Page 57 of Marrying the Mobster
“This is who I am,gatita,” he says, bracing his hands over mine and holding them against his sternum. “I don’t know how to be anything else. I know I’m not the kind of man you would have wanted—”
“No,” I cut in. “But you’re still mine.”
He bows his head with a heavy sigh, letting his forehead rest against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him the way his mother should have all those years ago. He’s so big and powerful, but that little boy is still locked inside him somewhere. That little boy needs comfort, just as much as the man. He needs someone to prove that they can be loyal without ulterior motives.
He needs to be loved.
Tipping my head back, I meet his gaze. “Can I ask you something?”
His fingers are already working at the button and zipper of my slacks, and pulling my silk blouse from the waistband. “If you can manage it before I get my dick inside you, go ahead.”
I giggle and try to move away, but Diego wrestles me back into his arms, then turns and pushes me against the window. My pants hit the floor, then my black lace underwear. I step out of my heels and watch him loosen his belt. I’m wet at the thought of him fucking me against this window, and the sadness of our conversation is already forgotten.
“If you could have chosen to be anything else, what would you have done with your life?”
Diego kicks off his shoes, pushing his pants and briefs down in one movement. Then, he lifts me, his cock nudging at my slick opening. “A pro baseball player,” he says with a wistful smile. “I was good,gatita… I was very good.”
Before I can reply, he pulls me down onto his cock, his arms hooked beneath my thighs to hold me up. I let my head fall back against the window and clutch his shoulders, enjoying the ride.
25
Diego
The docks are eerily quiet this time of night. It’s humid and the sky is cloudless; the full moon illuminates the open hull of the ship that’s just arrived with my goods. Millions in guns and the best Colombian coke you can get on this side of the world. Adjusting the Sig SG 550 rifle at my side, I glance around the shipyard. It’s been quiet and still for the past hour, but I have an uneasy feeling in my gut. As I watch crates being carried from the containers and loaded onto vans, my skin tingles and my heart beats faster.
Security is tighter with Oleg’s extra men helping us oversee shipments, and so far we haven’t had any trouble since our last fight with the Armenians. I didn’t want to leave my warm bed—or the woman sleeping in it—to come here, but things have been too quiet. Jaime has picked up on chatter from various sources concerning my impending alliance with Oleg. The prospect makes a lot of people nervous, which bodes well for us. Still, I can’t help but think the Armenians will see this as an aggressive move on my part. Typically, the Armenians wouldn’t fuck with thebratva, but now that Oleg has partnered with me, they’re sure to make a move in retaliation.
Leaning against a container that’s already been emptied, I stare off across the skyline, finding my building. Before leaving for the night, I had dinner with Elena and curled up with her on the couch to watch a movie. Now that I’m standing with an automatic rifle in my hand, I can hardly believe I’m the same man who draped an arm over his wife’s shoulders while watchingLegally Blonde. My men think I don’t hear them joking about how soft I’m becoming, but I do. I see the looks they give me when she calls and I answer on the second ring. Apparently, I smile when I talk to her; something I didn’t even realize I was doing. Elena has me wrapped around her slender finger, and everyone knows it. As of now I’ve decided I don’t give a fuck. I can still slit the throat of anyone who crosses me, while being batshit crazy for my woman.
As adamant as I was against the idea of marriage, I’m finding it different than I’d imagined. Life with Elena isn’t stressful or distracting. If anything, knowing I get to come home to her at the end of the day makes it all more meaningful. Everything is done with a purpose—so that I can continue building an empire worthy of my queen, give her anything she wants, and make our world secure enough that she never has to be afraid.
Maybe things would have been different if my parents had the kind of marriage I’m building with Elena. I might have come out less bitter and jaded, more willing to pursue all the things I set aside for the sake ofLa Familia.
What does that realization change for me? I’m still working that out. The thought of something happening to her is still terrifying. That feeling is twice as scary when I try to imagine a kid or two as part of the equation. My mind tears me in two directions at once, the image of Elena beautiful and swollen with a baby battles with my nightmares—a baby Marcella lying dead in a pool of blood, her brains obliterated by a bullet. It’s the outcome I saved her from, paying for it at the cost of twenty-two lives. But what if my mother hadn’t gotten wind of the coup? What if we had been too late, and my father’s betrayers got their hands on my little sister?
What if I throw away my firm rule against having children, only to one day be too late when they need me most?
“She’s not going anywhere, boss.”
I glance up to find Jovan beside me, his own rifle at the ready and twin pistols at his hips. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin, like he always does before he starts ragging on me over Elena.
“No, but I wish I was. Instead, I’m here with you.”
Jovan heaves a dramatic sigh. “It’s true, she is better-looking than me and she has all the right parts. But damn,jefe, I thought you loved me too.”
I roll my eyes. “Not enough to choose you over her when given half the chance.”
“I’m happy for you,” Jovan says, the humor leaving his voice. “Seriously … I know you never wanted to get married, but she seems good for you.”
“She is,” I admit. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”
“I did,” he replies with a laugh. “You were a goner the second you laid eyes on her.”
I laugh, about to agree with him, when the sound of a single gunshot draws both our gazes to the other side of the dock. A second later my earpiece explodes with sound, Jaime’s voice coming over the line. He’s watching the camera feeds from the house.
“Shots fired!” he bellows into my ear. “Armenians just pulled up near the end of the dock! We’ve got a man down!”
Jovan and I take off at the same time, rifles raised. The pounding footsteps of other men surround us as my other soldiers fall in line, weapons drawn. The silence is shattered by a mingle of Spanish, Armenian, and Russian—men shouting at each other between bursts of gunfire. My mind goes blank, my body moving from a muscle memory I’ve been building since I was a kid. My ability to stay calm in a firefight and shoot with deadly accuracy is the one thing I can admit being grateful to my parents for. It has meant the difference between life and death.
