by Nicole Fox
“Neither have you,” she says. “Before now, obviously.”
She waves away my eye roll and claps her hands. “Okay. No time to waste. Suck it in, girly. We have a groom waiting for us.”
I suck in and hold while Ivy coaxes the zipper up my side, over my hip, and miraculously, to its resting place beneath my armpit. I’m in.
“You’re in,” she says, breathing a little harder than I think is necessary. Then she steps back and immediately begins to tear up, her hands coming up to cover her mouth. “And you look gorgeous.”
There’s a knock at the door and then my dad steps in. “You two ready? The ceremony is about to start.”
I’m grateful for his presence, thinking he’s about to save me from getting emotional with Ivy, but then he sees me and stops in his tracks. He runs a hand down his cheek and shakes his head. “Bells. Oh my. You look—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “I spent an hour on my makeup. We can’t ruin it.”
“We’ll let Yuri ruin it later,” Ivy purrs in my hair. I elbow her and hope it was quiet enough for my dad not to hear.
He shakes his head like he’s clearing away a fog and smiles. “Well, you look great.”
“So do you,” I say, stepping forward to straighten his tie.
He was only in the hospital for two weeks, but his recovery from the bullet to his stomach is ongoing. Every doctor we saw told him he was lucky to be alive, and he doesn’t seem to be taking that lightly. He has already informed the necessary parties that he won’t be seeking reelection and has begun the process of self-discovery he says has been overdue since college. After years of doing everyone else’s bidding, he’s ready to make his own path, and I couldn’t be more proud of him.
“You look great, and he looks great, and I look great,” Ivy says, doing a small hip shimmy. “So, let’s go show off and get you hitched.”
I give a little whoop, and my dad extends his elbow for me to take. I wrap my arm through his, grab the bouquet of lilies from Ivy, and take a deep breath.
“No regrets?” he asks, smiling. I know my dad isn’t completely onboard with Yuri yet, but Yuri is growing on him. And to my dad’s credit, he only tried to talk me out of marrying him once. As soon as I told him about the baby, though, he dropped it. Despite everything, he wants his grandchild to have two parents, and he knows how important it is to me.
I squeeze his bicep and bump him with my hip, smiling. “No regrets, Dad.”
He nods once. “Then here comes the bride.”
***
Yuri couldn’t choose just one groomsman, so he’s standing at the end of the aisle with all four of his brothers lined up behind him. They look like a defensive line, all tall and broad—though much more handsome.
When the music starts and my dad and I step through the doorway, Yuri’s eyes go glassy. Even from across the room, I can tell he’s crying, and he makes no move to hide it. No attempt to hide his emotions or disguise his happiness. Seeing how far he has come, how much he has changed in a few short months, brings tears to my eyes. I look towards the ceiling to try and keep myself from falling apart, but I’m already hiccupping with sobs.
By the time we make it to the front of the small chapel, my face is soaked and my dad has to hand me to Yuri to keep me standing.
“It’s probably just the hormones,” I sob, glancing at the minister. I’m not sure if Yuri told him I was pregnant or not, and I don’t really want his judgment on me during the ceremony. He just smiles and nods like he has seen it all. He probably has.
“What’s my excuse?” Yuri asks, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.
I laugh and then stretch out to kiss him.
“Hey!” several of his brothers argue. “You aren’t married yet.”
I pinch my lips together and move back to my side of the aisle. “Oh. Right.”
Yuri winks. “I like where your head was at, though. Keep thinking what you’re thinking.”
Oh, there’s no possibility I won’t spend every minute between now and tonight thinking about kissing him. And touching him. And riding him.
My cheeks begin to feel flushed, and I force a calming breath out between my lips. Now that the morning sickness has passed, I’ve been a bit more ... insatiable than usual. Yuri doesn’t seem to mind.
He grabs my hands and turns to the minister. “Are we ready?”
“That’s up to you,” the minister laughs. “Are we?”
“I am,” I say, beaming up at Yuri, looking sharp in his tux. His shoulders look even broader than usual, emphasizing the sharp line of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones.
“Lord knows I’m ready,” he says, biting his lower lip and wagging an eyebrow. I blush even deeper, knowing he’s not talking about the ceremony.
