His (Ties That Bind Book 2)

by A. Zavarelli

  Maxim clears his throat, and I look up. He smiles and nods to the end of the aisle, and there she is. My angel with red hair in a beautiful white dress. Somewhere in the background, the music starts, but I can’t hear a thing as my gaze collides with hers.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a part of me questioned if she’d actually show up. After all the shit we’ve been through together, I wouldn’t blame her. But I wouldn’t let her go either. Kat knows if she ever runs, I’ll be there to chase her. But as she walks down the aisle with Gleb beside her, I don’t think I have to worry about that anymore. The conviction on her face is as certain as the sun will rise in the morning. This is meant to be. She and I until the end of the world or our bodies turn to ash—whatever happens first.

  When she reaches the end, and I extend my arm for her, I feel like I can finally fucking breathe again. But Gleb isn’t so quick to hand her off. Even though I know I already have his approval, I can still respect him for turning to me with a warning before he lets her go.

  “Take care of my little girl, Lev.”

  “Always.” I smile back at him like a fool in love.

  Kat smiles too, and we look like a bunch of goofy characters from a Hallmark movie, but I don’t give a fuck. She’s mine, and I’m hers, and this is the best goddamn day of my life, so I’ll smile if I want to.

  Maxim stands in front of us, poised and ready as the officiant, and I don’t know who’s more serious about their role between him and Josh. To me, it’s merely a formality when Maxim begins to recite the words that will link Kat and me together for life. In our hearts, minds, and souls, we are already bound for eternity. I’ve never been more certain of that as I repeat the vows that promise I will love her in sickness and in health, good times and bad, wealth and poverty. But in my head, there is so much more. I will love her until she’s old and gray. Pissed off and moody, or a shining beacon of light. I will love her in the blackest of times, and the brightest of times. In that, there is no question. My devotion to her will not waver, and I make it a point to slip that in as a whispered promise, something only she can hear.

  Her eyes are glassy when she nods, whispering, “Me too,” under her breath.

  When it comes time for the rings, Josh is a total professional, smoothly unlocking his safe and forking them over reluctantly. Kat and I both tell him what a good job he’s done, while Maxim sneaks a wink in his direction, making him beam proudly.

  We finish the ceremony with a few of the traditions Gleb asked for, which included us both being crowned and stomping a couple of crystal glasses to bits. It makes no difference to me, and Kat was happy to include some of her familial roots in the ceremony. We could have gotten married anywhere she wanted, and I would have indulged her request. As long as Kat is happy, I’m happy too.

  Never more so than when I finally take her hands in mine, and Maxim announces us as husband and wife.

  “You look pretty well satisfied,” I murmur, draping my arm over Kat’s shoulders and tucking her into my side.

  We’re both naked in our master suite, exhausted but content from the night of celebrations. The crickets are chirping outside the window, the lake gently lapping against the shore, and there’s a sense of peace between us that I’m fairly certain neither of us has ever felt.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere for the honeymoon?” I ask her again. “It’s not too late.”

  “No.” She sighs in contentment, leaning her face against my shoulder. “I’ve seen too many hotel rooms to count. And I’m happy to stay right here. I think this is all we need.”

  “If that’s what my wife wants.” I kiss her on the temple, and she grins.

  “How do you think Gleb and Maxim are going to handle looking after Josh for the next few days?” she asks, a hint of worry in her voice.

  “I think they’ll survive just fine,” I tell her. “They did a great job when you were in the hospital. But if you want him to come home to us, there’s nothing stopping that from happening either.”

  She sighs in relief and squeezes me in her arms. “This is why I love you. I think I’d like that. I’m just ready for our family to be together.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart.” I bury my face into her neck and inhale her.

  “Oh!” She sits upright, dragging her warmth away from me. “I almost forgot. I have something else for you.”

  “What is it?” I ask, but it’s already too late. She’s already bolting out of the room, giving me a nice view of her ass.

  When she returns, she’s wrapped up in a blanket, much to my disappointment, and she has a cupcake in her hand.

  “You didn’t get enough cake at the wedding?” I smirk, recalling how we smeared it in each other’s face before sharing a sugary kiss.

  “This one is different,” she answers nervously, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “This one is for both of us.”

  I’m not sure what she means by that, but when she sets it into my palm, she explains.

  “I had a bakery make it special just for us. There’s a surprise inside, so we both have to pull it apart at the same time.”

  “Okay.” I study her face, still uncertain why she looks so nervous. But it’s making me anxious too, and now I want to open this fucking cupcake to see what’s going on.

  Kat and I both grip a side, and she counts to three. We tear it in two, and a tiny piece of paper wrapped up in plastic falls out.

  “What the…?”

  “Open it,” she insists.

  I unfold the plastic and unravel the scroll to reveal a photo. A sonogram photo.

  I blink up at her, and her eyes shine with tears. It takes me a few seconds to catch up, but once I’m there, I’m choking on my own words.

  “Are you telling me you’re—”

  “Pregnant.” She finishes for me with a nod.

