I STRETCH AS MY eyes flutter open, and I roll over, expecting to see Ziven, but the bed is empty. I frown and listen for him in the house, but I don’t hear him anywhere.
Rolling out of bed, I walk to the bathroom, take care of my business and then grab my floor length, black satin robe, sliding my arms through it and tying the waist as I go in search of my husband.
Honestly, I don’t know how he’s awake at all. He made me come all night long.
I slowly walk through the condo, listening for any sign of him, but I don’t hear anything. Not until I get closer to his office. The door is open, but his voice is low and husky, only a murmur, not growing much louder the closer I approach.
“Yes, my men are still ready to go, as far as I know. We’ll be travelling two days before the blessed event,” Ziven mutters. I realize that he’s talking about Oksana’s wedding in just a week’s time.
“Nyet, all is good, my friend. Okay. See you then,” He hangs up his phone and rubs his hand over his face before he turns in my direction.
“Morning, katyonak,” he practically grunts, his voice deep and raspy.
“I made apple cinnamon bread yesterday, since I was nervous, if you want some for breakfast,” I blurt out.
“Mmm, maybe after I eat that’ll be a good snack,” he says, his voice coming out in a rumble.
“Eat?”
“Yeah. C’mere and spread for me,” he grins.
“Ziven,” I gasp.
He looks at me, perhaps waiting for me to run toward him. Honestly, I’m so sore, I don’t think that I could handle it right now. Then, he grins and starts to laugh.
“That sore?”
“So sore,” I sigh.
I watch as he stands and walks toward me, placing his hand on the side of my waist and leaning down to brush his lips across mine.
“Let’s eat some bread and relax,” he chuckles.
We spend the rest of day curled up on the couch together, only moving to get more food or drink from the kitchen. I fall asleep several times, wrapped up in my husband’s arms. Sleep, something I haven’t done soundly since he was ripped away from me.
“Do we ever have to leave the condo?” I ask later that evening, when Ziven’s arms are wrapped around me.
“I have to go to work tomorrow morning, see what was neglected while I was gone,” he whispers into my neck.
“I wish you could stay here always,” I murmur.
“Me too, katyonak.”
The next morning, as promised, he’s gone at work.
I decide to make some dessert for later this evening, knowing how much Ziven likes my baking, and also understanding that he hasn’t had it in weeks. It’s time for him to catch up.
Once I put my treat into the oven, a caramel praline cheesecake, my phone rings. I grab it, thinking that it’s Ziven. Instead, it’s Kristy who greets me on the other line.
“How did everything go the other night?” she asks, sounding practically giddy.
“It was fantastic,” I swoon.
“I’m so freaking glad,” she explains. I can’t help but giggle at her excitement.
“Me too. I don’t know why I was so worried about the trial and everything. Both Ziven and Matthew swore to me that everything would be fine.”
“Because the man you love was sitting in jail for weeks. That’s totally normal,” she exclaims.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” I nod.
“So, I was actually calling to confirm your appointment on Friday before your trip; checking up on you was just a happy bonus,” she informs me.
“I’ll be there,” I say with a smile.
“Good, okay, I gotta go. I have a client coming in. I’m so glad everything turned out so wonderfully,” she says before she hangs up the phone, not giving me a chance to respond. Not that I need to.
I don’t know how long I stand in the kitchen, staring into space, but the timer on the oven is what breaks me from my staring contest with the cabinets.
I take the cheesecake out, letting it cool before I add a mixture of pecans, caramel sauce, and brown sugar to the top in a thin layer. Then I place it in the refrigerator for later this evening.
“Quinn,” Ziven calls out as I sit down for the first time today.
I turn my head and watch as he walks toward me, his eyes are alight with mischief and excitement, and I wonder exactly what he’s up to.
“You’ll never guess,” he exclaims.
“What?”
“Tatyana is having another baby,” he says with a huge smile.
I look at him, watching him, and wondering why he’s so excited for her news. Then I press my lips closed and bite the inside of my cheek, willing the jealousies that I once felt toward the beautiful blonde to go away.
