by V. F. Mason
I couldn’t stomach the idea of a classical dress after all those months of planning a wedding while being considered Angelica Rossi, and I didn't want to remind Dominic of that time either. Although he seemed fine, the simmering rage over the fact that, even temporarily and with amnesia, some other man had his ring on my finger… yeah, it led to a lot of hot encounters between us, as time and time again he restored his claim on my body.
Did I complain? Hell, no. However, I had to get down the aisle before he hid me in his castle, so his frustration with the dress had to be taken into consideration.
Instead, I chose a calf-length full guipure lace gown with off-the-shoulder straps. The corset bodice hugged my top tight, lifting my breasts, and the full skirt emphasized my waist. Since the color white was out of the question, we ended up deciding to opt for red instead, to compliment my dark hair and eyes. It seemed fitting, considering how hard it was to get our happy ending.
With my black Bianca Louboutin heels, I had this gorgeous ‘60s look, while the black blusher veil created the aura of mystery. The girls thought I was crazy using the two colors that had more to do with death and funerals than joyful celebration, but I just shrugged.
Black and red represented the colors of our love, and I knew Dominic wouldn't mind, even though he had no clue what to expect. He growled a lot at my silence, not liking any secrets between us, but I wouldn't budge.
“Rosalinda,” Dad whispered, as the corners of his eyes misted and he squeezed me hard in his arms, resting his chin on my shoulder while I closed my eyes and breathed my daddy in. No matter how old you were, you could still be a kid as long as your parents lived. Despite his dictator ways and all the bad stuff that had happened to me, I never doubted his love for me or how grateful I was that he could share this very special day with me. Unlike many in this world, I was lucky enough to have a parent who adored me and dedicated everything in his life to making me happy. Shouldn't that count for something?
After a second, minutes, or maybe a few moments, when we both got what we wanted from the hug, he leaned back, palmed my face, and kissed me on the forehead. A single tear slid down my cheek and he gently wiped it away. “I love you, baby girl. Your mom would have been so proud.” With that, he placed a small navy-blue bobby pin in my hair, and based on their wedding picture, I knew it was Mom’s. A painful but pleasant pang in my heart reminded me that although she wasn't here with me, I could still have part of her on this special day.
“Thank you, Daddy. And I love you too.”
He smiled softly. Then I placed my hand on his arm as we walked toward the outside door, and he nodded toward the organist so the processional could start.
“Time to give you away. I think any minute now Dominic will come storming inside.” Barely containing laughter, I didn't comment as everyone rose and the music started. The first notes of Ed Shereen’s “Give Me Love” calmed my nerves, as the music was perfect for this day.
Since a Russian traditional wedding had no bridesmaid, I decided to follow the same tradition, much to the happiness of everyone else. Frankie and Sapphire told me they loved me, but they had no desire to go through the hell that Annie put them through during Sapphire’s wedding.
The autumn breeze felt heavenly on my skin, cooling it as leaves scattered around the grass and concrete. I begged everyone for the wedding to take place in the park where we first met, and Vito, Dad, and Dominic, through some miracle, accomplished it. The area was secured, and no one could enter, although maybe it had something to do with the wedding at six in the morning.
Only Kristina demanded to be a flower girl, much to our surprise, considering she didn’t want the role during her parents’ wedding. There, she was the best man.
She half turned to us, making her fusion lace dress spin, waved with her lace-gloved hand, and started to throw flowers left and right as she slowly—agonizingly slowly, may I add—walked down the aisle as we followed her.
The priest stood with Dominic at the end of the aisle, the arc of roses above their heads. The concrete walk was covered by red carpet with wooden benches on each side with no adornments. Later, we would celebrate at the restaurant that had the best pasta in the whole of New York.
Our guests either waved, nodded, or grinned in my direction, but that I would discover later, when Frankie would point it out to me. My whole focus was on the deliciously handsome man standing near the priest as Damian stood on his right while Vitya did the same.
Dominic.
My heart threatened to burst from my chest as happiness like never before washed over me from the anticipation of being given to him, as every bone in my body already belonged to him.