  I drag her into my lap like a caveman, tossing the cupcake aside and clutching her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Lev.” She laughs. “Didn’t you notice me getting fat?”

  “You aren’t fat.” I frown. “You’re as beautiful as always.”

  “Well, this little belly isn’t from stress eating,” she assures me. “We’re having a baby.”

  A million different thoughts war in my mind. I want to be excited, but I can’t lie because I’m fucking terrified too. Kat must recognize that in my face, and she touches me with a gentleness only she can possess.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers. “We’re past the three-month mark. We’re safe, Lev. Everything is going to be okay this time.”

  My forehead dips into hers, and our lips collide with a breathless, frantic energy. I’m going to be a dad again. We’re going to have a baby. And this time, I get to be a part of all of it.

  “I want to know everything,” I murmur as I tear the blanket off her body and palm her belly. “I want to be there for every appointment this time. Every step. I’m going to take care of you. Tell me what you need.”

  Kat laughs, the sound like music to my ears. “I don’t need anything. Just this. Just you and me and Josh, and our baby. We can find out the sex soon if you want.”

  I pull her in for a slow, drugging kiss, and my cock stirs to life beneath her ass. Without thinking about it too much, I’m palming her tits and touching her body, silently worshipping this woman who I get to call mine, now and forever.

  “I guess there is one more thing you can give me,” Kat whispers into my ear as she grinds down on my erection. “How about another orgasm?”

  “How about three?” I flip her onto her back and bury my cock inside her until we both collapse onto the bed in a heap, our hands tangling together in unity.

  Without a doubt, this woman was always meant to be mine.

  The End.

  Thank you

  Thank you for reading MINE and HIS. We hope you loved Lev and Kat’s story and would consider leaving a review where you purchased the book.

  Keep reading for a sample from A. Z
avarelli’s Crow and Natasha Knight’s Collateral: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance.

  Sample from Crow

  A. Zavarelli

  Donovan’s movements grow weak and sluggish as his blood supply is cut off and his air slowly slips away. I count the seconds in my head and block out everything else around me. Three… four… five… six…

  Finally, when I think I can’t possibly hold on another second, he goes limp against my body and Johnny comes over to check. He calls the match. I can barely even move as I crawl out beneath him, but the adrenaline drives me up as I scan the crowd around me. I find his crew and flash them an arrogant grin. Take that you bastards.

  A few of them walk in to collect their fallen friend as the crowd filters out of the building. I wipe the blood off my lip and watch them curiously while I wait. I only need one of them to bite. One of them to take an interest in me. It can’t be the Russians. They have multiple factions and way too many members to count. The only way to narrow down my pool of suspects is to go straight to the source. The club where it happened.

  They’re all tossing glances my way, but it’s Lachlan that doesn’t take his eyes off me. I can’t tell if he’s pissed off or impressed by the expression on his face. Naturally, he’s going to be suspicious of me. They come to these fights every week, and he’s never seen me here before. He’s got no idea who I am, but I know a few things about him.

  Word on the street is that he’s twenty-nine years old. Born and raised in Belfast until he migrated to the states in his teens. Grandson of Carrick Crow, the underboss to Niall MacKenna. He runs Slainte and does God knows what else for the syndicate. The rest is a mystery I’m going to have to unravel myself.

  My eyes rove over him, taking in every detail. He has a rounded jaw covered in what I’d guess to be about a week’s worth of scruff. It’s a mixture of coppery brown and just a couple shades lighter than the dark unruly hair that rests atop his head. His eyes are guarded and drawn together and probably the most fascinating feature about him. They harden what would otherwise be a soft and almost boyish face. There’s something almost familiar about them, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Sadness, perhaps?

  It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s hard to tell. At present, they are drifting over my body. It isn’t a blatantly sexual glance, not at all. In fact, I can’t get a read on his thoughts, which is unusual for me. This man is growing more mysterious by the second.

  He stands like a fighter. I can tell by the way he carries himself, but I’ve never seen him fight here. His frame is jacked. Lean, strong, and solid. His hands are calloused in a way that can only come from boxing.

  He clears his throat, and my eyes shoot up and lock onto his.

  A dark energy crackles to life between us as I stare into those savage irises. They swirl with an intoxicating and vivid array of colors I can’t drag myself away from. I’d swear they were gray, but the next moment they seem to change to blue and then back again. They are both stark and beautiful in a way I didn’t expect. The windows to his otherwise cold exterior.

  Violence. Lust. Confliction. Pain.

  I draw in a breath and try to convince myself that the bombastic beat of my heart is from the fight alone. The thrill of knowing how close I am to getting my in. I think.

  He still hasn’t spoken. But he will. And when he opens his mouth, I have no doubt he’ll still have an accent.

  I don’t encourage him. Instead, I unbraid my hair and run shaky fingers through it. This little war of wills is unexpected. I bet a man like him is accustomed to women falling all over him. There are a few, waiting in the wings, hoping that he’ll notice them. But they haven’t dared to approach him. I guess I’m not the only one who’s heard about his reputation.

