Page 153 of Devotion

“Not like me,da?”

“Da. Speaking of hard-to-reach spots,” he murmurs, working his hips. His bulge presses against me, making me tighten my thighs. A throb of desire clenches within me.

Without another thought, I grind his thigh between my legs, cupping him through his trousers.

“Fuuuck, Van.”

Stepping back, I straighten my dress. Ciro tightens his tie.

In the weeks that followed the attack by an “unknown Mocro assassin,” the brotherhood has experienced an evolution. The clans came together to raise Pyotr as their leader. He sacrificed himself to defeat Adil Abas, the invader.

We drove his people from our shores. Avenged our fallen brethren. Returned their prisoners with accords to remain in their lands. Including Abas’s son.

And in the wake of that catastrophe…

The city came together. The alliance held together. And for some strange reason, they thrust the mantle of leadership onto me.

And Ciro.

An outsider turned one of the blood. No one addressed his origins. Only his mettle.

Only the bullet he took for Pyotr. His risking death to save me.

And his killing the very assassin who blew up the summit, the celebration of Bratva unity.

Of course, Ciro then had to spend several weeks in the hospital. But they removed the bullet. Performed surgery on his shoulder, the tendons tearing from holding me so long.

He is indomitable, my lover. My Shakal.

Unless his scar itches underneath the bandages. Then, he is little bitch.

All of this, and somehow, we are here. Through war and torture.

Nodding at one another, we open the door to the dressing room, shuffle back around the stairs to the entry. Deep breath.

“You got this.” Ciro smiles. I could look at his face forever.

“Wegot this,” I corrected, taking his offered hand.

Pushing the doors open, I brace for the onslaught.

“I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Diamante-Sokolov!”

The cheers deafen us. I have never heard such a sound.

Or seen such a crowd gathered in one place. For us.

Music explodes over the cheering, whistling, applause. And we circle down the steps, right into the embrace of our comrades, our friends. Our family.

“Vanya! To health, to the Volk!”

“To the Bratva!” I shout, grinning and quickly tossing the shot offered to me over my shoulder.

“What the fuck, Van!” Ciro growls, so only I can hear.

“Shush.” I snap, waving my hand. This is my night. I will not let anything?—

“No, you just?—”

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