Both Tatyana and Ashley became close with Ziven while he lived in California. I shouldn’t be jealous of them. They’re both happily married and have families; but I think it wouldn’t matter who they were, anybody that can make him look so damn happy, as excited and happy as he is right now, I’d be jealous of—and insecure. So insecure.
“I’m glad for her. That’s wonderful news for both Kirill and her,” I smile.
His brow furrows as he comes to sit next to me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side.
“Are you jealous?”
“I don’t want to be,” I admit, looking up at him with a smile. “But you hold such affection for Tatyana and Ashley, and I just, I can’t help myself.”
Ziven lowers his head and gently sucks on my earlobe before he nips me and presses a kiss below my jaw. Then he lifts his head again and looks at me.
“You’re not jealous because she’s having a baby and you’re not pregnant yet, are you?”
I blink, once, twice, three times.
“Do you want to have a baby? Is that why you’ve not mentioned me going to Doctor Sokoloff, or why you’ve not sent him here to the house?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Of course, I want to have a baby with you. You’re my wife. Do you not want them?”
I stare at him in surprise, though I shouldn’t be. I’ve seen so many of these men get married, and then suddenly them and their wives are baby machines. I think Emiliya has been pregnant the entire time I’ve known her.
“Honestly?” I ask. Ziven nods and I sigh. “I’ve never thought about children, not until I realized that I could be pregnant the day after you were arrested. I wasn’t, and I’m not, but I’ve been thinking about children since.”
“Your thoughts?” he asks.
“I want them, but not because they’re this dream I’ve always had. I didn’t have a good childhood, and I didn’t want to bring kids into a world like the one I lived in, but I know that you’ll never allow that.”
“Now?” he asks arching a brow.
“I want them, because I know that you’ll protect them. You’ll keep them safe. You’ll keep us safe. I feel like they’re a dream that I can now allow myself to have, something I couldn’t before, but yeah, I want them—only with you.”
Ziven stares at me for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. Then he wraps his hand in the back of my hair and tilts my head as his lips slam down against my own. He kisses me—no, he consumes me.
It’s passionate, it’s hard, and it’s owning, just the way his kisses always are—but this one feels like so much more than his usual ones. This kiss, he’s telling me something, thanking me perhaps, and making a promise all at the same time.
“I’ll always protect you and however many children we have, katyonak. There will never be a single second that you feel unsafe, not while I’m breathing.”
“I know, and that’s one of the many reasons I love you, Ziven,” I whisper.
“I’m going to make love to you now. I’m going to give you that baby that you never thought you wanted. I’m going to do this, and we’re going to be so goddamn happy, Quinn.”
“We deserve it, don’t we?” I whisper, looking into his eyes.
“Every fucking ounce of the happiness we’re going to create, we absolutely deserve.”
“I love you,” I murmur as a tear falls from my eye.
“I love you, Quinn—so fucking much.”
“You can’t wear that to the wedding,” Ziven announces as he walks into the bedroom from the hotel suite’s sitting room.
“I’m sorry, this is all I have,” I say, looking down at my full, floor length, platinum silver skirt.
“Every man will look at you,” he grunts as he slinks closer to me. His hand lifts and his fingers graze the bare skin at my waist.
“I doubt that. Plus, I wouldn’t even notice,” I rasp as I tip my head back to look at him.
I’m completely dressed for Oksana’s wedding. It starts in thirty minutes downstairs. My eyes connect to his and I know that we don’t have time for what he’s conveying to me with his gaze.
We’re at The Plaza, a place I never thought that I would actually see the inside of, let alone stay in. Ziven’s fingers dance along my spine, up to the back of my head, careful not to mess up my hair’s up-do style, and then they make their way back down to the waistband of my skirt.
“We’re going to be late,” I whisper.
“I could give a fuck if we’re late for a wedding that Oksana wishes would just go away. Nobody will notice,” he practically growls.
“I’m dressed,” I lamely say.
Ziven doesn’t respond. He walks over to the bed, tugging me behind him, and then I watch as he takes his clothes off, every single stitch, leaving his suit neatly folded on the chair next to the bed. Then he climbs onto the center of the bed and props his back against the headboard. He tips his head to the side and grins.
“Climb up.”
“In my dress?”
“Mmm, yeah. I want your skirt fanned out around me, and I just want to feel you, katyonak,” he murmurs.
