The lump in my throat refuses to go away no matter how many times I swallow, but I’ve cried more in the last two weeks since discovering my pregnancy than I have in my entire life, so I swallow again and stop on the side of the path, needing a few moments alone as I soak in the beautiful view. The city looks so clean and shimmery this far away, and the contrast between metal buildings and lush green grass is dazzling.
In the public section of the park on one side of the hill, children squeal and dogs bark as families enjoy the sunny day. On the other side, with the city as the backdrop, a small platform, an altar, and white folding chairs create a simple yet stunning wedding venue.
I glance down at my slightly rounded belly, which is hardly noticeable at eleven weeks pregnant with my curves, and smile.
Fate has already tied Fiero and me together in so many ways. It’s ironic how I ran so hard and long to escape the mafia lifestyle only to end up loving and needing the most ruthless and trustworthy consigliere in New York City. Without him, I’d still be stuck in a life of anger, fear, and guilt, but now I have hope, joy, and a support system stronger than I ever thought possible.
Because of him, I have a family.
Aurora notices me and ends her chat with the wedding coordinator. After meeting Giorgio’s eyes across the venue and getting a nod from him, she rushes up the hill toward me.
When she wraps me in a hug, I swallow the damned indestructible lump at the base of my throat and close my eyes, savoring both her gesture of kinship and her thin yet strong body pressed against mine. I don’t know how she knows I need the physical touch to ground me, but I lift my arms and give her a thankful squeeze.
Tristan’s exasperated voice breaks the moment.
“Ari, you’re not supposed to make Zia Emma cry,” he admonishes.
My watery laugh steals the truth from my denial. As we pull away from each other, both Aurora and I wipe tears from our cheeks.
She tsks and flicks the liquid off her fingers.
“I knew doing my makeup this early was stupid, but I couldn’t help it.” She notices my clothes for the first time and smirks. “Fiero was right. You showed up in scrubs.”
I shrug and point to the duffle at my feet.
“My relief came late, so I didn’t want to waste time with street clothes, but I don’t need much prep time. We still have two hours,” I say.
She rolls her eyes and slips her arm through mine.
“Where’s Katherine?” she asks.
“She forgot something in the car; I just stopped to enjoy the view while I wait for her,” I say.
“The first time we met was at my indoor garden wedding, wasn’t it?” Aurora reflects.
I nod and say, “I caught your bouquet.”
“So the superstition is true? That’s terrifying.” She shivers in mock fear before asking Tristan to carry my duffle. He takes the bag before I can grab it and darts toward the lodge but stops a few feet away, turns back around, and gives me a half hug.
With Aurora on one side and Tristan on the other, I hug the duo of siblings and wonder how such amazing people can rise from such horrible parents.
“I’m glad Zio Fiero has you for when I’m busy with school, and I’m sorry I wasn’t nice to you when we first met. When I get married, I want you to come to my wedding and support my bride. Capisci, Zia Emma?”
Emotions clog my throat. I nod.
“What was that about not making the bride cry?” Aurora chuckles.
She ruffles his hair behind my back and thanks him for me before urging him ahead of us.
As I battle a flood of tears, she looks over the wedding setup and meets Giorgio’s attentive gaze. It’s the same look Fiero gives me. Full of adoration and devotion, he has eyes only for Aurora. It’s beautiful.
Sensing my imminent breakdown, Aurora changes the subject.
“The view is stunning, but the drive out here was horrendous. Why did you choose this place anyway?”
I swipe my hand over my face, getting rid of the tears, and clear my throat before responding.
“Fiero chose it. He said neither of us is native to New York City, but it’s played such a pivotal role in both our lives. We were just in it, but now we’re of it. Which probably makes no sense, but—”
“No, I get it,” Aurora interrupts. “It makes perfect sense. As someone born and raised in the city, it’s easy to lose sight of the world beyond the walls.” She turns somber as memories play in her eyes. “But at some point, what’s within the walls is more important than the world, so having the cityscape as your wedding photo background is… horribly romantic.”
I snort-cough and tighten my arm in hers.