There was no me without him, as sappy as it sounded.
Normal was overrated. I halted, and everyone quieted, probably because brides just didn't do that. I gave a quick hug to my dad, murmuring, “Sorry.” Wisely, Sapphire held Kristina close so she wouldn't be in my way, and I ran with all my might to the love of my life, not caring in the least that it wasn't allowed.
He caught me right in time. His hands wrapped around my waist as he raised my veil and our lips met, creating the familiar awareness inside me. Lacing my fingers through his hair, I rose on my toes, wanting to deepen the kiss, when someone next to me cleared his throat, and my eyes snapped open. It took me a second to remember where I was and what we were doing.
Oh my God.
Mortified, my cheeks heated up when everyone clapped and whistled, and I even got a few catcalls from the Sicilian part of the family. The priest just grinned happily. “This usually comes after my job is done,” he joked, while everyone chuckled. Then he opened his Bible, and asked, “Shall we?”
Dom still refused to let me go, and gazing straight into my eyes, he answered, “Never been readier.” And surprisingly, the same was true for me.
“I love you,” I mouthed, and he did the same, and we allowed the ceremony to continue.
In a few minutes, I officially became Rosalinda Konstantinova, the wife of the ruthless pakhan.
And just like that, I forever stopped being a Cosa Nostra princess and became the Bratva’s Queen.
Dominic
“You lucky bastard,” Connor muttered, as we sipped champagne while Rosa danced with her father and all the women fucking wept, finding it touching. All that mattered to me was the fact Rosa had dreamed about this dance her whole life, and she got it.
“I am.” My voice held satisfaction running deep through me, thinking about the rings occupying each of our left ring fingers and my papers of official ownership over her.
Whoever called me a possessive jerk wasn't wrong. She could call it marriage all she wanted. I didn't need a ceremony for the world to know she belonged to me. Rosa became mine the minute my eyes landed on her picture. But having those papers in my pocket sure as fuck helped, as no one could take her away from me anymore.
“Don’t pay attention to him. He’s just bitter because Honey is dancing with Ricardo.” Vitya pointed at the young cook who swirled Honey in circles, as she slowly learned all the moves after removing her high heels earlier. The girl cleaned up nicely in the lemon-yellow strapless dress and her hair down, instead of her sweatpants and oversized shirts.
“Someone appreciates her,” I pointed out, sipping my drink, but Connor turned so fast it almost fell to the floor as he nudged my arm.
“What the fuck does that mean?” His nostrils flared as his voice took on a dangerous note, and Vitya tensed next to me, assessing the danger, which was laughable really. The twins were like the younger siblings Damian and I never had; the connection made in the cell all those years ago could never go away. “I call her every fucking day, try to talk, to get to know her. Bring her food and gifts, and she keeps on rejecting me as if I’m lower than dirty scum. And why? Just because I used to whore around before I met her. That Rick guy sure as fuck isn’t a virgin,” he finished, breathing heavily, his chest heaving while he glared furiously at the dancing couple.
Sharing a look with Vitya, we understood that he couldn't be teased about it anymore. The guy had reached his limit, and I had a feeling he would be going after his woman soon. But I couldn’t help but feel that this whole thing was about something else. She wanted him. Why the hell would she give him her virginity otherwise? Plus, Melissa wasn't an issue in their relationship either. God help me with my kaznachei choosing her as his. Her pregnancy with Yuri’s kid came out of nowhere.
Before I could dwell on this thought much, Vito walked in, and called to them, “Ricardo, are you done dancing with my angel?” With fucking who?
After all the shit that had happened last month with Ciara, he still kept in contact and practically insisted on an invitation to the wedding. He was a powerful ally, and he seemed to have transferred all his love for Angelica to Rosa, giving her expensive gifts and calling her weekly. Surprisingly, she liked it, and they chatted for hours about designing our home. According to her, Vito had amazing taste—whatever the fuck that meant. The Ciara situation was unknown, as his curt replies on the subject were always that he “handled her.”
