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“It’s weird,” Dima says now, and Vasily nods.
“Oh my God, you two were his groomsmen.”
“Yeah, and what kind of FBI agent has two Bratva thugs as his groomsmen?”
I shake my head and turn to go back inside the banquet hall on the ground level of our office building. I like spending half the year in Flagstaff, where everything is a little slower and cozier, but I love the convenience of Los Angeles, where the furthest I ever have to go is across the street.
Literally. We bought that café across the street from our building. There’s a lot to do in LA, but it’s rare for us to actually go anywhere that’s driving distance.
It’s late. I should let the boys’ silliness go. Instead, I call over my shoulder, “Thugs? You live in penthouse apartments and wear Armani suits. Some real thugs you are.”
“Zvyozdochka,you are bold tonight,” Vasily growls with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “I should spank you.”
He follows after me, slow, confident strides to the rapid clicking of my heels. Dima stays right where he is, knowing better than to get in the elevator with us.
He’s our neighbor when we’re here. I’m not supposed to know this, but he’s made his own fortune with those ridiculously illegal ghost guns. Dima took over that operation to keep it out of Benedetti’s sight— but Vasily still gets a cut, of course. I’ve yet to hear any real horror stories about the guns on the news, so I assume they’re going to people who aren’t looking to shoot up schools or mow down innocent bystanders. No plane hijackings. No assassinations.
I was born a Mafia princess. I always knew I was going to marry for wealth and ignore the crimes that built it. I just got lucky and married for love, too.
Well, ‘marry’ is a strong word. The closest we’ve ever gotten to an actual altar was when Alex got married last year. Vasily asked me if I wanted my own wedding. I immediately said yes then changed my mind within the hour.
He’s my husband. I’m his wife. Father Niko gave us his blessing a decade ago. That was enough. If I want a fancy party to celebrate our love, we’ll have a fancy party. We don’t need a wedding.
I race into the elevator and hit the button. The door is nearly closed when Vasily’s hand shoots through it. The door is nearly closed the second time before he’s got my panties off.
He spins me over, bends me in half, and spanks me.
“Vasya!” I squeal. “You saidshouldspank me!”
He grabs me by a handful of dark curls, perfectly styled for me to stand next to Maria as her bridesmaid, and yanks me upright. “Yep. So I did.”
The elevator dings and announces 37th Floor.
Vasily’s pupils dilate. “Ohhh, do you want to show the world what a slut you are? Do you think all the wedding guests are down below, waiting to see your pussy, you little whore?”
I bite my lip and nod. Vasily insisted on adding a finish to his windows ages ago so no one can see inside anymore, no matter how much light we have in here. “So we can play without you worrying about anyone really seeing us,” he said, and I nodded in agreement.
I’m a mom. I’m a successful businessperson. I don’t want anyone really seeing me.
That’s the right answer, at least.
But I always wonder if I angle myself just right, if someone across the street looks at just the right time or with the right kind of camera lens or glasses, if they can see me. If they can see everything.
I tug my dress off and throw it over a chair before Vasily can do anything terrible with it. It’s a cute dress. Prettiest bridesmaid dress I can remember, although it’s been four years, and I’m still missing a lot. But I’ve gotten a lot back, and I make new memories every day.
I unhook my strapless bra, and Vasily pounces on me, as ravenous as ever for my breasts. I can taste the vodka on his breath, see the haze in his eyes. He’s not a big drinker, and the medication his psychiatrist recently switched him to has tanked his already low tolerance. I only saw him take three shots, but his hands are fumbling, rougher than usual.
I love it.
I love how seriously he’s taken my demand that he get his medication use under control.
I love him.
“Vasya!” I groan against his lips. “Oh God, I need you, please!”
He fumbles with his belt buckle as he walks me back up against the glass. It’s going to be fast tonight. That’s okay. He’ll probably wake me up halfway through the night and decide he can’t exist without his cock inside me, and then he’ll make love to me for hours.
At least until a kid wakes up.