“Thank you for accepting us into your walls, Aurora. Katherine and I were happy to lean on each other, but—”
I shrug. She starts a slow walk toward the lodge. I match her step for step as she puts my thoughts into words better than I can.
“You were isolated and afraid. Being strong for someone is so fucking hard sometimes, but when you don’t have a choice, you just keep charging forward.” By the glint in her eyes as she watches Tristan disappear into the lodge, I know she speaks from personal experience. “But to be honest, I didn’t let you into my walls. Giorgio knocked mine down and rebuilt them to fit him and his family inside. Just like how Fiero knocked yours down so you could accept me. They may be mafia, but they’re good husbands and fathers. They’re the most trustworthy men I’ve ever met.”
I nod.
We may have started our relationship with him kidnapping me after I caught him murdering a man in an alley, but I agree with her wholeheartedly. I trust Fiero.
“Alright, enough with the sappy shit. Let’s get you in your dress before the groom hauls you down the aisle in your scrubs.”
I laugh and slip into the lodge when she opens the door for me.
Despite being on my feet for over eight hours at work, my fatigue fades away as nervous energy and excitement build in my chest.
I fought every step of the way leading up to our first wedding but look forward to this one.
When Aurora and Katherine slip out of the dressing room so I can wriggle into my dress without an audience, I stand in front of the mirror and eye my reflection. Even though I bought my lingerie less than a week ago, the pudge of my lower belly stretches the waistline, and honestly, I don’t mind.
Actually, I love it. I splay my hand over my tiny baby bump and turn sideways to inspect my profile.
The door opens and shuts. I twirl too fast and lose my balance.
Fiero’s gigantic hands capture my waist and pull me flush against his front. His tattoos peek out of the collar and cuffs of his three-piece suit. The visual delight alone dampens my panties. Add in his delicious cologne, rock-hard muscles, and the memory of all the times he’s mastered my body, and my nipples harden and clit throbs.
He cups the back of my head, mindful of my simple updo, and leans me back to better study my face.
“Having thoughts of running away like a bad little captive?”
His low, gravelly voice and teasing tone arrow straight to my core. I quirk a brow and arch my back, adding a win under my name on a nonexistent scorecard when his gaze dips down to my cleavage.
“Shouldn’t you be asking how I plan to even the score this time instead?” I challenge.
His smirk steals the strength from my legs. I slip my hands around his nape and scratch my nails under his collar.
He growls, spins us both around, and drops to his knees with his back to the mirror and my ass in his hands. When he hooks my leg over his shoulder and pulls me close, I bite back a whimper and brace one hand on the mirror and grab his hair with the other as he kisses up my inner thigh.
“It’s been too long, mia caramellina. I need a taste. Watch yourself in the mirror and see how gorgeous you are as you come apart on my tongue.”
He pulls my panties aside and runs the flat of his tongue over my entire sex. I moan and tremble as he flicks and twirls over my labia and clit.
When he glances up my body and sees my eyes on him and not my reflection, he snarls and reaches around my hip with the arm under my leg and slips his hand into the cup of my bra. I gasp when he pulls out my breast. He pinches my nipple between his finger and thumb until pain streaks straight to my core.
“Hmm, you’re already dripping for me, aren’t you, my needy little wife? Be a good caramellina and look in the mirror as you cream all over my face. Capisci?”
My brain refuses to filter his words beyond his sexy, hungry rumble, but when he releases my tit and grabs my throat, awareness seeps back into me. The sounds leaking under the door remind me there are people nearby. I bite my bottom lip and swallow the whimper building in my throat. His massive hand forces my chin up as he compresses my jugular.
“Watch us,” he demands.
I mindlessly nod and gasp when he buries his face between my legs. He licks, sucks, and bites my pussy as though he’ll die if I don’t orgasm into his mouth. A millisecond before I explode, he shifts his hand from my throat to my lips, muffling my moan as he ruthlessly works me over the edge.
With my face and chest flushed, my breast red from his abuse as it hangs out of my bridal lingerie, and my knee hooked over his broad shoulder with his head between my legs, our reflection in the mirror is more erotic than most porn. As my core clenches around nothing, I whimper and twist my fingers in his hair, ruining his hairstyle, and forget how to breathe as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.
