Epilogue
Sienna Luciano
I sneak ahead of Valentina and Renata in hopes of catching a few minutes alone with Romeo before the makeup artist arrives. No one told me an evening wedding would mean spending the entire day beforehand apart from my fiancé. I miss him.
A familiar, not-Romeo shadow falls over me from behind. I tense, take a deep breath, and whip around to meet Alan’s eyes. Despite living in the same house with him for almost two months, I’ve used all the skills I honed in San Francisco to avoid him as much as possible.
“What do you want, brother?” I emphasize the title so he’s less inclined to cross the line.
“I wanted to apologize.”
I blink at the unexpected response, then decide him telling me isn’t actually apologizing, and after the way he made me feel unwelcome in my forever home, he deserves whatever discomfort I can give him. I cross my arms over my chest and lean back to give him an expectant once-over.
He grinds his teeth together. I let the silence stretch. His eye twitches.
Romeo walks around the corner and stalks toward us, but I raise a palm to him without looking away from his brother. Even in my limited periphery, I know he’ll make me pay for the slight.
A shiver of delight runs down my spine. I can’t wait.
“You’re fucking scary when you’re like this,” Alan says.
“You’re a fucking loser when you waffle like this.”
If I could take back the insult, I would, but time only flows in one direction and he hasn’t pulled a gun on me yet, so I stand my ground.
Alan throws back his head and laughs. The gesture is so similar to Romeo’s I wonder why I ever doubted their brotherly bond.
“You’re exactly the woman that bullheaded mule needs for a wife. I’m sorry I doubted you, Sienna.” He reaches into the pocket of his jeans. “And I’m sorry I insulted you the first day we met. Welcome to the family, mia sorella.”
For a proud man like my husband-to-be’s brother, the sentiment means more than words can express.
He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds a small carving on his palm.
Trapped in emotions, I stare at his offering as I recall the dozens of similar carvings hidden around Gran’s home.
I didn’t realize Alan made them all as little tokens of love; I thought they were just weird feng shui or design choices Gran preferred.
Some sit perfectly balanced in fancy wall hangings while others add an earthy touch to Gran’s colorful cookbooks.
They all have hidden meanings and this one is no different except it’s for me and only me.
I lift it from his callused palm, noting the scars and fresh cuts and bruises on his hand, clench my fist around it, and press my hand to my sternum.
“Thank you, mio fratello. I forgive you,” I say through the frog in my throat.
He smiles, gives a slight bow, claps Romeo on the shoulder, and strides away.
Because even with his brother, Romeo is still the only one allowed to touch me.
And touch he does. I rise onto my toes as he yanks me against him and devours my mouth. His hands roam over every inch of me. I tug his hair and tease his ears and throat. He growls. I wriggle my hips.
Two feminine voices drift down the hall. We pull apart.
“I know your makeup artist is gay, but I’m going mad at the thought of him putting his hands on you. I’ll make you pay for choosing a male artist. Capisci, bambolina?” he rumbles.
“Sì, amore mio. I can’t wait,” I whisper.
He growls, steals a panty-melting kiss, then strides down the hall.
Valentina clears her throat.
“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” Renata admonishes.
Romeo winks and disappears around the corner. I sigh and turn to my friends.
“That’s the dress, not the bride, and isn’t it just a silly superstition?” Valentina asks.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to follow it, but I do. I’m ready for all the traditions,” Renata says.
“I thought people think traditions are stuffy and outdated nowadays. I just did what I wanted,” Valentina says with a shrug.
Renata rubs the back of her neck before rolling her shoulders and lifting her chin.
“Maybe so, but I think tradition is what makes marriage romantic,” Renata says with a fleeting smile.
A masculine scoff sounds from down the hall. Renata’s eyes widen, and her back goes ramrod straight. She stares straight ahead as though afraid to turn around and face the newcomer.
“You always were an obnoxious goody-two-shoes, weren’t you, Nada? Are you still too afraid to break the rules?”
Disbelief roars through me. Did a man just call Renata Bonnetti, a real-life mafia princess, nada? As in the Spanish word for nothing?
Renata turns carefully controlled eyes to mine.
“I’m extremely happy for you and wish you nothing but the best in your marriage. Please excuse me. I think I’m going to be sick from the smell of garbage.” She throws the last word over her shoulder at the idiot.
With regal grace, she glides into the chapel and joins the congregation without a backward glance. Her poise and caustic tone assure me she is, in fact, not sick but is intentionally ignoring the man. Valentina and I share a glance before we swing unhappy, judgmental eyes to the stranger.
Valentina steps in front of me.
“It’s your wedding day. No need to get your hands dirty. I’ll take care of this,” she says.
The makeup artist makes a sound of distress from down the hall.
