25 years ago the Brazilian mafia had a daughter who was claimed to be dead
But was she ever really dead?
Dimitri Petrov never had a real family his mother ran out on them causing his father to spiral
Erina on the other hand never had a family to s...
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Being the leader of the Russian mafia had its perks. Power, wealth, immunity—and the freedom to be with the woman I love whenever and wherever I want. But even with all the control I had, I couldn't seem to win one battle.
My wife.
Well, almost-wife. She still hadn't signed the damn marriage papers. She didn't want a huge wedding, she just wanted the twins and maybeee Jero there. But we agreed on having a party after we were officially married.
The move to America was long overdue. The boys had been begging for it—friends who weren't scared of them, school without mandatory Russian, and normal childhoods. As normal as it gets when your parents run a criminal empire. Erina agreed it was the right thing, and for once, I didn't even have to argue with her. The house was already set up, the staff briefed, and most of our stuff shipped. The plane was our final step.
But this flight? Hell on earth. Sin wouldn't stop talking, Saint kept elbowing him, and Erina refused to even look at me with that "you haven't finished your paperwork" glare. She'd been saying no to everything for days.
Including me. Me, her soon to be husband. The best and only guy she's ever been with. And no?
"любовь," I murmured, settling beside her and brushing her arm. (Love.)
She looked up from her laptop, smiling softly. "да, Dimitri?"
"I'm sorry I've been a stubborn ass. Just... put the laptop away for a bit?" I asked gently. I will gladly suck up to get a little bit of her attention.
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Five years and you're still not used to me working, huh?"
"Working, yes. Ignoring your husband's needs?" I raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely not." No sex, no touching. It was preposterous.
She leaned in with a teasing smile. "Poor thing. Needs attention?"
"Desperately," I muttered. "Preferably behind that curtain or in the bedroom. I'll take the couch if I have to."
Erina chuckled, closing her laptop with a snap. "You're ridiculous."
"You're irresistible."
Before she could give me another witty comeback, I gently pulled her up and walked her toward the private cabin. She didn't protest. Her fingers slipped into mine, and I knew I had won—for now.
Once inside, the door clicked shut behind us. I leaned her gently against it and kissed her—slow, deep, with all the tension I'd been holding in.
"I missed you," I whispered against her lips.
"I'm right here," she whispered back, wrapping her arms around my neck.
We fell into the bed together, laughter mixing with soft sighs. There was no rush, no fight for control—just shared hunger and warmth, the kind that comes from years of love and war, of surviving everything the world threw at us.