How the hell I ended up with two in-laws who operated Cosa Nostra in different countries, I’d never know. My kids wouldn't have the chance, even if they wanted to be outside the family.
Vito opened his arms and smiled gently at Honey. “How about a hug for your father, Mirella?” With that, he pressed her closer to his chest, resting his chin on her head while she wrapped her arms around his waist. “The dangerous times are over, my daughter. You can come back home. No need to get information on the FBI.”
We all stood dumbstruck watching the scene; even Rosa and Don paused their dance. I had no fucking idea the man even had a kid, let alone that she ran around the States unattended, covering as a hacker. Wait, he said information on the FBI? That would mean….
Fuck.
She was the rat in the system. That was why Melissa could never track anything on Vito or get him during any of his operations. And another thought came to my mind. They thought they recruited her as a seventeen-year-old girl from foster care who did some shit in which they had seen a talent for themselves. But knowing Vito now, he’d never place his underage kid there. That would have made her a vulnerable target. She had to be here for the last two years, since Connor had sex with her once she turned eighteen, and it had been more than a year since that.
“Mirella Rossi,” Vitya said carefully, cleared his throat, and continued, “The daughter of Vito Rossi and his first wife, Adeline. Half German, half Italian. Twenty-three years old, one of the best hackers in the world, going under the nickname Spider. Lethal soldier.” Then he glanced at Connor who stood silent while Honey, no Mirella, gazed at him guiltily, and he proclaimed, “You are so fucked, man.”
I had a hard time with Don getting him to agree on me being the husband for his daughter due to the mafia world. And a mafia boss ever agreeing to an FBI agent marrying his precious angel? Yeah, that was not going to happen.
Connor was indeed fucked.
Rosa
Closing my eyes, a soft moan escaped as Dominic nipped gently on the back of my neck, trailing kisses down my back as he slowly lowered the zipper bit by bit, making sure no uncovered skin was left untouched.
Off-white curtains blew in different directions from the open balcony door, which presented an amazing view of the New York night. I barely felt the breeze, my skin too hot from all the attention to notice anything but my man. “Moya krasavica,” he whispered, as the dress fell to my feet, leaving me standing in a black thong, matching lacy garter belt, stockings, and heels. “Fuck me,” he murmured, spun me around, and threw me on the bed. I barely had time to gulp air as he kneeled in front of me, dipping the bed slightly. He pushed my thighs apart and settled between them, his thick hard-on digging into my core as he slid against my clit, but he made no move to enter me, although I was already wet from all the foreplay. All he had to do was speak in that rugged voice of his to have me all hot and bothered for him.
Breathing heavily, I lay on my back, anticipating his next move as my eyes drank in all his masculinity. I licked my lips, imaging the taste of him, something he denied me during all those weeks in preparation for the wedding, and I groaned inwardly. “Do something, Dominic!” I shouted, as he raised his brow.
He wrapped his hand around his cross on my neck, tugged on it painfully, making me come closer to him. His breath fanned my cheek, as he whispered dangerously, “Krasavica, you don’t get to instruct me on how to pleasure what’s mine.” He captured my mouth with his, not allowing me to add any sassy remark, and I forgot about everything else but the touch of his velvet tongue on mine. Just before I reached to lace my fingers in his hair, he slipped away from me, moving lower, leaving burning licks on my collarbone, stomach, and navel. Finally, he hooked his thumbs in my thong, peeling it down. “It has been too long, Rosa,” he said huskily, digging his fingers on the outside of my thighs as he bit lightly on my skin.
Not able to take it anymore, I begged, “Please.” He latched on my clit, nipping with his lips and soothing it with his tongue, although all it did was drive me crazy. Opening his mouth wide, he kissed my heat, stiffening his tongue and probing deep as incoherent whimpers escaped me. My body arched, but he pushed me back down, not allowing me to move away from his seeking touches. Electricity ran through me, awakening every cell inside me as even the soft breeze became unbearable, and I moaned louder, seeking the bliss only he could provide. “Dominic, please.” He stopped his movements, and I almost cried in frustration, but he quickly, before I could even blink, entered me, and my scream of pleasure echoed in the night.
