Page 18 of Dark Truths

9

Gabriella

April

Marriages within crime families are often motivated by politics and alliances rather than genuine love or affection. An old tradition, but an effective one. Because nothing ties two families together more than a child produced from the marriage.

There was a time when dad tried to enter me into such a marriage with a family in Italy. I was sixteen at the time and the boy was only a few years older than me. I had no desire or interest in him or the idea of a future marriage. So I’m not ashamed to admit that I did everything in my power to make the boy miserable during his stay. So well, in fact, that he cried and went home right away. That was the last time Dad tried marrying me off.

Mom probably had something to do with that. She’s against the idea of arranged marriages more than anyone else. Dad and her have an epic love story. She came over from Italy to help care for his newborn twin sons, Michael and Raphael, after their mother died from complications of childbirth. Elena was her name and from the photos I’ve seen, she was a beautiful woman also. She was the daughter of the previous Russian Pakhan and in an arranged marriage to Dad. Granted, Dad says they were long-time friends before their marriage and while there was affection between them, it was never love. Not like the love he shares with Mom.

So when Dad made the marriage arrangement between Michael and Sophia Mikailhov, Russian Bratva leader Sergei's only child, it created such a tense atmosphere at home that I had to go on an extended vacation until Dad won back Mom’s forgiveness and love.

My phone beeps and I pull it from my clutch to look at the message.

Mom: We just got to the church. Where are you?

I glance out the windshield at the old stone church and the crowd of people gathering outside for the wedding.

Me: Five minutes out.

I secure my phone in my clutch, take a deep breath, and lean my head back on the headrest, sighing softly. Being at a wedding is the last thing I want after a long day of clinical rotations and classes, but the O’Learys are an allied family.

But that’s not the only reason I need the moment of quiet. Dimitri will be inside. I haven’t seen him since last month at thePlaygroundwhere he spanked me for disobeying him andthen fingered me into the most intense orgasm of my life. Since then…crickets. And it’s not for lack of trying. The day after, a new phone was delivered to my house with only one number programmed in it.

D

I’ve done my fair share of texting him but have gotten nothing since his first reply.

D: I will be in touch.

After a week of silence, I went to thePlaygroundhoping to rile some kind of action from him but was turned away at the door. After two weeks, I threw the phone into the ocean. Only the very next day, a new phone appeared on my doorstep. So I took a hammer to it, boxed the tiny little pieces up and slapped a return to sender label on it. A week later, another phone showed up, this one in a gift box which was clearly not sent by a delivery service, and a note to keep this one or the punishment would be far worse than a spanking. I haven’t even bothered turning it on out of pure spite. But I have kept it. Until today, that is. Because today I intend to shove that phone in his hands and deliver an ultimatum of my own.

By the time I step inside, most of the guests have already gathered in the church’s main room. I turn to a mirror and quickly fix my hair and smooth out any wrinkles in my dress. Opening my clutch, I glance down to find my lip gloss—when I hear a voice I’ve only heard in my dreams for the past few weeks.

“You look lovely, angel.”

I lift my eyes to the mirror and freeze. Dimitri stands in the doorway of a hall and we’re alone.

Jesus, it should be a crime to look that ridiculously handsome in a suit. Has he always been this handsome? I’ve had plenty of time to think about that over the last few weeks. When did I first notice him? And when did the notice develop into attraction? It’s difficult to identify a specific moment because perhaps it wasn’t just one moment, but a series of small ones that eventually led to the nights at thePlayground.

“What do you want, Mr. Volkov?” I’m proud of how little my voice shakes as I lean in toward the mirror to swipe gloss over my lips.

“You haven’t responded to my message.”

I snort lightly, pausing long enough to toss him an incredulous look in the mirror. “You mean the one message you sent to me last month?”

His icy eyes flash at my sarcasm, my attitude not lost on him. “I sent one last night.”

At this, I spin around, my dress twirling with the quick motion to glare at him. “Bullshit.”

“Language,” he warns.

“No. You don’t get to tell me to watch my language after ignoring me for afuckingmonth.” I lash out, ignoring the way his eyes burn this time, or how he closes the distance between us in three powerful steps.

“Do you need a reminder of what happens when you disobey me?”

I refuse to back down and meet his fiery gaze with one of my own. “That’s all I’ve wanted for the last month, but you have ignored every message, every attempt I’ve made to see you. So no, you don’t get to say something affectionate like ‘you look lovely angel’ and then expect me to fall to your feet when you claim you sent me a text last night after weeks of silence. I don’t deserve to be lied to.” I shove at his chest, but he barely moves an inch. The bastard. “Go fuck yourself, Dimitri.”

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