We cling to each other while the minister talks, both of us just waiting for the moment when it’s over and we’re husband and wife. When Yuri is finally given permission to kiss his bride, he bends me backwards and gives me a teaser of what is to come later that night. It’s all I can do to make it back down the aisle on my shaky legs.
We make our way out, hand in hand – my mob boss husband and I.
THE END
***
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Sneak Preview of VIN: A Mafia Romance
Still hungry for more bad boy romance? Check out a sneak preview of my bestselling mafia romance novel, VIN!
ELIZA
My heart pounded as I tore down the broad boulevards of the main drag through town. I knew I was going over the speed limit and that it was only a matter of time before a cop pulled me over.
But I didn’t care. The only thing on my mind was getting away. Making my escape.
My life depended on it.
The light changed red at the intersection ahead, small storefronts on both sides of me. I considered gunning the engine and blasting through the red light, but I quickly realized that this would draw even more attention to me. Maybe even send me crashing into a car coming the other way.
I slowed down and came to a halt, my fingers gripped on the steering wheel. As I sat still, I glanced to my left at the large glass front of a corner bank. I could see the reflection of the car perfectly, noting its garish hot pink color.
Ricky, my ex, had bought the car for me. He hadn’t given me any say in the color, however. He’d gone with pink, telling me that he figured it was “girly.” I’d always hated it, and even more, the color made me stick out like a sore thumb.
Even if I managed to make it out of town without Ricky finding out, all it’d take was for him to put out a call to his boys, telling them to look out for a hot pink car. With only one highway out of town, I’d be spotted for sure.
I needed to either ditch the car or change the appearance. As the red light went on, I weighed the pros and cons. Ricky’d put the car in my name when he’d bought it, and it and the belongings that I’d hurriedly stuffed into the trunk were the only things I now owned.
No, I had to keep the car. No matter where I ended up, I’d need it, and the few possessions I had, to start a new life. That meant I had to change the car’s appearance. But how?
I drove on once the light turned green, keeping an eye open for anything that could help me.
Then I spotted it. Up ahead, on the left, was an autobody shop, the words “full-body paint jobs” written in gaudy letters on a plastic sign. That’d be it—I could have them do a quick paint job on the car, making it safe to drive out of town.
I pulled into the parking lot of the place; the two garage doors opened and I could see a team of men inside working on the cars within. I had no idea what to do—cars had always been Ricky’s thing, not mine�
��and I hoped the stories of women going into car places and getting totally screwed weren’t totally true.
The bell chimed as I stepped into the waiting room of the place. The room was small, the walls lined with plastic chairs, and a TV was in the upper corner, playing some daytime TV soap. The lights were harsh and the smell of paint was thick in the air.
At the counter was a man in his thirties, heavyset with a head of greasy black hair. He was dressed in a black and white jumpsuit that read “Vin’s Auto” in small, clear letters. The employee looked me up and down as I entered, as if trying to figure out what he was in store for.
“Vin’s Auto,” he said in an accent that sounded like it was right out of Brooklyn. “How can I help you?”
“I need a paint job,” I said. “For my car.”
“Not for yourself?” he asked, letting out a barking laugh at his own joke.
“No,” I said. “And I’m in a hurry.”
The man raised his bushy dark eyebrows.
“In a hurry, huh?” he asked. “And what we working with here? You got a little scratch or something that you need taken care of?”
“No,” I said. “I need a full paint job. For the whole car. And I need it done in the next couple of hours if you can.”
His eyes went somehow even wider.
“Are you serious?” he asked. “Lady, I don’t know what you think painting a car is like, but it’s not a small fuckin’ thing.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Painting a car’s not like painting a wall or some shit. You want a quality job done—the only kind of job we do here—then it’s not going to take a couple of hours, or be something we can do quickly on short notice.”
He went on, and I felt my stomach tighten by the second.
“We take all the parts off the car—doors, fenders, the hood—and spray each part individually. We take our time, and we get it right. I’m the manager of this place, and no car’s going off our lot with some third-rate shit.”
I collapsed into the cheap plastic seat behind me.
“And you want a job like that done, we’re going to need a few days’ notice. It’ll take at least a full day of work, too. Then there’s the cost.”
“What’s that?” I asked. “A few hundred dollars?”
A second employee, also dressed in the same jumpsuit, was in the back, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The man at the counter and the man pouring the coffee shared a brief look before bursting out into laughter.