Locking my ankles around his hips, I submitted my arms to his grip as he locked them in a tight embrace above our heads. His mouth took my nipples prisoner, sucking on them, first one then the other, harshly, and I didn't even know on which pleasure to concentrate, but after a few of his deep thrusts, it all transformed into one long reality in which I could exist forever.
Letting go of my breast, our eyes clashed, his full of lust and possessiveness, and mine of love. He rested his forehead on mine, and demanded harshly, “Never stop loving me, Rosa.”
“Never,” I replied as fiercely, not wanting him to have any doubts left about my commitment to him.
And just like that, in the five-star hotel room, we found our bliss together, him crying out and me biting his shoulder harshly, and somehow the union of two bodies locked by the knowledge of being husband and wife amplified the experience.
My arrogant jerk.
Sexy, delicious, arrogant jerk.
Twenty years later
“So can I?”
“No.”
“But what if I—”
“No.”
“If I just leave at—”
Dominic raised his eyes from the paper he was reading, and looked sternly at Lily. “No matter what the argument is, my answer is no. I will not allow you to go out with Timur. End of discussion.”
Our daughter put her hands on her hips, and her amber eyes, just like her dad’s, sent fireworks—and not the pretty kind—his way. “Not negotiable?”
Dominic’s cup of coffee paused right before it reached his lips as he studied Lily with a suspicious look behind his black glasses, which I personally found so sexy. “Correct,” he replied arrogantly, and the corners of his mouth twitched, because he probably found all this amusing. Rarely anyone stood up to him, so living in a house full of girls brought him constant entertainment. “What’s all this talk about a prom dance anyway? Weren't you supposed to help your mom at the clinic?”
Oh no, he didn’t. The sneaky jerk, using me to shift her focus onto something else.
Since my medical career was still important to me, we had decided to wait a couple of years before starting our family. After two years of studies, I discovered I was pregnant, and we couldn't have been happier. However, with the amount of time a baby required and the material I had missed during the one year of amnesi
a, we concluded that it was best for me to change the major from surgeon to pediatrician, and it worked well. All those scared young mothers had embraced me, because I knew what to do. The knowledge helped a lot with Monica and Sorcha, the twins who came three years later.
Lily threw her black hair with dyed-purple strands over her shoulders, and they cascaded down her back in silky waves glistening in the sun. Her skinny black jeans and violet T-shirt hugged her body tightly, and for the hundredth time, I wondered when I missed my baby growing up into a beautiful woman. Was there a time machine that could transfer both of us back to when she just learned to walk and sought my help in the smallest of things?
“Daddy, please say yes,” she suddenly said, surprising me and Dominic alike.
Lily Konstantinova never begged anyone for anything. She took whatever she pleased. She shared her love for guns and bikes with her daddy. She planned to study law to be a prosecutor, and God helps us all then, as nothing escaped her notice. Sharp as a freaking knife. While the other girls focused on parties and floral dresses, she watched crime documentaries and read various books about laws and famous murder cases. I didn't know if I should be worried, but anytime I raised the subject, she gave me the infamous Konstantinov look, and trust me, after three kids and my husband, I was quite familiar with it, and I had to drop any argument.
My heart flipped against my ribcage, and I stood up from the armchair I sat in near Dom, and palmed Lily’s face. “Darling, what’s going on?”
She frowned, casting her eyes down, and sighed heavily. Then they clashed with mine, as she whispered, “He will move on.” And for the first time, I understood the depth of her emotion toward Timur, a boy she grew up with.
Timur was five years old when Vitya found him on the streets of Russia, begging for food. It turned out he had drug-addict parents who didn't care for him and had almost sold him to the same sick-minded type of people who tormented Damian and Dominic. Needless to say, the pakhan and his enforcers closed it down and punished those who were responsible. Vitya and Michael took the boy in and raised him as their own. He proved to be smart and strong, and he planned to study engineering this year in the same university as Lily and Elena.
