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I bit my lip, swallowing the noises building up, selfishly keeping them trapped, perhaps hoping to recall the feeling later.
He didn’t need confirmation of a job well done; the wet mess covering his hand was proof enough.
The music slowly reached my ears, and I knew the blissful moment was over.
Maxim brought his fingers to my lips, the firm grip on my neck still in place. “Suck ‘em clean.”
I obliged, taking in all three, erasing the reminder, and taking longer than necessary. A slight disappointment washed over me at the act, but I didn’t let the emotion show.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” his growl reached me, sending a thrill down my spine.
It quickly made me realize I was ready for the best of three, maybe more. But when the man who had just reinstated my sanity with a simpleorgasm spoke next, his words wiped those thoughts away. It was obvious: the darkness cleared, and the front door to reality opened.
“No man who sees you as their sunshine deserves to have you,” he whispered low into my ear.
Before the meaning fully registered, Maxim abruptly stood and gently steadied me on my feet. The ground felt uneven, but I kept my balance.
He reached for the gun still in my hand, taking his prized possession back.
Without a second glance, he turned his back on me, an action not many had the privilege of doing, before storming out.
And I flipped him off.
Unlike the tongue gesture, this one went unreturned.
Deep down, I knew something was happening behind the scenes. I tried getting Ilya to talk, but he shut me down fast, ordering me to drop it.
So I did, but the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen. The last time I ignored my gut, it brought misery and death to our doorstep.
In the weeks that followed, Alisa and I planned a wedding worthy of a royal couple. But I couldn’t shake the thought: who actually stands to gain from this? Ilya, securing his position as Pakhan with a potential heir? Alisa and her family, climbing the ranks, getting closer to power than ever? Or the Bratva, putting on a show for the rest of the world?
The answer didn’t add up. Maybe I was looking for a reason when there was only one: love.
According to Alisa’s wedding plans, straight from the mind of a twelve-year-old in her long-awaited dreams, the weekend before the event was reserved for family and close friends.
She pulled out an entire to-do list, covered in stars and hearts made of glue and glitter. One look at it, and I knew there wasn’t a single item on that list I’d deny her.
The search for a place was slowed by the ridiculous rules her brothers and future husband set, all for our safety, they argued, even though they knew exactly what I did for a living.
While I fumed, Alisa remained calm. She let them hash out the logistics, maintaining the illusion of control they were so sure they had.
The weekend was closing in, and we still didn’t have a place to stay. It needed to meet very specific criteria. Luckily, I had one in mind.
Being the maid of honor, I suppose it fell under the role’s responsibilities.
Before I had a chance to change my mind, I picked up the phone and called the only person posh enough to buy a house in the Hamptons.
“Pronto?”
A commotion of voices filled the line. Fast Italian fired from all sides, and while I didn’t speak the language, I knew Enzo was at work. Since he answered, I didn’t let that stop me.
“Do you ever pick up the phone and just say hello?”
His smooth English didn’t carry a hint of an accent. “Here’s a tip for you. Don’t question me when you call for favors.”
“How did you know?”
“That’s the only reason you call. Calls are for business,” Enzo clarified.