Chapter 29
Alina
The cold surface of the vanity mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize. Pale face, shadows under blue eyes, red hair styled in loose waves that tumble over my shoulders.
Behind me, Piper and Raven flit about the bridal suite like anxious butterflies, their chatter filling the air as they debate lipstick colors and hairpins. I stifle another yawn, my third in as many minutes.
My body aches for sleep, for the security of Raffaele’s arm around my waist that kept the nightmares at bay every night until I insisted on this ridiculous tradition of spending the night before our wedding apart.
“Hold still,” Raven orders, wielding a makeup brush like a weapon. Her baby bump precedes her as she leans over my shoulder, dusting something shimmery across my cheekbones. “I swear, if you yawn one more time, I’m going to poke you in the eye with this brush.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, forcing my eyes to stay open. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Piper appears at my other side, her elegant fingers sorting through a collection of hairpins. “Missing your mafia man?” she asks with a knowing smirk. “Must be weird sleeping alone after all this time.”
“It wasn’t that,” I lie, but the flush creeping up my neck betrays me.
Of course it was that. My body has grown accustomed to Raffaele’s heat, his weight, his presence. Without him, the bed felt wrong. Empty.
The silk kimono they’ve wrapped me in slips slightly off one shoulder. I adjust it, fingers brushing against the diamond choker at my throat. Its cool weight against my skin is the only thing that feels right this morning.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Raven laughs, setting down the brush to rub her swollen belly. “These two kept me up all night with their kicking, and I still look more rested than you do.”
Last night’s dream resurfaced. Well, not a dream, a nightmare-memory of Mom in her hospital bed, the machines beeping slower and slower. Her hand in mine, fingernails blue against paper-white skin. Her voice, once so strong, reduced to a whisper as she thanked me.
The memory makes my stomach clench. I thought I was done with those nightmares, but evidently that’s not the case.
They’re morphing, or at least this one was at the end. When she whispered, “I’m sorry about the debt, Alina. I’m sorry I sold you to him.” Words she never said. Words that made me wake up gasping for air, reaching for Raffaele only to find empty sheets and darkness.
“Earth to Alina,” Piper snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go just now?”
I blink, forcing the memory back into its box. “Sorry. Wedding jitters, I guess.”
“Understandable,” Raven nods sagely.
I’m grateful for their presence, for the distraction it provides from the knot of anticipation tightening in my chest. Missing Raffaele feels physical, an ache that started the moment he kissed me goodnight and left me alone in our bedroom.
How ridiculous that after spending my entire life without him, these measly hours apart now feel unbearable.
“Do you think he slept well?” I ask, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until both women exchange knowing glances.
“If I know Rafe,” Piper says, “he probably didn’t sleep at all.”
“The Russo men don’t handle separation well,” Raven adds, smoothing the sleeve of my kimono. “When Matteo had to go to Chicago for three days, he video-called me every hour on the hour.”
The thought of Raffaele lying awake, missing me as I missed him, sends an unexpected warmth through my body. It’s strange how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to his presence, to his arm thrown possessively across my waist, to his breath warming the back of my neck.
A commotion in the hallway cuts through my thoughts—raised voices, the thud of something hitting a wall.
“What the—” Raven begins, but the words die as we recognize the voices.
“I don’t give a damn about tradition,” Raffaele’s voice, sharp and dangerous, slices through the door. “Get out of my way.”
“Come on, Rafe,” Matteo’s voice sounds strained. “You’ll see her soon. Don’t be dramatic.”
“He says, as if he’s not the king of drama,” Raven mutters.
“This is ridiculous,” Lorenzo’s voice joins in. “You’re acting like a teenager.”
I rise from my chair, the silk kimono fluttering around my legs. The noise outside grows louder—something else hits the wall, followed by cursing in Italian that doesn’t need translation.
“I swear to God,” Piper hisses, “if they damage anything in this cathedral—”
The door flies open with enough force to rattle the hinges, revealing Raffaele framed in the doorway. His chest heaves with exertion, his eyes wild as they search the room before landing on me.
