely anything in this life brought him joy. Plus, my senses never failed me, and I had a feeling money was the most important thing for him. “Ercole Rossi, this is Dominic Konstantinov,” Oliver introduced us. No matter what name you were born with, whoever joined the mob family took their surname, even men. “He is willing to invest ten million dollars in our mission.” Immediately, Ercole’s attitude changed from reserved to interested, and he even cracked a smile that looked more like a grimace, as if someone had shat all over his car.
