Merciless Union by Faith Summers

41

Lucca

I’m halfway through the letters. I started reading when Aria fell asleep.

I read the letter from her mother first just because Aria said it would explain things.

I got to the revelation of Raphael and found myself even more furious with the man because it did explain why he treated her the way he did. Then again, Beleric did the same thing to his five-year-old daughter, and she was his flesh and blood.

The only thing I can explain all of it with is evil. Both men were of a different category of evil that I promise myself never to know.

I finish up the last letter and stare at my wife asleep on our bed, spent from a wild night with me.

I marvel at the happiness I feel and savor it because it’s an emotion I never expected to feel.

Weeks ago, I would have never believed this moment would be possible, and definitely not after days ago when I decided it was going to be goodbye forever.

I indulged in her as much as I could, going easy on her because I had her condition in mind, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t wait to read her letters.

Nobody has ever cared enough to do such a thing for me.

Nobody has ever loved me enough to want to hold on to me, and I can’t believe she wrote to me, never knowing if she was ever going to see me again.

Some of the letters were daily, others weekly. A whole month never passed by, though, when she didn’t write. It was almost as if she might have been trying to stop at one point but wrote anyway.

Eight years' worth of letters in this box provides all the information for the missing years.

All the years, I wanted to know what happened to her and if she was okay. It’s all here. She was thinking of me too while I was thinking of her.

A little smile curves her full lips in her sleep, and I think she can feel my eyes on her.

I hope she can, and I hope she can read my thoughts too.

I want her all over again, but I won’t be selfish enough to wake her when I know she should be sleeping. But I also don’t want the sun to come up and break this spell we’re in.

When she slides her hand out and reaches over the empty space for me, selfishness spikes my blood like a potent intoxicating drink.

Fuck me; this woman is my wife.

She’s mine, and she’s carrying my child.

Look at her. No goddess could rival her beauty inside and out. I’ll never forget those words she spoke to me earlier. I want those words to be the last thing I think about before I die, along with the acknowledgment that I married the girl I gave my first kiss to with a rose from my mother’s garden.

I got the girl, and she’s everything.

Her eyes flutter open, and she turns on her back to look at me. The movement makes the sheet fall from her breasts, but she doesn’t cover herself like she normally would.

Good.

“Please tell me you’re not getting ready to go out,” she mutters.

“I’m not, wife. You look like you want me all over again.” I smirk.

“I do.”

I put away the box for now. I’ll read the rest of the letters tomorrow.

I stand and pull down my boxers to her satisfaction, and her eyes drop to my cock as it juts free.

“Here I am, ready to fuck you. Spread your legs wide for me.”

I will never grow tired of watching her spread those long legs for me, nor of the sight of her pretty pussy ready for me to claim.

I stroke my cock and fist my length, knowing she likes watching me do that. By the time I walk over to her and run my fingers over her slick opening, she’s

soaked with that delicious nectar that reminds me of honey on sex.

I lick my fingers off, not wanting to waste any, and then I lick over her clit, sucking on the hard nub until she moans.

She’s ready for me to take and possess, and that’s what I plan to do.

I leave her on her back so she can enjoy me, and I can watch her tits bounce while I pound into her.

I part her legs. When I slide in and bury my dick deep inside her, it feels like coming home. I don’t want to be anywhere but where I am now with my wife.

I move inside her, and she moans with pleasure. When I start to fuck her hard, the sight of those tits bouncing with every thrust draws me nearer to climax.

“I’m coming,” she moans, arching her back into the sheets.

“Come for me, Printsessa,” I growl.

She comes, and I fight hard to stay inside her longer, but I lose control. It slips as the walls of her pussy clamp around my dick and milk every last drop of cum from me.

It leaves me feeling lightheaded and, like always, wanting more.

She smiles, and her skin glows with a beautiful afterglow. I pull out of her pussy and lie next to her meeting her lips for a kiss as I stroke her stomach.

I haven’t stopped touching her in some way and finding a reason to touch some part of her like I’m re-staking my claim on her and my baby.

My baby. I’m going to be a father—me.

I’ll get to teach my child everything my father taught me and love my child the way both my parents loved me.

I get to do things differently, and I get to be with this woman who I thought I was never supposed to have. I was scum to her, but now I am the leader—the Pakhan.

God. That’s all the dream. The girl and the family in my head are all the things I have to fight for.

Reality rears its head as I remember what still lays before me.

Pasha. Raphael. Damien.

I still can’t believe Damien is part of that mix, but he is.

Pasha and Raphael will no doubt regroup. Now that Pasha has lost the Bratva, he’s going to want something else. His connection with Tobias tells me exactly that. And Raphael is going to want what he always wanted.

Since the biggest asset is still the business, and I know that’s the thing Raphael needed to hook his seat on the Camorra Syndicate, I’m sure Pasha will want a piece of the pie.

I took everything from him.

I never knew the ring on my finger Grigori gave me would open everything.