Behind him, Matteo and Lorenzo look exasperated, their hair disheveled as if they’ve been physically restraining him.
“Out,” Raffaele commands, his eyes never leaving mine. “All of you. Out.”
“This is not how this works,” Piper protests, stepping between us. “You can’t see her before the ceremony.”
“You know it’s bad luck,” Raven adds, though there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.
Raffaele’s gaze shifts to them, and I see the dangerous glint that would make most people step back. “Either you leave,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, “or I’ll remove you myself.”
“Do not fucking threaten my wife,” Lorenzo growls, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
“Or my baby mama,” Matteo snarls.
The women exchange glances before Piper sighs dramatically. “Fine. Ten minutes. Then we need to finish getting her ready.”
“Twenty,” Raffaele counters.
Focusing on their ridiculous negotiation is damn near impossible when I notice Raffaele isn’t in his wedding suit yet.
Instead, he wears faded jeans that hang low on his hips and a simple white t-shirt that stretches across his chest, revealing the outlines of the tattoos beneath. His hair is slightly damp, as if he’s just showered, and his jaw is dark with stubble.
I’ve never seen him look so casual. So dangerous. So utterly, devastatingly handsome.
“Half an hour,” Raven grins, grabbing her purse. “And if you mess up her hair, I’ll gut you myself.”
With reluctant steps, they file past him. Matteo throws me an apologetic smile while Lorenzo just shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like “Fucker’s lucky we won’t punch him on his wedding day” as he claps Raffaele on the shoulder.
The door closes behind them, and suddenly the room feels smaller, charged with an electricity that makes my skin prickle.
Raffaele stands there, taking me in through hooded eyes.
“Raffaele?” I whisper, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. “What are you doing here?”
He crosses the room in three long strides, not stopping until he’s standing so close I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Without a word, he cups my face in his hands and captures my mouth with his.
The kiss is ravenous, desperate, his tongue demanding entrance that I grant instantly. His hands slide from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard inch of his body through the thin silk of my kimono.
I melt against him, my arms winding around his neck as I surrender to the kiss. He tastes like coffee and mint, and something darker, something uniquely him. My body responds to his touch like it’s been programmed, heat pooling between my thighs.
He pulls back just enough to nip at my bottom lip, the slight pain sending a shock of pleasure through me. “Mine,” he growls against my mouth.
“Yours,” I agree breathlessly, the word slipping out without thought.
His hands slide down my neck, over my shoulders, to my waist, pulling me impossibly closer in one fluid motion.
“What are you doing here?” I manage to ask when he finally lets me breathe, his lips moving to my jaw, my neck, the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“I missed you.” The words rumble from his chest, vibrating against me.
Those three words shouldn’t make my heart skip, shouldn’t make me feel like I’m melting from the inside out. But they do. His fingers find the tie of my kimono, tugging at it questioningly.
“You seem… different,” I observe, my hands sliding up his chest to feel his heartbeat pounding beneath my palm.
He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with an intensity that makes my knees weak. “I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his voice rough.
There’s something in his eyes; a vulnerability that contradicts the strength of his grip on me. Something happened last night, something he’s not telling me. But before I can ask, his mouth is on mine again, erasing all coherent thought.
“Raffaele,” I breathe when he releases my mouth, only to trail more hot kisses down my neck. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I needed to see you,” he murmurs against my skin, the simple admission making my heart stutter.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I confess, shivering as his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. “I didn’t like sleeping without you.”
His hands slip inside the loosened kimono, finding my bare skin underneath. “No bra?” he murmurs against my lips, sounding both surprised and pleased.
“The dress doesn’t need one,” I explain, gasping as his calloused fingers brush the undersides of my breasts.
A wicked smile curves his mouth. “Good.”
I should stop him. We’re in the bridal suite of a cathedral, with Piper and Raven likely right outside the door. But when his thumbs brush over my nipples, sending jolts of electricity down my spine, stopping him is the furthest thing from my mind.
