Page 35

Camilla Volkov

I tuck another flower hairpin into Zoya’s updo and smile as she inspects her reflection. She points to another spot on her head, demanding yet another flower despite almost every inch being covered already. She’s too cute to deny, so I add a bright purple clip into the mix.

“Your hair is so beautiful, Zoya. Maybe I should carry you instead of my bouquet,” I chuckle.

She smiles around her thumb but shakes her head and reaches for another hairpin. I find an empty spot behind her ear and slide it between a pale orange carnation and soft yellow tulip.

“Maybe you should,” a deep, smooth voice says from the doorway.

I gasp and spin around.

“Dimitri! Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding? Get out,” I shoo him away with mock disapproval.

He captures my wrist in a light grip and kisses my knuckles.

“You aren’t in your dress yet, so it doesn’t count,” he rumbles against the back of my hand.

Need pulses in my clit.

“Zoya, I love your hair!” Maksim exclaims as he bounds into the room.

Artur strides in with all the pride of his father, his suit a dashing work of art.

“ Tetya Serenity and Dyadya Nico are here to visit,” he announces.

My sister steps over the threshold with Perla in her arms. I squeak in excitement and rush over to greet them. My niece gurgles and hiccups, a tiny trail of drool escaping her lips, and waves her fist in the air, but she turns her head, more interested in the other children than me.

I sigh and settle us on the couch.

Serenity gives me a side hug and places Perla in my lap. I rest my head on her shoulder and soak in my younger sister’s calm presence.

“It’s okay, mia nipote ; I get it. My babies are so much more fun than I am,” I mock lament as Zoya climbs up next to me and shares her stuffed animal for a few moments.

Maksim remarks on Perla’s tiny fingers and cute nose.

His words run together as he struggles to keep up with his racing thoughts.

Artur waits until Maksim’s attention shifts elsewhere, then he pats her head and kisses her cheek.

He and Tristan play together almost every day.

The two boys made a pact to protect each other’s family, and both take it as seriously as their fathers do.

Nico Russo stands just inside the door, ensuring no threats sneak into the room. Every now and then, he smirks to himself, enjoying the banter between my children as they gush over his daughter.

Tears clog my throat as I meet Dimitri’s gaze. The only thing that would make this moment more perfect would be —

My brother fills the door frame as though summoned by my thoughts.

I clear my throat and wave him in.

The room may be the most opulent bridal receiving room any wedding venue has to offer, but with five muscular mafia men—because of course Fiero Capito and Ermanno Mancini aren’t far behind their dons—their five stunning mafia queens, four rambunctious children, and an infant, the space shrinks.

I love it. I love them.

My family.

No, only half of my family.

I haven’t met Dimitri’s siblings or parents—and his brother Boris is expecting his sixth child in a few months, so there’s quite a few to meet—but I know I’ll love them, too.

Dimitri unlocked the fear holding my heart captive and gave me a purpose. I’ll create a village to raise these kids and watch them blossom into the best versions of themselves.

When the alarm on my phone rings, Loretta ushers everyone out so I can change into my dress. Dimitri ensures Serenity and Aurora have our children under their wings before taking over Loretta’s duty. She balks until I place a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure? I can—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you, Loretta,” I say.

She nods and pats the back of my hand before shutting the door on her way out.

Dimitri twists the lock and leans back on the ornate wood. His hungry eyes devour me.

He’s lethally handsome in his suit. My nipples pebble and clit throbs.

When he doesn’t move away from the door, I walk over to the dressing corner and stand in front of the floor-length mirror. I pull my sweatshirt over my head, careful not to mess up my hair and makeup, kick off my sneakers, and push my sweatpants off my legs.

His sharp inhale travels down my spine and fills me with feminine power. I look over my shoulder as I reach into my clothes bag and pull out the only thing I plan to wear under my outfit.

Barely more than a strip of lace, the garter belt is my something blue for our extravagant wedding. I step into the belt and wiggle my hips as I pull it up my legs, teasing my husband with every shift.

His massive hands settle over mine before I can lift them away from the lace. He guides my palms to the mirror, bending me forward without pressing against me.

Even though I trust him, my body continues to fight demons that are no longer alive, since he ensured each of the eight men who hurt me no longer walk the earth.

I hope they rot in hell for an eternity. With my angel of death’s help, I will overcome my fight-or-flight response one step at a time.

“Stay right there while I enjoy my snack,” he murmurs in my ear.

The sight of him looming over me, him in a suit while I’m naked, is both startling and insanely erotic.

He drops to his knees behind me.

I curl my toes in anticipation as his breath wafts over my exposed pussy.

He doesn’t snack. He feasts.

My palms leave sweat smears on the mirror. I drop to my forearms as he flicks, licks, and swirls his tongue over every inch of my sex. Pressure builds in my core. My entire body shakes.

“Be quiet, so?lnyshka . We wouldn’t want our guests to worry, would we?”

At the mention of the people on the other side of the door, a thrill races down my spine. I clamp my teeth together.

He seals his mouth over my pussy and sucks.

I fly apart.

With gentle strokes of his tongue, he brings me down from my epic high before sitting on his heels.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before licking my essence off his knuckles.

“Mmm, you taste so good, so?lnyshka ,” he murmurs.

“My turn,” I demand in a pleasure-roughened voice.

His fleeting smile fills me with the need to blow his mind.

I turn and lower myself using his shoulders, ensuring he stays kneeling as I open his trousers, free his cock, and brace my forearm along his thigh.

His cock jerks as I wrap my fist around his base.