“Mio Dio, you’re perfect.” He gives my pussy a parting kiss before dropping my foot to the ground and peeling my hand out of his hair as he rises.
I shake and fight for oxygen. He moves behind me, braces my other hand on the mirror, and pushes my panties down my thighs. When I shift to work them to my ankles, he growls and swats my ass. The sting is pure perfection. I groan and drop my head forward.
He kisses my shoulder as he yanks my hips backward and fits the head of his cock to my entrance. With my panties forcing my knees together, his slow, relentless invasion seems bigger than ever before.
I hiss and reach back to limit his inward thrust, but he grabs my wrist and pins it to the small of my back.
“Take me, mia caramellina. Take all of me,” he growls into my hair.
I do. I don’t know how, but I accept every inch of his cock into my pussy, wincing when he hits the sensitive spot deep inside me and hovering on the edge of a terrifying orgasm. Afraid I’ll come apart with the slightest shift, I pant, curl my fingers against the mirror, and stand as still as possible.
All my efforts go to waste when I meet Fiero’s eyes in our reflection. The wicked hunger and unyielding devotion emanating from his dark brown orbs unravels me.
With a curse, he covers my mouth with his palm and hammers into me, prolonging my orgasm and finding his own release after a few brutal thrusts.
He releases my wrist and wraps an arm around my waist before shuffling us forward and bracketing my forearm on the mirror with his much larger one. He nuzzles my temple before pressing the side of our faces together and digging his digits into my hip.
“Thank you, Emma.”
Confusion spears through me. Those are not the words I expected to hear.
“What? Why would you—”
“Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for being so fucking strong. I always thought having a family of my own was too dangerous, but with you as their mother, I know no one will touch our children. You’ll protect them as fiercely as I will.”
The damned lump returns, making it hard to swallow.
“You’re mine, Emma. I’ll never let you go,” he vows.
I reach back and bury my fist in his hair. With his cock lodged deep within me, his baby growing in my womb, and our hearts twisted together, I make a promise of my own.
“You’ve got it all wrong, mio marito. You’re mine. All mine.”
He groans and pulses inside me as he licks my temple.
“Mio Dio, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
A knock on the door shatters the bubble of intimacy around us. After a steadying breath, Fiero pulls out and drops to his knees behind me.
Aurora calls my name from the hallway. Fiero kneads my ass and pulls the globes apart for a better view as his seed seeps from my pussy.
“You’d better answer her, mia caramellina,” he murmurs.
His breath ghosts over the back of my thighs. I close my hands into fists on the mirror and stutter a response to Aurora.
Fiero snags a few tissues from the box on the counter, wipes the worst of the mess away, and tugs my panties back into place before cleaning and tucking himself back into his trousers.
After tossing the tissues into the larger bin in the bathroom, he fixes my bra, gathers me against his chest and scrambles my brain with a slow, drugging kiss.
“I’ll see you at the altar, mia caramellina.”
I nod.
When he unapologetically opens the door and saunters past Aurora into the hallway, I snap out of the trance he wove around me and curse him just loud enough to ensure he hears me. With a deliciously wicked glance over his shoulder, he promises retribution before turning the corner and walking out of sight.
Aurora slips into the room and shuts the door.
She rolls her eyes and chuckles as she crosses the room to the dress form.
“Don’t worry, Giorgio was the same way on all my wedding days. At least he hasn’t seen you in your dress yet, right?”
“Dannazione, I love you,” I blurt before bursting into tears.
She calms me down, helps me into my dress, and coordinates the rest of my preparations as I mentally check out. Her quiet vigilance as Katherine, a few of my female coworkers, and several other ladies from the mafia circle carousel through my room to greet and congratulate me before I walk down the aisle helps me keep my emotions in check.
I have zero doubts about Fiero—or my new extended family—but a picture-perfect wedding was something I never thought I could have, yet here I am, about to march toward the most lethal groom in the nation’s most densely populated city with said cityscape in the background.