“You’re nervous,” he observes, his eyes searching my face. “About tonight.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “A little.”
How can I not be? Not only is there an eleven-year age-gap between us. And sure, I’ve known that for a while, but it’s never seemed as poignant as it does now. Because with time comes experience. What if I’m not enough for Raffaele? Will he regret marrying me if I can’t please him sexually?
“Tell me what you need,” he says, one hand sliding up to cup my cheek. “What can I do?”
The words stick in my throat, embarrassment and desire warring within me. But this is Raffaele, who has seen every inch of me, who knows my body better than I do myself. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to meet his gaze.
“Touch me,” I whisper. “Please.”
Something flashes in his eyes—triumph, hunger, possession—before his mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Like this?” he asks, his hand moving to cup my breast through the silk.
“Yes,” I gasp as his thumb circles my nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. “More.”
He growls, backing me up until my thighs hit the edge of the vanity. With practiced ease, he lifts me onto it, nudging my knees apart to stand between them. My kimono falls open, revealing my nakedness beneath, but I feel no shame under his hungry gaze.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, lowering his head to take my nipple into his mouth, the wet heat making me arch against him. “So perfect.”
“Raffaele,” I moan, loving the way he makes me feel.
His hands are everywhere—cupping my breasts, squeezing, pinching my nipples just hard enough to make me mewl. His mouth follows, hot and wet, tongue circling one peaked nipple while his fingers work the other. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, too aware of where we are.
“Let me hear you,” he commands against my skin. “No one will interrupt us.”
“But they’ll hear—”
“I don’t fucking care,” he growls. His teeth graze my nipple.
I whimper as he switches to my other breast, his hand sliding between my thighs to find me already wet for him. When his fingers brush against my clit, my hips buck involuntarily.
“Please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m asking for.
His fingers move in slow, precise circles, building a pressure inside me that has my fingers digging into his shoulders. Through half-lidded eyes, I see my reflection in the mirror behind him—flushed cheeks and parted lips. I barely recognize myself.
Emboldened by my own reflection, I reach down to palm him through his jeans, feeling his hardness straining against the denim. His breath hisses between his teeth, and I take advantage of his momentary distraction to unbutton his jeans and slip my hand inside.
“Alina,” he warns, but doesn’t stop me as my fingers wrap around his shaft.
“I want to touch you too,” I insist, marveling at the velvety hardness in my hand. “Show me how.”
By now, I know exactly how he likes me to stroke him. But as much as I like to touch him, I like it better when he controls my hand. It’s hot.
His hand covers mine, guiding me in long, firm strokes. “Like this,” he instructs, his voice strained. “Fuuuuck, your hand feels so good.”
I watch his face as pleasure contorts his features, his jaw clenched tight. There’s power in this—in knowing I can affect him this way, that the control he wears like armor can crack under my touch.
But he soon pulls my hand away, pinning it to the vanity. “Not yet,” he says, his voice rough. “This is about you.”
Before I can protest, his fingers return to my clit, circling faster now, his other hand cupping my breast. The dual sensations send sparks shooting through my body, tension coiling tighter in my core.
“That’s it,” he encourages as my breathing becomes erratic. “Let go for me.”
My body obeys, pleasure crashing over me in waves as I cry out his name. He captures the sound with his mouth, kissing me deeply as I shudder against him.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s watching me with dark, possessive eyes. “Perfect,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers through my folds one last time before bringing them to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze holding mine, and heat flares in my belly again at the sight.
“What about you?” I ask, reaching for him again, but he catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.
“I’m not the one who’s nervous,” he says with a predatory grin. “And I want to save every drop of cum to shoot into your virgin pussy tonight.”
The crude words should shock me, but they only send another pulse of desire through me. He leans in, pressing a softer kiss to my lips before straightening my kimono and retying it.
“I’ll see you at the altar, Mrs. Brewer-Russo,” he says, backing toward the door. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving me breathless and trembling on the vanity, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to walk down an aisle when my legs feel like jelly.