“Lady, you’d be looking at a few hundred dollars to take out a key scratch. For a whole car?”
He turned the computer at the counter and typed in a few keystrokes.
“What kind of ride you got?”
“That one out there,” I said. “The hot pink one.”
Both of the men came over to the window and looked at the car.
“Nice color,” said the one with the coffee. “Might do that for my own ride.”
More laughs. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach.
“You got a sedan,” he said. “Better than a van. Let me take a look and get you an estimate.”
He stepped back behind the counter again and did some more typing. More anxiety welled in the pit of my stomach as I waited for him to come up with the estimate.
“Here’s what you’re looking at,” he said, turning the computer monitor around to face me as I stood up and approached the counter.
“Five thousand dollars?” I asked. “Are you kidding?”
“Like I said—it’s a hell of a process to do a full paint job on a car. And if you want it done fast, there’s a premium for that too.”
I didn’t even have close to that in my account. Not even half of that. But I needed to get it done. If not, I was as good as caught.
“Isn’t there any sort of discount you can do?” I asked, my voice shaking. “I really, really need this job done.”
He laughed.
“You that desperate to get rid of that pink?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not my first color choice, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.”
I placed my hands on the counter and hung my head, my curly red hair falling down on both sides of my face. Tears formed in my eyes.
I knew there was one thing left I could do, and it was something I’d never thought I’d say. I took a deep breath and spoke after the second man had taken his coffee and left the room.
“Listen,” I said. “Maybe ... maybe there’s something you and I could work out?”
I lifted my head and narrowed my eyes seductively.
“What do you mean ‘work out’?” he asked. “I’m telling you—this is the best price I can do for what you want.”
“No,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m asking if there’s something I can do for you. Maybe something in the back office with the door shut.”
The look of confusion on his face was replaced with one of realization.
“Oh—oh ...” he said, nodding slowly.
Then the hard expression returned to his face.
“Listen, lady,” he said. “You’re hot as hell—don’t get me wrong. I’d love to take you out back and bend you over the boss’ desk. But five grand for a nut isn’t something I can do. It’d be the most expensive fuck of my life.”
That was it, then. There was nothing more I could do.
“Please,” I said, coming around the desk and getting close to the man, so close I could smell the paint on his skin. “I’ll treat you really nice. You won’t regret it for a second.”
I glanced down and could see a small erection tenting the fabric of his jumpsuit.
“S—sorry,” he said, clearly doing his best to resist temptation. “But the boss would send my ass out onto the street if I traded paint for pussy.”
I was this close to reaching down and taking hold of his prick, hoping that his head would block out any sense he had left.
But before I could say or do anything else, the bell to the door chimed again. My head whipped over to see who’d just come in, and my jaw nearly dropped at the sight of who stood at the door.
The man who’d entered was tall, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He was dressed in a sharp dark suit, a dark red pocket square on his chest. His hair was as dark as oil and slicked back over a face of fair skin. His eyes were a gorgeous blue, his nose was slim and strong, and his mouth was sensual and red. A wide, strong jaw and a cleft chin completed the look.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked. “And why the hell are you behind the counter of my fucking store?”
***
Find out what happens next by clicking the cover below to get your hands on VIN: A Mafia Romance. It’s FREE for Kindle Unlimited readers and only $3.99 to buy!
I’m caught between a mob boss and a madman.
I was drowning in debt with no way to get out.
All I had left was my body...
Until Vin took that from me, too.
He offered me protection from my abusive ex.
And saying no to Vin was never an option.
Now, I’m at the mercy of a mob boss.
A vicious killer, with a kiss as filthy as his reputation.
Nights in his bed are spent stripping bare, bending at the waist, and doing EXACTLY as I’m told.
And days by his side are spent seeing a criminal underworld I never knew existed.
For a moment, I thought this was my life now:
Existing only for the mobster’s pleasure.
But then my ex came back to finish the job he started, and I remembered:
This nightmare is far from over.
About the Author
Nicole Fox is a crazy cat lady in her late 30s with a coffee addiction, an overactive imagination, and a husband who somehow puts up with her impulsive need to keep buying new plants for their house. She also writes bad boy romance novels. Sign up for her mailing list at http://eepurl.com/gsOCvT.
Nicole Fox, Trapped with the Mob Boss: A Mafia Romance (Petrov Bratva)