When I stand at the back of our tiny congregation and see Fiero waiting at the altar for me, joy pulls my lips into a smile. Giorgio, his best man, offers me his arm to walk me down the aisle. As I accept it, Aurora wipes a tear from her eye and serendipitously hands Katherine a tissue as they stand shoulder to shoulder on the bride’s side of the stage. Tristan shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he stands behind Fiero.
Nico Russo—the man I saw from across the clearing at Aurora’s wedding—sits with his arm around Serenity, his heavily pregnant wife. She looks ready to pop any second now, but the love and excitement shining from her eyes assures me she’s as comfortable as she can be while sitting in the sun. Other familiar faces smile up at me, but the world fades away as I meet Fiero’s eyes.
The ceremony passes by in a blur, but when the officiate—the same lawyer who married us the first time—announces the groom may now kiss the bride, everything snaps into focus. I grab Fiero’s nape and yank him down for a demanding kiss. He groans into my mouth and enjoys my hunger for a moment before taking over. When he finally pulls back, I decide breathing is overrated and tug him down for another.
The rest of the celebration continues without a hitch, and by the time Fiero ushers me through the farewell gauntlet—where everyone waves bubble guns at us instead of throwing rice—and tucks me into the car, my entire body throbs from exhaustion.
Fiero shuts my door, walks around the hood to the driver’s seat, and rolls down the windows so we can wave at everyone as he pulls out of the parking lot.
When I reach for his hand, he takes my wrist and kisses my ring before setting my hand in my lap. Hurt spears through me, but it’s gone as soon as he reaches into the back seat and pulls out a bag of snacks.
“I knew you wouldn’t eat much with so many people around, so I came prepared,” he says.
“You’re just trying to fatten up your pregnant wife,” I joke.
He steals my hand and kisses my knuckles, barely taking his eyes off the road as he responds, “You know it. The bigger, the sweeter.”
For a few moments, I feed us both and crack open a water bottle to share with him. By the time I finish my snack, we’re on the outskirts of the city.
Fiero’s shoulders stiffen. He slows and glances between my window and the front windshield several times before cursing under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“That’s Ermanno Mancini, Nico Russo’s consigliere. We’re far out of either of our districts, but he looks—”
The telltale sound of gunshots bounces off the buildings. Fiero curses again and pushes my head down as he jerks the wheel and hits the gas. Less than ten seconds later, he slams the brakes and throws the shifter in park.
“Stay in the car, mia caramellina.”
With his curt demand hanging in the air, he exits the car, hits the lock button, and slams the door behind him. I fight a wave of nausea as I sit up. My stomach clenches as I glimpse Ermanno and Fiero darting around the block and out of sight.
A man with blood gushing from his shoulder and thigh staggers onto the sidewalk from the outpatient clinic halfway down the block. When a second and third victim stumble into the street, I snap into nurse mode and unbuckle my seat belt. As I open the door and step onto the sidewalk, I dial nine-one-one and hit send, giving them the street names as I run past the sign. I stay on the line and call out updates as I reach the gaggle of victims.
The man with two gunshot wounds is the most serious, so I get him to lie on his back and apply pressure to the wound on his thigh, but it’s not enough. I glance around for something to stanch the flow as I lean more of my weight onto him. He screams. I apologize but don’t decrease the pressure.
A woman with blood smeared over her hands and face rushes out of the clinic. She strips off her sweater and rushes to the victim in second most critical condition.
My patient pushes at my hands and groans as his pallor turns ashen. When his arms flop to the concrete and he passes out, I curse, rip two strips of fabric from the bottom of my dress, ball up the smallest and shove it in his thigh wound before tying the second strip tight around the dressing.
The ambulance sirens blare in the distance as I tear more fabric from my skirt and apply pressure to the man’s shoulder. Fiero and Ermanno stalk into view.
Fiero’s furious glare might make a lesser woman cower, but I snap out instructions for him to help the man sitting on the curb. My mouth waters despite the situation as my husband strips off his suit coat and presses it against the laceration on the man’s back.
