Page 9 of Mafia Prize

His massive, thick cock slams into me, deep and hard, stretching me open. His fingers grip my hips so hard I know I’ll have bruises in the morning. I don’t care—I want them. I want the marks and the soreness; I welcome them. They’ll be my souvenirs on the long, lonely nights that lie ahead.

Every deep thrust makes me whimper. Sets my body on fire. He’s fucking me hard. It’s raw and punishing and passionate, and I need it the way I need oxygen. I grit my teeth and hold on as he pounds into me, his breathing harsh and ragged. “Mirabella,” he whispers, never taking his eyes off my face. “Youfeel. . .” He squeezes his eyes shut, his face etched with desire. “Overwhelming. You unravel me, lisichka.”

So do you, Andrei.

Then his finger moves lower and pushes into my ass. I suck in a breath, clenching tight on instinct. “Relax,” he orders. “Breathe.”

I do my best to obey. The woman in the mirror is looking a little wild-eyed. “Are you going to?—”

“Fuck you in the ass?” A smile ghosts across his face. “I can’t decide if you’re afraid, lisichka, or aroused. And it’s a tempting thought.” He thrusts into me, and heat sizzles through every nerve ending. This feels wicked. He’s not in very deep, but I’ve never had anal sex. He’s fucking me at the same time as he pushes his finger into my ass, knuckle deep, and it’s too much. Heat curls down my spine as he picks up speed, his thrusts turning savage and uncontrolled. My orgasm barrels toward me with the force of a tidal wave, and then, as he buries himself deep into me with a groan of release, I explode.

I shatter into a million sharp pieces, and I know I’ll never be able to put myself back together again. Andrei Sidorov possesses a piece of me now, the most important one. He owns my heart.

“Will I see you next year?”I ask him when I’m dressed. “At the poker game, I mean.”

He answers his question with one of his own. “Will you be here?”

“Yes.” It’s foolish and unwise, but I already know I’ll seize the opportunity to see Andrei one more time.

“In that case, yes. I’ll be here too.”

7

In October of that year, the pakhan of the Nekrasov Bratva approaches the Sidorov with an offer. He proposes the union of the two largest Russian crime families, and of course, the deal will be sealed with a marriage. To mark the merger, Andrei Sidorov will marry Ekaterina Nekrasova.

A month later, I put off the inevitable and begin the process of arranging my marriage with Dominic Norcia. Dominic’s father is dead, and he is the head of his family, but it’s considered unseemly for the groom to be negotiating, so his mother, Pia Celestina, negotiates on his behalf.

She’s not happy to see me in the room. “Why is she here?” she demands, directing her question to Renzo.

To my shock, my uncle stands up for me. “It’s her marriage,” he says. “And her life. Why shouldn’t she be here?”

“It’s not done, that’s why,” my future mother-in-law hisses. She stares at me, her expression cold and forbidding. “Your family gives you too much freedom, Mirabella. Don’t think things will stay the same when you join ours. A woman’s place is in her home.”

My heart sinking, I refrain from pointing out that Pia Celestina is clearly not at home. There was a part of me that hoped my marriage wouldn’t have to be a prison sentence but an alliance between equals. Dominic is who he is and that’s not going to change, but I hoped that his family would be better. That part withers and dies. “Yes, Signora Norcia,” I say meekly.

We negotiate. As much as Pia Celestina likes to pretend that we’re approaching this marriage with a begging bowl, we aren’t. The Caruso family needs money and respectability, yes. But we offer valuable shipping lanes and contacts that Dominic Norcia can’t access on his own.

When we are done haggling over the terms, my future mother-in-law leans back and regards me as if I were an insect she wants to grind into the ground. “The marriage will be in April,” she says. “That is a tradition in our family.”

Five more months of freedom. “Very well.”

“We will announce the engagement in March,” she continues. “Until then, I’ll be watching you, Mirabella. If you do anything that impinges on Norcia honor, the deal is off.”

Renzo is unhappy on our way back home. “You are making a mistake. That woman is a viper, and her son is a monster.”

“A rich monster,” I point out. “One who offers enough money to tempt the Biraghi.”

“Why does Elisa’s happiness have to come at your expense?”

I glance at him in surprise. “I thought you’d be pleased about this match. We drove a hard bargain in there. They’re giving us a lot of money. Enough not just to survive but also to thrive. My father would have been thrilled.”

Renzo’s expression turns stormy. “I am not Aldo,” he bites out. “We care about different things. And Mira, you’d do well to remember that your father’s single-minded focus on the family fortunes was what got him killed.”

8

The invitation to the poker game in Venice arrives, just like clockwork, in the waning weeks of January.

I shouldn’t go. The official announcement of my engagement is only a month away. For Elisa’s sake, I shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the Norcia deal.

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