As I lean down and lick his tip, my ass lifts and breasts brush against his thighs.

When I glance up at his face, he flicks his gaze between me and my reflection, enjoying the sight of my swollen pussy in the mirror. Fresh wetness trickles down my legs.

I take him into my mouth and hum at his delicious, clean taste. He groans and leans back on his palms. I worship him with my tongue, tease him with my lips, and stroke him with my hands until his breathing grows erratic and his thighs bunch.

Uncaring about my makeup, I lower my head until he hits the back of my throat and stay there long enough to rub my flattened tongue over the underside of his shaft a few times.

I pull back, but his dick pulses and warm, salty musk spurts against the roof of my mouth, so I dip back down and suction my lips around him.

He snarls. I flick my tongue. More liquid floods my mouth. I suction my lips and swallow.

He curses and vaults into a second orgasm.

When he finally stops, I rise, not releasing suction until his tip pops free, and smile in wicked satisfaction as he heaves.

With a final lick along his tip, I snatch the box of tissues off the vanity and wipe the worst of my slobber off his shaft before tucking his cock away.

He pulls my face to his and kisses me. Tasting myself on his tongue feels taboo and liberating.

“You are too good for me, so?lnyshka ,” he rumbles against my lips.

I nip his soft flesh and smirk.

“Oops. Too late to change wives now. We’re already married, and you’ll never touch another woman so long as I’m alive. Capisci ?” I demand.

“Da, Camilla. You are moya so?lnyshka . I want no other. I love you and only you,” he vows.

I may initiate our next kiss, but he rules every inch of my world with his hungry teeth and tongue.

My phone chimes with another alarm.

He leans back and quirks a brow.

I laugh and peck his cheek.

“Yes, I set an alarm to end sexy times. I really need to get dressed now,” I say.

He thumbs the scars on my cheek before leaning down and brushing his lips over them.

“I would kill them again if I had the chance. I would do anything to take away your pain,” he murmurs.

I shake my head.

“This is who I am now,” I say with a gesture down at my mostly nude body, “and I don’t regret a single fucking thing because it led me to my angel of death and his minions of chaos,” I say.

He chuckles.

“Minions of chaos is an apt description. Come, so?lnyshka . Let me dress you,” he says as he rises to his feet.

After helping me up and ensuring I have my balance, he reaches for the dress hanging beside the mirror.

Needing time to mentally prepare myself for being the center of over four hundred guests’ attention, I become a life-sized doll, moving whichever way he positions me, and don’t blink back into focus until he slips my feet into my new pair of sneakers and guides me back in front of the mirror.

With lace serving as the long sleeves and bateau neckline and a satin sweetheart neckline, the bodice of my pantsuit hides my scars with chic elegance while the detachable overskirts add a traditional flair to my otherwise modern ‘dress’.

He kisses my temple before guiding me to the vanity. I fix my makeup and give him a peck on the chin before shooing him from the room as my phone rings with another alarm.

I silence my phone, lift my ridiculously expensive bouquet from the stand on the dresser, and allow myself one last check in the mirror before Loretta knocks on the door.

“You look gorgeous!” she exclaims.

I thank her and ignore the nervousness building in my veins as she leads me down the opulent hall.

Two doormen stand ready in front of the ornate double doors to the ballroom.

Even though the ballroom is pure luxury—boasting soaring ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and intricate architectural details—it does nothing for me, but my heart squeezes when I meet bright blue eyes.

Dimitri’s possessive stare banishes my fear, and all the people sitting in the pews disappear. Only the ones I love exist.

Artur stands in the best man’s spot beside his father. Maksim holds the ring box by his brother’s side. Zoya stands with her empty flower basket tucked in the crook of one arm and her stuffed animal in the other.

Serenity, Loretta, and Aurora stand on my side of the stage. Their husbands sit in the front row, less than five steps from their women. Giorgio’s expression softens when he turns and sees me.

My sister wipes a tear from her eye.

I take a deep breath and lock my gaze on Dimitri’s.

“Mama!”

A high, clear voice breaks through the first notes of the wedding march. Zoya drops her basket and runs down the aisle toward me.

The smile on her face is so mischievous and full of joy I forget how to breathe until she opens her arms and launches herself at me.

I toss my bouquet aside just in time to stoop down and catch her.

She kisses my cheek and leans back to make sure she has my attention before speaking.

“My fowers better.” She pats her flower-covered hair. “Carry me,” she points to her chest. “I be your fowers, not dat,” she demands with an aggressive wave toward my discarded bouquet.

I shift my gaze to the lady sitting at the end of the pew and blink in shock.

Valentina Denaro—the woman I bumped into in Central Park not long ago—caught my bouquet, but the man sitting next to her isn’t her betrothed.

He looks old enough to be her father. She shoves the bouquet toward me, her eyes wide.

I heft Zoya higher against my chest.

“Sorry, Valentina, I have a better bouquet. This one I’ll never toss, so that one is yours now,” I declare before starting down the aisle.

Zoya pats my shoulder and tucks the side of her face against my chest, returning her thumb to her mouth now that she’s said all she means to say.

My heart threatens to explode as I meet Dimitri’s clear blue eyes.

We may already be married, but emotions swell inside me as I join him at the altar.

In front of God, my family, and every socialite in New York City, I declare my love for the brutal Russian bratva ubiytsa .

I claim him. He’s mine. His children are mine.

And I’m theirs.

Forever.

Next in series: Stolen Vows (Vicious Mafia Kings Book 6) .