Ermanno’s icy stare locks on the woman who rushed out of the clinic to help. Fear flashes in her eyes as she freezes like a deer in headlights. For a moment, she looks ready to bolt, but then the younger lady with a gash on her cheek blocks their view of each other, and she shakes her head before ducking down to assure her victim with a surprisingly calm voice.
Two ambulances and a slew of cop cars pull up. Neither Fiero nor Ermanno look too concerned about their arrival but worry wriggles down my spine until an older police officer saunters up to Ermanno and shakes his hand as though they’re old pals.
I hand my patient over to the first responders before going around to the other victims and rounding them up by severity of injuries, hoping to make the paramedics’ job as easy as possible.
Less than half an hour later, I duck under the crime scene tape and shuffle toward Fiero’s car on leaden feet. Adrenaline crashes suck. I’m tired, bloody, hungry, and pregnant, which is a horrible combination. The coppery smell of blood sours my stomach.
“Hey! Excuse me!”
I turn. The woman who helped rushes toward me.
“You can come into the clinic and wash up, if you want,” she offers.
I shake my head.
“Then take these.” She hands me a pack of wet wipes and steps back. “I’m sorry about your dress. Where’s your—”
When she stops mid-sentence, I look up from the wipes. My entire body electrifies as Fiero stalks toward me with furious eyes. The fear skittering down my spine only adds to the sudden lust pounding in my veins. He grabs my waist and pulls me into his powerful embrace.
“I told you to stay in the car,” he snarls.
I scoff and dig my nails into his side through his undershirt. The wipe packet crinkles in my grip.
“Then you shouldn’t have parked where I could see injured victims. You know I’m a nurse, right?” I snark, just to enjoy the flash of emotion in his eyes.
He growls and takes my mouth in a searing kiss. I cling to him as my desperation grows. He pulls back and presses his forehead to mine.
“Mio Dio, what was I thinking marrying a woman with no fear? I almost died of a heart attack when I saw you covered in blood,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Don’t lie, amore mio; you think I look hot as fuck like this, don’t you? You’re as hard as a rock.”
I wriggle my hips, highlighting how his thick shaft tests the seams of his trousers.
He growls and tilts my head further back.
“You’re right. I’ll fantasize about how stunning my warrior bride looked in her torn and bloody gown as she barked orders at me like I was her bitch. Now get in the fucking car before I feast on you in the street,” he snarls.
My lungs refuse to work as liquid desire floods my panties.
“Why are you standing out in the open? It’s not safe here, mia caramellina,” he says.
I turn to introduce him to my new comrade-in-arms, but she’s gone. Poof. Nowhere in sight. But the wet wipes prove she was here. Right?
“I was heading back to the car, but the other nurse stopped and offered to let me wash in the clinic. I swear she was right here. You didn’t see her?”
His quirked brow proves he had eyes only for me.
“What was her name?” Ermanno asks from a few feet away.
Fiero curses as I startle. Neither of us heard him approach, so we definitely shouldn’t be standing somewhere where we’re so exposed.
“I didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer. Maybe she told the EMTs or the police?” I suggest.
Ermanno’s lips curl down. He pulls a pack of gum from his pocket and sticks a piece in his mouth before offering the box to Fiero. Fiero quirks a brow at me. I nod, wanting to clear the sour taste from my mouth.
“Thanks for having my back,” Ermanno says as he accepts the gum packet back from Fiero.
He walks away without another word.
Fiero scoops me up and carries me to the car. As he buckles me into the passenger seat, he stops with his face less than an inch away from mine.
“Enjoy that gum while you can, mia caramellina. I’m going to steal it before we get back home.”
My insides melt, and I pulse with anticipation and need.
After he settles in the driver’s seat, he takes my hand and weaves our fingers together over the center console. The blood caked under our nails and coating our knuckles is at odds with our fancy clothes, but the contrast perfectly embodies our lives.
Neither of us is afraid of getting our hands dirty. We both work long, grueling hours in dangerous fields. He’s a ruthless mafia consigliere. I’m a headstrong emergency room nurse.
We’ll do whatever it takes to protect each other and our growing family.
I can’t wait to live my life with him.
I’m his and he’s mine.
Forever.
