Page 58 of Owned By The Bratva King

“Where is she now? You never mentioned her.”

“She’s dead. She committed suicide after her husband was murdered. I went to her house to tell her, but it was too late; she’d shot herself.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “She was five months pregnant.”

“Oh my God.” I move closer and touch his arm. “Her husband was mafia too?”

“No, he had nothing to do with it.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Antonio asked to be involved, but I wouldn’t allow it. I wanted Bianca kept away from that world, but I didn’t do enough to safeguard her.”

He sees the question in my face. “It was my fault. Guilt is the most crippling emotion of all; for a time after it happened, I could do nothing but be crushed by the weight of the responsibility I felt.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I say. “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“The bratva has a way of creeping in and sullying everything it touches. I swore I’d close myself off and never care for someone again, but as you can see, I didn’t learn my lesson well enough.”

His smile is steeped in sadness, but his eyes are bright. “I tried, Quinn. I tried not to let you steal my heart, but it was impossible. Keep it; I don’t want it back, even if the truth kills your love for me stone dead.”

I close the space between us, resting my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. His scent is familiar and comforting, and despite it all, just being with him soothes the frightened little girl I’ve always been.

To my surprise, exposing the bare bones of reality does nothing to dampen my feelings. Devotion is often forged in the white-hot crucible of suffering, and Roman and I are no different.

He is imperfect, he made mistakes, and he is tormented. Who can stand before God and swear they have nothing to fear when judgment day comes?

“I love you,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t, and I may regret it for the rest of my days, but I can’t help it.”

“I love you too, rusalka.” He kisses me softly. “I’ll do whatever I can to be the man you deserve.”

45

Roman

Ithought Quinn would claw my eyes out, scream, or run away, and I'd be forced to do things I didn't want to do to ensure her safety.

To hold her in my arms and kiss her, knowing there are no secrets between us, is a blessing I never dared to hope for.

I lead her to the couch, and then I'm on top of her, her body warm and yielding. I take a deep breath, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Beneath her sweet-and-spicy aroma is the irresistible element that is just her—purity, innocence, perfection.

I take her hand, intertwining my fingers with hers, her skin soft against my scarred knuckles. She turns to me, her eyes shining with the same love and acceptance I saw when I confessed to her. There's more to tell, but the worst is over. My criminal life, the secrets I kept—all laid bare, yet she's still here.

"Quinn," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "You're better than me. Always will be."

She shakes her head. "You deserve happiness, Roman. We both do." Her mouth curves into a mischievous smile. "And it's our wedding night."

This connection is rare and precious; I want to savor every second.

I capture her lips in a hungry kiss, our tongues tangling together as I pour all my remorse into it. She responds with equal fervor, her mouth welcoming, and I'm overwhelmed with the need to hear her breathy cries as she comes.

If my depth of feeling were translated to orgasms, I'd take this beautiful wife of mine to the stars and back a thousand times over.

We part for a moment, both of us panting as we catch our breath. I rest my forehead against hers, my hands roaming her body, desperate to feel every inch of her. I slide my hand up her thigh and breach the waistband of her panties.

"Do you see what you do to me, Quinn?" I murmur. "I'm a fucking fool for you, but it's a fair deal. What man could stay sane for a woman like you?"

She rakes her fingers through my hair, tugging it gently. "You talk too much." She grinds against my already rock-hard cock, and I moan. "Now," she whispers in my ear, "why don't you put your mouth to better use?"

They say fear is an aphrodisiac, but her newfound confidence is what has my dick over-engorged and in desperate need of relief. I crush my lips on hers once more as I remove her dress and toss it aside.

In nothing but her panties, her body is a work of art in the soft lamplight. Her nipples are begging for my touch, and I oblige, taking one in my mouth and sucking it.

I sit back on my heels, and Quinn follows, reaching for the button of my pants. My cock springs free, and she wraps her hand around it. I groan, my fingers winding through her hair.

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