  As I’m considering it, I catch a glimpse of Donovan charging at me from the corner of my eye. He snarls as he lunges towards me, a need for destruction in his blood.

  I dodge back and prepare to hold my ground, but it isn’t even necessary. Lachlan swoops into action and slams his body into Donovan’s side, spinning him around and yanking his arm into a locked position behind his back. It only confirms my earlier suspicion about him being a fighter. Judging by his speed and agility, he’s a natural.

  He leans in close and whispers something into Donovan’s ear. Donovan doesn’t take his murderous eyes off me, but whatever Lachlan said has snapped him back to reality. He reluctantly backs down and mutters something under his breath before walking away. It seems like it’s over, but in the back of my mind, I worry that I may have to contend with him later. He doesn’t look like the type who takes being defeated by a woman too easily.

  After a conversation with his men that takes place out of earshot, Lachlan stalks over to me, the same dark expression on his face. It pains me to admit it, but he is handsome. He’s also more reserved than I expected. A calm façade to accompany his quiet broodiness. It’s a complete contradiction to the killer I know he is.

  He pauses at the concrete pillar across from me, maintaining his distance and keeping his expression neutral.

  “Sorry about Donny,” he says. “He can be a bit of a tool.”

  Just as I predicted, there’s still an accent. I totally underestimated the charm factor there. It’s rare that I find myself tripping over words, but that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. Still, I school my features and try to look unflappable. I need to focus on the Russian, I remind myself.

  “No biggie.”

  “Is it not generally an unwritten rule for women to fight in these things?” he asks.

  “Well…” I flash him a cocky grin. “Lucky for me I don’t play by the rules.”

  I expect him to throw me a bone. A smile. A twitch. Something. But I get nothing.

  “Ye defeated one of my best fighters tonight.”

  I can’t tell if he means it as a compliment or not, but I take it as one. “Thanks.”

  Lachlan remains steadfast in his indifference, and I don’t really know how to shake him of it. I need to play my hand carefully here.

  “I don’t recall seeing you around here before, butterfly.”

  The way he emphasizes my fighting name sounds like a threat all in itself. I hate to admit it, but this guy is a little more intimidating than I want to give him credit for.

  I blink up at him, formulating a plan. I’m going to play up the fragile little woman card in hopes it’ll soften him towards me when I pop back up later. I doubt he has any heartstrings to pull, but it can’t hurt to try.

  “I only fight when I need the money.”

  Lachlan narrows his eyes, and I know he isn’t buying it. He taps his fingers against his thigh, and for a brief moment, I almost wonder if he’s nervous. But then I notice his eyes darting to some men across the room. I turn and my face sours on visual impact. The frigging Russians. They’re eyeing me off, but one of them in particular is looking right at Lachlan.

  I flash them a sweet smile and wave. I hate them. I hate them all.

  When I turn back to Lachlan, he seems agitated, but it dissipates quickly.

  “I have to head on,” he says. “Catcha, butterfly.”

  My jaw clenches to keep my mouth from falling open. At the very least, I hoped he’d ask me for a drink. My phone number. Something. But his blatant rejection stings, more than I want to admit.

  I knew I should have flirted with one of his soldiers, but he totally cock blocked the hell out of that plan.

  “Yeah,” I grumble. “See you around then.”

  Crow: Boston Underworld Book #1 is Available on Kindle now!

  Sample from Collateral

  Natasha Knight

  Gabriela

  I open both doors and walk inside, closing them behind me and leaning against them to catch my breath.

  It takes me one moment to realize something is off.

  The room is dark, the only light filtering from the party outside. The balcony doors are closed but I still hear the sound of five-hundred of my father’s closest f
riends getting drunk on his dime. Well, my mother’s dime, really.

  But it’s not that that’s off. There’s a smell that doesn’t belong here.

  A look around tells me I’m alone. But the bedroom door, it’s open. I know I’d closed it when I’d left.

  I walk toward it. I don’t make a sound.

  No one should be up here. The soldier wouldn’t have let anyone up.

  I push the door wider and step inside. The smell, it’s stronger in here and it’s making me nauseous.

  The room is too dark for me to see and I’m about to flip the light switch when a figure moves. Standing with his back to the windows, the light creates a sort of halo around him and he has the advantage. I can’t see his face, but he can see mine in that same light.

  I swallow, try to speak. “You’re not supposed to be here,” I finally manage, sensing something dangerous. And I remember for all the friends my father has bought, the number of his enemies is double that.

  “No, I’m not,” the man says, his voice a deep, sure timbre that ices my spine.

  He takes a step forward and I take one back, my hand closing over the doorknob behind me.

  Danger.

  It ripples off him.

  “What’s that smell?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Morgue,” he answers, his voice low and hard.

  He walks toward me, no hesitance in his step, and before I can move, he’s standing just a few inches from me.

  The smell clings to him and it’s making me sick. When I cringe back, he leans toward me and I open my mouth to scream just as something clicks.

  For a moment, I think it’s a gun.

  But then the room is bathed in soft, golden light. He’d just reached to switch on the lamp on the table beside me.