I pat Valentina’s shoulder in thanks before rushing into the bridal suite.
He waits impatiently as my attendants help me change into my dress.
The moment I sit in his chair, he swoops in and works with manic intent.
It’s frightening, especially with him so close to my face, but I hold whatever position he puts me in like the good little doll Romeo calls me.
When he finally finishes, I thank him and browbeat the lot of them out of the room.
For a few moments, I pace back and forth between the vanity and the couch.
The door swings open, and my mystery mafia man steps inside. With a push and twist, he locks the door. My heart pounds against my sternum in anticipation. Need pulses between my legs.
He steps forward. I step back. The vanity blocks my retreat. He braces his palms on the vanity on either side of my skirt, leans forward, and murmurs mere centimeters from my mouth.
“I told you, bambolina. Mine and only mine.”
“Sí, Romeo. Yours. Only yours. Forever,” I vow.
He hums a decadent note and seals his mouth over mine.
Uncaring about my hair, makeup, and dress, I give him everything. He worships me with teeth, tongue, and hands as I writhe and muss his silky hair and twist his fancy tie. When he drops to his knees and throws my legs over his shoulders, I hold on for dear life.
He murders me over and over again with his diabolical tongue. My lungs burn, sweat gathers on my skin, and every brush against my clit sends zings of electricity up and down my spine.
When I nearly slip off the edge of the vanity, he rises with my knees hooked over his elbows and his cock already free of his trousers. I hiss as he presses my shoulders against the cool mirror, then gasp as he thrusts his hot, hard, thick cock into my pussy.
The glorious stretch pulls a sob from me.
“It’s been too long, bambolina. You’ll take all of me today even if it hurts. Capisci?”
His throaty demand rolls through me. I shake my head even though I want what he offers with every fiber of my being. He pins my knees against my shoulders and loses control in the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen.
Drenched from his mouth and multiple orgasms, I relish every agonizing penetration as he buries every inch of his cock inside me. I squeak, squirm, and sob as he pummels the sensitive tissues of my cervix over and over again.
When I teeter on the edge of a bigger, scarier orgasm than ever before, I ruin the front of his shirt in my desperation to warn him.
“Romeo, wait, I—”
“I know, Sienna. Give it to me. It’s mine,” he snarls.
I do. I give him everything. A dam breaks inside me and fluid gushes from my pussy as I contract in long, horrendous waves.
He pounds harder into me, prolonging the torture until every nerve ending in my body feels raw and exposed. By the time he finds his release with his tip spurting against my cervix, I’m too flooded with endorphins to feel the pain anymore.
I grab his nape and force his lips to mine. He tastes of my arousal. I pour every ounce of love and devotion into the kiss.
“I love you, Romeo,” I say between heaving breaths.
“I love you too, Sienna. Always,” he vows.
We stay interlocked for a few minutes before a flurry of activity outside the door pulls us into the present. He cleans us up as best he can before stealing a deep, domineering kiss and sneaking out.
I sigh and float through the next few minutes.
With the deep ache between my legs overshadowed by the joy in my heart, I join the wedding party in the atrium. Zio Mario offers his elbow. I squeeze his arm. There’s no one else I’d rather give me away than him, which is good because my real father is dead. So dead.
Valentina sends me air kisses and returns Zio Mario’s loving gaze before turning and following Renata down the aisle.
In front of Renata, Alan ushers Gran down the aisle. It’s beautiful.
A dark shape flashes out amid the white flowers by Renata’s legs, and as she stumbles, I realize the man who mocked her earlier just tried to trip her. My heart leaps into my throat as Renata catches herself on the pew opposite. The loud smack of flesh on wood reverberates through the chapel.
My fear morphs to fury as Renata rises and continues as though nothing happened.
I’ll skin the monster alive.
Zio Mario pulls me back and nods toward the outskirts of the chapel. Without a word, the dozen bodyguards Isacco Bonnetti insisted attend for his daughter’s safety all pinpoint their attention on the stranger.
He’s so screwed.
The world fades away as I meet Romeo’s rich brown eyes. He’s so handsome my heart aches and my pussy throbs and even though he took me just a few minutes ago, I want him again.
I rush my uncle down the aisle, urge the priest to truncate the formalities with the look Alan said made me scary, and smile as we exchange vows and rings. When the priest announces, “You may now kiss the bride,” Romeo does just that.
In front of over half of New York City’s socialites, we kiss with the passion only love and desire can conjure.
Romeo Yovanni is mine. My kidnapper, lover, friend, and husband. He’s everything I never thought I could have but was desperate to obtain.
He’s home. My home. Forever.
Next in series: Filthy Vows (Vicious Mafia Kings Book 8).
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