It’s a key as much as it is a symbol. The chip inside gives me access to the bank, and its billions, all the people and allies we have, all the people he owns, and all those who owed him.

I have it all, and I still have the command of a hundred men I think I can trust. I’m still vetting many others.

A soft hand runs over my cheek, luring me back to the dream.

I meet Aria’s concerned stare, and I kiss the top of her hand.

“You’re worried,” she surmises, running the finger of her free hand over the tattoo on my left pec.

“Yeah. I can’t help it.”

“I never said I was sorry to hear about Grigori. I am. I know how much he meant to you.”

“Thanks, I still can’t believe he’s dead. I’ve known him all my life. There was never a time when he wasn’t around, but I guess he was getting old from when I was young, so I should have been prepared. It’s just that he was the kind of man who I knew would have lived to be a hundred and still want many more years.”

“He seemed that way to me too.”

“With his last breath, he passed the leadership over to me, but I don’t know how to be a leader, Aria. Not like this. Not Pakhan. Aiden does it flawlessly, but it was different for him. He grew up knowing he’d always be in the elite. I came from nothing. I came from people who were musicians and artists trying to make their way from one day to the next to put food on the table.”

“But all of that makes you who you are, Lucca. I didn’t know him, but I don’t think he would have made you Pakhan if he didn’t want you.”

She’s right.

Damien was there too, and so were two other Brigadiers. Even though I’m the Obshchak and already part of the elite, he could have made any of them the leader.

Had he died and not passed the torch, there would have been an all-out war between the Brigadiers on who should take Grigori’s place. Even then, I would never have put myself forward. I was just comfortable being the way I am—or was.

“Yeah, I believe that too.” I kiss her forehead. “Go back to sleep. You need to rest. Thank you for my letters.”

“You’re welcome, Peter Pan.” She smiles, and when her eyes close again, it takes seconds before she drifts off to sleep.

I sleep too, and then I am woken by the buzzing of my phone on the nightstand.

It’s Aiden.

The vibrating thankfully doesn’t wake Aria. She’s out cold, which is good.

I answer the phone when I walk out of the room.

“Hey, I got something you’re not going to like,” Aiden says.

“What happened?”

“Eric’s surveillance picked up Damien at Mendes’ House.”

That motherfucking liar.

Now, if Damien isn’t working with Pasha, what the fuck would he be doing at a house linked to Raphael?

“Fuck,” I hiss.

“Yeah, and he was talking to some interesting guys. One linked to the Camorra.”

“I’m going to come around and take a look.”

I need to see this for myself.

* * *

“It happened last night at eight,” Eric explains, tapping across his keyboard to find the right scene in the footage. “I’ve hacked into the surveillance inside the house and outside so I can see everything. There’s his car pulling up.”

I keep my eyes peeled on the screen as I see the Ferrari Damien purchased from me last Christmas. I then watch him walk up the garden path, and the door opens. The man standing there greets him like he knows him. If one of us did that, we’d be killed on sight.

What the fuck does this mean now?

Where does he fit in the scheme of things?

We started a vendetta against Raphael, and now he’s in the lair of the beast we sought to kill, rubbing fucking shoulders.

When the door closes, Eric switches to the cameras inside the house.

“He had a meeting with the Camorra guy,” Eric states when an Italian man comes on-screen greeting Damien.

Aiden stands like a statue next to me. He hasn’t said more than two words since I arrived. All this betrayal doesn’t sit well with him.

I also think, like me, he doesn’t know what to make of what’s happening. The enemy has us twisted in knots of confusion so tight I don’t know where to start unraveling it.

I watch Damien walk into a room with a group men.

There is a mixture of Italian, Mexican, and Russian men. I quickly scan over them, but my gaze settles on one in particular. It’s one of the Russian guys.

I recognize his face, but I can’t quite place him.

“Eric, stop there and zoom in on that guy.” I point to the man I mean, and the longer I look, the more I get that familiar sensation.

Where the fuck have I seen this guy?

“Do you recognize him?” Aiden asks.

“Yes, but I can’t remember where from.”

I close my eyes, and the memory hits me hard.

I see my family, all of them dead, in the living room. I’m huddled in the corner, and it’s morning. Damien comes in, and a man comes in after him.

My eyes snap open when I place the man’s face. He was that man. That’s him. He’s older now, much older. He looks to be the same age as Damien.

“Miska,” I mutter and look at Aiden.

“Where do you know him from?”

“He um… he came to my home with Damien the day after my family was killed. He was at the house with him. I’d never seen him before.” My fucking brain goes numb, and all I can hear are the ghosts screaming at me.

This was what I was supposed to see.

“Eric, do a search on that guy,” Aiden orders.

“Of course.”

As Aiden stares at me, voices fill my head, fighting with my thoughts. They tell me to open my eyes and pay attention. They tell me to follow my gut instinct. They tell me people weren’t what they seemed to be for me too, and there was always more to Damien than what met the eye.

Now I just have to find out what the fuck it is, and when I do, I have to brace myself for a rude awakening.