I shiver at his words and reach under my big skirt to wrench my panties down, leaving them and my high heels in the middle of the floor before I practically launch myself onto the bed.
I crawl up Ziven’s legs, pulling my skirt out and around me when I’m hovering above his cock. I’m already wet for him, I’m always wet for him, as I take his hard length in my hand and line it up with my center.
He hums as I slowly sink down on him, removing my grasp before I take him inside of me completely. His hands wrap around my bare waist as his eyes focus on mine.
I gently rise and fall, rocking against him when I’m completely filled with his cock. He stretches me, just as he always does, and I moan as my head falls back.
“Harder,” he rumbles.
“I like it like this,” I sigh as I continue to slowly rise and fall on his perfect cock.
“Katyonak,” he snaps.
“It feels good, Ven—you feel good,” I whisper as I wrap my hands around his wrists and maintain my slow pace.
“You’re trying to kill me with that tight pussy aren’t you?” he grins as one of his hands leaves my waist and wraps around the side of my neck.
“I just want to stay here, just like this, for as long as possible,” I whisper as I fuck him, moving against him and feeling every inch of his dick as I slide up and down on it.
“What’s this, katyonak?” he asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.
“I was so scared I’d never have this again,” I admit.
Ziven has been home for over a week. I know I’m being irrational by still clinging to him, still being overly worried about him being taken from me, and still being fearful, in general, about being separated.
“I’m not going anywhere, Quinn,” he murmurs.
I nod and start to ride him harder and faster, enjoying the look of pleasure on his face as he lets out a moan. I’m close, my excruciating slow pace a thing of the past as I chase my orgasm, my blood hot and pumping fast throughout my entire body. Then I still my movements with a gasp, and a long moan of my own, as I come.
Both of Ziven’s hands wrap around my waist and he continues to move me up and down on his length, slamming me down with a growl as he fills me with his own release.
I fall forward, my forehead and lips touching his. I smile before he presses his lips to mine, and then he slides his tongue inside of me and gives me a long, lazy stroke before he lets his head fall against the headboard.
“You’re still so worried I’m going to be taken away from you,” he states.
I slide off of his body and hurry to the bathroom to clean up. Returning to slip my panties and shoes back on, I find him completely dressed, looking absolutely, devilishly handsome, and in no way like he’s just been fucked.
“I am, Ziven,” I admit as I slip my hand into his as I take my purse off of the nightstand.
“Maybe it’s something that will just take time, katyonak, but I’ll continue to tell you anyway—I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod, believing his conviction and trying to believe his words, too. Maybe he’s right; maybe, in time, I will start to relax and realize that he’s not going anywhere, that he’ll always be at my side. But that time isn’t less than a month after he was in jail, after he was awaiting a trial for murder, and after he potentially could have been taken away from me for life.
The wedding decorations are ostentatious, to say the least. We’re in the Terrace Room, and there are decorations, lights, and shit fucking everywhere. I growl as I fidget in my seat, waiting for the fucking ceremony to get started already.
“Ziven,” Quinn hisses as she digs her fingernails into my thigh.
“These chairs are uncomfortable,” I grunt.
“It will start any minute,” she sighs.
Then I hear her murmuring and turn to my left to see that Ashley and Yakov have slid into the seats next to us. I lift my chin at Yakov, who looks about as excited as I feel at sitting in this room, waiting for Oksana to say her vows.
Yakov lifts his chin, and I turn to see that Mika is sitting directly behind me, along the aisle, and I wonder why the man would torture himself this way. Nobody would blame him for not coming to the whole wedding, let alone the ceremony.
I shake my head at Yakov and give him a shrug. I knew Mika was coming to the city, but I assumed he’d be helping with the plans for today. With our first steps in taking down the Cartel.
I look down at my watch and then back to Yakov with a grin. It’s going to start any minute, now. The killings are supposed to take place throughout the ceremony and reception. No one will be the wiser, and hopefully this will drive those fucks out of our territories. It would be even better if they just disappeared altogether.
The music starts, and we all turn to watch bridesmaids and groomsmen walk down the aisle. The women are in some no strap, tight, to the floor, lace, dark blue dresses. The men in black suits, much like mine and every other man’s in the room.
