Page 36 of A Bride for the Mafia King

She leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "So this is what a honeymoon is supposed to feel like?"

I roll her beneath me again, grinning as her legs spread inviting me to settle between them once more.

“I guess so,” I acknowledge as I press the head of my cock into her once more. Gloating in the effect I have on her as her eyes roll back and her hands grip the sheets once more.

That night, we eat on the terrace, watching the sky bleed from orange to indigo over the ocean. She’s in a flowy dress, barefoot, sipping from a wine glass and laughing at my poor attempt to open a bottle of champagne.

"You’re hopeless," she teases, taking the bottle and popping the cork with a smirk.

We talk for hours. About nothing. About everything. Childhood memories. Favorite foods. Stupid movies. We laugh more than I can ever remember laughing in my entire life. And when she kisses me beneath the stars, I know there’s no going back.

Not for me. Not anymore. She’s my wife. And if this is what it means to be hers…

The days passed in a blur of stolen touches, laughter, and far too many moments where I forgot I wasn’t supposed to feel for anyone this deeply. Love is weakness, love is leverage, love is dangerous.

But she makes everything brighter, even when we were inside with the blinds drawn and her legs wrapped around my waist. By the middle of the week there isn’t a surface in that villa I haven’t taken her on. I found myself addicted to the sound of her release, the breathy sighs she gave when I touched her just right, the wicked little smile she got when she knew exactly how undone I was beneath her fingers.

She’d lounge poolside in ridiculous sunglasses, a drink in her hand and her body stretched out like sin. I’d pretend to read reports on my tablet, but I never got past the first paragraph.

It became a game of sorts. She’d climb onto my lap without invitation, grind against me until I snapped and flipped her onto her back, made her moan into my neck as she clung to me. She’d tease and whisper filthy things into my ear and then go silent and reverent when I took her apart, again and again.

When our final morning there dawned it was gray and overcast, much like my mood as reality settled over me. We had to go back to Chicago, back to all of our troubles, back to the underworld.

Eva threw her hair into a braid and wore leggings and a tank top, her cheeks flushed from too much sun and so many orgasms. I watched her silently as she packed.

“You’re quiet,” she said, zipping her duffel.

“Just contemplating,” I tell her. “The next few weeks are going to be…busy. And not in the way you and I like.”

The second I’d woken that morning, the weight of reality had settled over my shoulders. The smile she’d teased out of me the past few days was gone. The laughter had died.

Duty called and I had work to do.

Yaro was waiting when we touched down. The SUV idled nearby, blacked out, sleek, bulletproof. He leaned against the hood like a statue, arms crossed. Straightening stiffly to attention as we approached.

“Welcome home,” he said to Eva with an empty smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Nice tan.”

She laughs softly, glancing at me with a playful roll of her eyes. He takes her luggage from her and before stepping forward to shake my hand. His grip is tight, as our hands lock and he leans in, his voice a low whisper.

“We need to talk.”

And just like that, the honeymoon is over.

Chapter Thirteen

Tolya

Tolya’s Penthouse

Nico sits opposite me, calm and collected. But I can see the fire simmering behind his eyes as the late afternoon light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the sleek surfaces of my office. The same eyes Eva has, only without the hesitation she sometimes carries. He’s focused. Ready.

“This shipment is our chance,” he says quietly, voice steady. “New girls are coming in tonight. The Don’s trying to restock his club, pushing to move them faster than before. He thinks no one’s paying attention.”

I study him, weighing the risks. This could be the moment we’ve been waiting for.

“And you’re confident you can get enough proof to satisfy the others? Enough to bring the whole thing crashing down?” I ask.

Nico nods. “I’ve got a team prepped. We’ll catch the handoff. I’ll have enough witnesses gathered to solidify my position.”