Page 9 of Sinful Hearts

“Give this to Liliya,” I tell her. “You open it, I’ll chop your fucking fingers off.”

“Excuse me?—”

I talk over her. “You played Switch It with the wrong man. Now, you play by my rules.”

4

Liliya Lastro.

I don’t like the sound of it at all.

It sounds fake.

Doesn’t roll off the tongue well.

At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.

I’m back in the bridal suite, trying to collect my thoughts after Emilio kicked everyone out.

While I hope they don’t kill Aleksy, fingers crossed he at least gets punched once.

Hard and right in his smug, controlling face.

He needs a good blow to knock some of the arrogance out of him. He’s never had power like this before, and he’s relishing it. It’s getting rather annoying.

The Morozovas run the Russian Bratva in New York City. Mydedushkastarted it in Russia before sending my Uncle Yaroslav to the States to run a sector of the crime organization here. His son and my cousin, Dima, wanted the boss title for himself and recently killed Yaroslav.

Dima’s run as boss didn’t last long. He was killed shortly after by a woman he’d kidnapped.

Karma’s a bitch.

With Uncle Yaroslav and Dima dead, the only man in the States with Morozova blood was Aleksy.

He’s gone from being a mere foot soldier to boss, making life-and-death decisions for a dangerous crime organization. His new position has made him reckless and cruel.

Aleksy’s firstpower move, as he called it, was setting up an alliance via a marriage contract with the Lombardis. A peace offering on their end since Dima died at the hands of a Lombardi capo’s wife.

I plop down on the sofa in the bridal suite and touch my lips, remembering how Emilio’s felt against them.

I liked it more than I should’ve. For a moment, when his mouth was on mine, I felt peace. I convinced myself that his gentleness meant I was safe from murder.

It was all just a mind game for him.

The door flings open, and my mother walks inside the room. She’s breathless, like the walk to the bridal suite was miles long, and clutches a folded paper against her chest.

She shuts the door and eyes me uneasily while holding out the note in my direction. “Emilio told me to give you this.”

I stare at the note as if it contains anthrax.

She thrusts it closer, so similar to how she had the wedding gown earlier.

I slowly take the note from her and unfold it. My head grows dizzy as I read it.

Pack your bags, my deceitful wife.

You’re mine now.

This note is so on-brand for my new husband.