Page 71 of Marrying the Mobster
I open my eyes and stare deep into hers, my hands clutching at soft, wet flesh. Her tears are gone now, washed away as a hardened expression transforms her from broken girl to vengeful woman.
I know what Elena’s going to say before she speaks the words, prepared to lay the entire world at her feet.
“Tell me,” I urge. “If it’s in my power, it’s yours.”
“I don’t want to be your pretty possession anymore,” Elena replies. “I don’t want to be a protected queen, or a pawn in whatever games you play with the men of your world.”
Her eyes harden like chips of crystallized amber, and all the hurt and trauma of the past few weeks melts away.
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her tight against my body. “Then what do you want,gatita?”
Elena’s lips curve into a smile that’s downright maniacal, the smothered embers of her soul igniting into a roaring flame. “I want to be a fucking boss.”
34
Elena
It’s been eight weeks since my entire life was turned upside down for the third time. Of course, Diego taking me from my father’s house that fateful night was the first. Viktor showing me that I wasn’t as strong as I previously thought was the second. For weeks, I let myself drown in self-pity and trauma, angry at myself, at Diego, at the entire world for what was done to me.
I couldn’t see a way through it or around it; not until Diego looked me in the eyes and asked me what I wanted. It was at that moment I realized my only recourse was to become truly untouchable. For years I managed to get by on my father’s wealth and my status as a woman with the world at her fingertips. In the beginning of my marriage, I was told that being attached to a dangerous man would be enough to keep me safe. I learned the hard way that Diego’s position won’t protect me from shit. When it comes right down to it, I need to be able to take care of myself.
Gone are the days of being ignorant to the things going on around me. I spend this morning just like I have the mornings before—in hand-to-hand combat training with my instructor. As it turns out, Jaime isn’t only good for his skills on a computer. The man is a Jiu Jitsu black belt, and has patiently taught me how to counter attacks from people bigger and stronger than me. By lunchtime I’m sore and a little scraped up from grappling with him out in the grass, but I also feel a little more confident, a little less afraid. A lot stronger.
After lunch comes shooting lessons with Jovan, at a makeshift outdoor range set up on the edge of our property. There are no other houses close enough for us to worry about, and island security pretends not to hear the hours’ worth of gunfire coming from the Pérez house, as Jovan teaches me how to handle pistols, shotguns, and rifles. Shooting is harder than fighting man-to-man, but Jaime has drilled into me the importance of a physical fight being my very last resort. No one can get close enough to touch me if I know how to handle a gun, but if they do, I’ll be ready for them. Meanwhile, it’s to my advantage to learn what weapons are better handled in small, feminine hands—making me deadly up close, and from a distance.
I asked Diego to train me, but he refused, saying it would be difficult for him to be as hard on me as needed. According to him, I need to be trained by someone whose feelings are platonic. Someone who isn’t paralyzed with fear at the thought of me being hurt.
On my days off from training, I’m in Diego’s office or attending meetings in the conference room with his lieutenants and closest advisers. It takes time for them to get used to seeing me when the world of organized crime is a purely male domain. But Diego makes it clear that we’re equal partners now. I’m not his property to be flaunted and protected. I’m his queen, to be revered, respected, and even feared. The ins and outs of cartel business are more complicated than I thought, and learning the intricacies of the operation give me something to think about other than Viktor’s hands—violating and hurting me.
Jaime calls my attention back to the present, taking me to the ground with a sweep of his foot, and pinning me down, capturing my wrists, his knees trapping my legs between them.
“You know how to get out of this,” he reminds me, his breaths labored by over an hour of sparring. “Stay calm … think.”
The first few times he did this move on me, I lost my shit, screaming and clawing at him as memories of Viktor assaulted me. Now, I’ve learned to stay calm and breathe, and search for my opponent’s weaknesses. Viktor has been taken care of, courtesy of my husband, and there’s nothing for me to fear. I have the skills to get myself out of this position.
I wrestle with Jaime while keeping my cool, working a knee between us, and pressing it into his chest while twisting one arm until I have the leverage to slam an elbow into his jaw. His hold on me loosens enough that I can roll him off me. Holding onto one of his wrists, I snare him in an armbar, using my legs around his neck to keep him pinned.
“Fuck,” he grumbles, tapping out with a heavy hand on my thigh. “Any harder and you would have snapped my shoulder from the socket.”
With a breathless laugh, I roll away and spring to my feet. Restless energy works through me, and my skin vibrates with triumph. Every week I get a little stronger, a little faster, a little less afraid of being overtaken and subdued.
“You’re a natural,” Jaime says, retrieving two water bottles and tossing one at me. “I’d hate to meet you in a dark alley.”
I chug mouthfuls of water and lift my droopy ponytail off my sweaty neck. “Good. Better to know how to defend myself and not need it, than need it and be caught unaware.”
“Exactly,” he replies. “You wanna go another round?”
I’m about to tell him I could do this all day, when I catch sight of a dark figure walking toward us from the house. It’s Diego, his hair gleaming raven-black in the sun, his gaze intent and fixed on me from behind dark sunglasses.
“I think we’re done for the day,” I tell Jaime, before sauntering off to meet my husband.
My strength and state of mind aren’t the only things that have changed over the past month and a half. The anger I felt over my own helplessness has melted away, and my husband and I are closer than ever. Our routine is different than it was before I was forced to take a break from work to recover—but Diego is always nearby, always here when I need him. After my training we spend our evenings at the club or at home, secure in the fact that no matter what happened, we’re in this for the long haul.
It doesn’t matter how we started when we’re now on one accord. Our connection won’t end until one or both of us is dead. A tendril of desire for this beautiful man snakes through me as he gets close, reminding me how long it’s been since we’ve made love.
I didn’t think I was ready. Every time he touched me in a sexual way, I got sick to my stomach, unable to push the ghost of Viktor out of my mind. Just now, with the adrenaline of fighting still hot in my veins, and weeks of starvation behind me, I’d give anything to have Diego bend me over and spank my ass before stuffing me full of his cock. I detect the outline of his half-hard erection through his sweatpants as he looks me over, and my mouth waters for a taste. I can’t see the intensity of his eyes, but I can feel the need radiating from him—hot and ravenous.
“How’s training going?” he asks.