Once the bridal party is down the aisle, I watch as Gavril walks in alone. No. He doesn’t just walk—he fucking struts, and I can’t help but be bothered by his cocky attitude. I swear, I hear Mika growl behind me.
Then we all rise. Pasha has his hand extended, but Oksana’s arm is not wrapped around his. Her dress is too big to afford them to be close enough to each other for that. His hand is on her back, and he looks as though he’s nudging her forward with each step she takes. Her dress is huge, but very plain. Like the bridesmaids, it’s completely strapless.
I don’t know what kind of material it is, because I don’t have a cunt, but it’s shiny.
Oksana looks downright, fucking terrified the closer she walks to the front of the room toward her new husband. I feel badly for the girl, as Mika was obviously her first choice, and the only one she wanted. She’s trying to do the right thing, following her father’s wishes—trying to be everything her mother wanted for her. Doubt Sonia wanted her to be miserable, though.
Once she’s at the front, the officiant tells us all to sit, and then we all watch as Oksana painfully marries Gavril Zima, brother to a traitor. When they kiss each other, I look around as everybody claps, but the entire room is shrouded in a cloud of unease. I don’t understand it. Slipping my arm around Quinn’s waist, I lean down and press my lips to her temple before we’re all asked to go to the Grand Ballroom for the reception.
“That was painful,” Tatyana says as she walks up to us.
We’re all standing around the bar, our normal group of Bratva members that seem to always gather together.
“She doesn’t want him,” Emiliya says with a frown.
“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” Haleigh whispers. “Maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll be wonderful.”
We all turn to look at them up at the head table. Gavril has his hand around the back of her neck, and she’s grimacing. I don’t think that he’s going to be wonderful. In fact, I think that her life will be an assured hell on earth.
It pisses me off that her father forced this on her, forced this somehow allegiance and forgiveness for whatever reason. I’m not alone in my thinking that this is more than just a way to tie together the Zima family, to bring them back into the fold after Gavril’s brother turned traitor. There is so much more at play here, I just can’t quite figure out what it is.
“Ziven, we need to take our seats,” Quinn says, gently tugging on my arm.
I nod and follow her until we arrive at our table. We’re seated with Yakov, Ashley, Natalia and her husband Zhora. Natalia has been a Bratva wife for many years here in New York, and when she suddenly became a widow, Zhora quickly snapped her up. She’s a good woman and seems happy with her current husband. I only know her story because Pasha asked me if I was ready to settle down when she was on the market—I wasn’t at the time.
We’re all being served our soup when it happens.
There are several loud bangs, and I know what they are immediately. I shove Quinn under the table, roughly, not giving a fuck if I hurt her at all. Then I pull my gun out of the back of my waistband and look around, Zhora and Yakov are on either side of me, doing the exact same thing.
I can’t see a fucking thing, there is mass hysteria. People are screaming and running around. My eyes dance all over them, looking for whoever could be doing the shooting. It hasn’t stopped, and it sounds like it’s coming from all directions.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper as I stare at the head table up on the platform.
Oksana’s dress is splattered in blood, and she’s staring down at her groom, who is slumped over, not moving. She looks like she’s in complete shock as she just stares at him.
“Somebody needs to get her the fuck out of here,” Yakov orders.
I stand to do it when I notice that Mika has beat me to it. He picks her up, ten-million yards of fabric and all, and carries her off of the platform before he disappears.
“What the fuck?” I whisper as my eyes dance around the room.
It’s calmed down. The shooting has stopped, but as I take in the people who are my family in various stages of shock and panic, I wonder what the hell has just happened. Then I wonder who in the fuck thought they could come into this room and do this during a wedding reception?
“This whole fucking scenario stinks,” Kirill murmurs as he walks over to me, Radimir and Maxim flanking him.
“Your wives?” I ask.
“Same as yours, hiding under a table,” Maxim grunts.
“We need a meeting—now,” Pasha roars as he walks up to us.
“Where’s Oksana?” I ask, worried about his daughter—something he’s not worried about, which is also an oddity for him.
This whole situation, the wedding, and now this—it’s off, and I can tell the other men that surround me feel the same way.