“Hell, yes.”
Chapter 2
~Carmine~
Three Months Later…
“I love you.” The lie rolls off my tongue easier than the first time I said it, just a few weeks ago. Nadia and I have become inseparable since she moved in with me. We fuck. We laugh. We eat.
And then we fuck some more.
I know her body better than I know mine. Every curve, every erotic inch that makes her writhe in ecstasy.
But it’s a shot to my ego and my pride that I still don’t know her mind. Nadia is good at keeping her thoughts close to her chest and only sharing bits and pieces of information. But she’s loosened up considerably, and our time together has been fun.
So much so that I enjoy having her in my house.
No, not mine. I won’t have the daughter of the man I hate most in the world living in my home. But she doesn’t know that.
I press a kiss to her nape as she fusses with an earring, and then she smiles at me in the mirror.
“I love you, too, darling,” she says. Her eyes go wide as I slip the diamond necklace around her neck from behind and fasten it with nimble fingers. “Oh my God, Carmine.”
Her hand moves to touch the ice that glitters in the mirror.
“Later, when I make love to you, you’ll wear this and nothing else.”
Her gaze flies to mine, and she smiles quickly before turning to launch herself into my arms.
“You know I love gifts,” she says against my mouth.
“And I love giving them to you.” Nadia is spoiled. Selfish. Indulgent—all of the things I expected of her.
It’s a pity that she didn’t prove me wrong. Part of me wanted to respect her. To discover that she’s nothing like the rest of her family.
But that didn’t happen. Don’t get me wrong, Nadia’s been fun, but she’s the typical, overindulged daughter of a powerful man; a woman used to getting her way.
She playfully tugs on my lower lip with her teeth, then walks across the room to open her Hermes bag, moving a few small things over to her tiny clutch.
“I hope nothing horrible happens today,” she says with a sigh. “It’s Annika’s wedding day. She deserves to have a happy day without any mafia shenanigans thrown in for good measure.”
“Weddings, like funerals, are truce days. You know that.” I fasten my cufflinks, the ones with the rubies that Nadia got me for my birthday last month. “Everyone will be on their best behavior.”
We’ve been in Denver for three days, preparing for Nadia’s cousin’s wedding. Annika’s groom, Richard Donaldson, has no ties to any mafia family, and that’s the way Annika wanted it. Rumor has it that her family isn’t thrilled, but they’re permitting the union.
Reluctantly.
My family flew in yesterday. Nadia and I had dinner with my parents, Shane, Rocco, and my cousin, Elena, and her husband, Archer. Elena was raised like my sister. When someone murdered her parents, I took it upon myself to see to avenging their deaths.
Nadia’s family will pay.
But not today.
Three other family organizations will also attend Annika and Rich’s wedding. But there’s an unwritten rule for weddings and funerals of mafia families. No violence. No retribution is to be dispensed on those days. They’re days of celebration. Community. If beefs or scores need to be settled, it’s for another time and place.
We may be brutal, but we can be respectful.
“My brother flies in this morning.” Nadia checks her lipstick in a handheld mirror, and I school my features.
Alexander Tarenkov will die at my hand. Not today, but one day soon. For his many transgressions.
“I was surprised he didn’t come sooner.”
“He was in Europe,” she says with a shrug. “Doing what, I have no idea. You know he doesn’t say much to me.”
I smile as she takes one last look in the mirror. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
“Ready.”
“A toast,” Igor Tarenkov says as he raises his glass and gets the attention of the roughly three hundred people at the reception. “To my niece, Annika. My little firefly. You make a lovely bride, my darling. And to Richard. If you fail to take care of my girl, you’ll swim with the fishes. Cheers.”
We laugh and raise our glasses as Igor sits at the table with his brother—Annika’s dad—and Richard’s parents, who look a little worse for wear.
“I don’t think Rich’s parents are used to people like us,” I murmur to Nadia, who chuckles and sips her champagne.
“You’d be right. Annika said they’re doctors from the suburbs.”
“Just like her,” I point out as the bride approaches our table.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Annika says to Nadia as she leans in to kiss her cousin’s cheek. “Are you all having a good time?”
“What’s not to like?” Rocco asks.
“Hello, Rafe.”
My brother’s expression turns to a scowl. “I’ve told you a million times to call me Rocco.”
“I will never do that,” Annika replies with a straight face. “Your name is Rafe. That’s what your mother calls you.”
“You’re not my mother,” my brother reminds her.
“Isn’t that fortunate?” Annika replies without missing a beat.
I always liked Annika. Like my cousin Elena, Annika has no interest in the family business. She’s a doctor with a business in Denver. Her new husband, Rich, is also a physician.
They’ll live a quiet life, making a good living from their jobs, even if Igor uses them from time to time to clean up a mess or two.
Having a doctor in the family is incredibly helpful.
Rocco narrows his eyes on Annika, but she just smiles at us. “Oh, I want you to meet someone. Ivie, come here.”
I recognize the maid of honor as she hurries over to our table and offers us all a smile.
“Everyone, this is my best friend since we were six. Ivie Roberts.”
“Hi.” Ivie waves and flashes a shy smile. She’s pretty but not beautiful. Not extraordinary like the other women in the room. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Shane says as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You’re lovely, aren’t you?”
Rocco and I share a surprised look.
“Oh, it’s just the dress,” Ivie says, glancing down at the blood-red gown that fits her curvy body like a glove.
“No, I think it’s the woman wearing it.”
“How charming,” Nadia says. “Ladies, let’s make a trip to the champagne table.”
Nadia loops her arms through Annika’s and Ivie’s and leads them away. Ivie glances back and gives Shane a sassy wink.
“Really?” I say to Shane, who just stares back at me blankly.
“What?”
“What do you mean what?” Rocco says with a laugh. “You were totally mooning over that girl. And she’s not your type. She’s not any of our types.”
“What does that mean?” Elena demands, and Archer suddenly seems fascinated with the silverware on the table.