[REBECCA]
Lynda paused, her laughter erupting in a surprising twist. “I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but I believe I’m starting to like you, you know, quite a bit.”
Bernadette shook her head, her attention shifting back to me. She gave me an affirming nod before turning to leave.
“Wait,” I called out, a burning question surfacing in my mind.
“You introduced yourself as Bernadette Loskutov. How did you come by the name Loskutov?” I inquired, my curiosity piqued.
Facing me squarely, Bernadette crossed her arms, her demeanor commanding. “The Loskutov name is a privilege bestowed upon a select few. It’s reserved for the most unwaveringly loyal individuals. I am one of them. Artemy places his utmost trust in me, entrusting me with his life and now, yours. My allegiance to this family takes precedence above all else, and that loyalty extends to you now.”
Lynda chimed in, confirming, “I should have mentioned earlier, but my name is Lynda Loskutov as well. Like Mom, Brayden, Avim, and Leon. It’s a tradition among those fiercely devoted to the Boss.”
“Though I must admit, I never expected Bernadette to adopt the name,” Lynda added, her gaze fixed on Bernadette with intrigue.
Bernadette’s response was casual yet loaded with an underlying threat. “You know very little about me. However, there’s no need to keep my identity concealed any longer. You’ll learn my truth soon enough, so it would be wise not to provoke me. I have a strong aversion to bothersome pests.”
The threat was palpable, but Lynda responded with amusement. “I believe we’re destined to be great friends,” she quipped, her laughter echoing.
Bernadette’s posture stiffened, her expression morphing into an unyielding stare. “I’m not here to form friendships.”
Those words resonated with me, evoking memories of Artemy’s distant demeanor. The same man who had tried so hard to push me away.
Though I wanted to challenge Bernadette’s stance and stress the importance of companionship, I held my tongue.
Bernadette observed us for a moment, Lynda’s protective embrace around me, and then she retrieved her cellphone.
“They’re on their way,” Bernadette announced succinctly.
With that, she exited the room, leaving Lynda and me exchanging glances.
Artemy had returned. A surge of relief flooded my heart at the thought.
Lynda assisted me out of the bed, and together we descended the stairs. As I reached the bottom, Artemy emerged through the grand entrance.
He led the way, a commanding and formidable presence. His posture oozed authority. Flanking him, Brayden and Leon moved in sync on his left side, while Avim stood to his right.
His most trusted lieutenants stood by him as they entered the house. A palpable aura of intensity enveloped them all. Even in their refined suits, they exuded danger.
My feet carried me forward, unconsciously drawing me towards Artemy. We met in the middle, our bodies fitting together seamlessly.
Artemy’s grip settled on the back of my neck, drawing me nearer. His fingers threaded through my hair, tilting my head back. Ragged breaths escaped him as he gazed at me with piercing blue eyes.
His hold tightened, his hand guiding my head even closer. His lips descended, and my heart raced as our mouths finally met.
Artemy’s lips met mine with an intense urgency, his kiss a demand for access that left me breathless. Succumbing to his desire, I parted my lips, granting him entry. In this intimate battle of tongues, his fervor was palpable as he explored my mouth with a fierce determination. His hand found its way to the nape of my neck, fingers entwining in my hair and giving it an electrifying tug.
Our kiss was a collision of desperation and untamed passion. I mirrored his ardor, my fingertips finding purchase on his shoulders as I held on for dear life. There was a fluidity to his movements, his lips remaining locked onto mine without a single break. Gradually, the kiss grew deeper, more voracious, as if each touch of his mouth was a claim.
In that moment, the world around us seemed to blur as Artemy’s kisses intoxicated me. It was a symphony of sensations, a dance of desire, and he appeared just as lost in me as I was in him.
With everyone’s eyes upon us, Artemy’s kiss symbolized a declaration. Around us, the air vibrated with a roar that surged from the driveway to the courtyard, rippling through the mansion’s walls. Men’s voices erupted in triumphant cheers, and women joined in, applause blending with the jubilant moment.
Amid the cacophony of proud celebration, Artemy and I continued to kiss, our lips locked in a testament to our connection. The fervent cries of victory persisted, an unending chorus of exultation that painted the air with elation. I understood that this euphoria would linger, a reminder of the hard-won victory.
For the war had concluded, the echoes of conflict still resonating. In the end, it was the Russians who emerged as victors, a fact that the Italians had to accept.
***
My heart pounded forcefully within my chest as a profound realization settled upon me.
Artemy’s kisses retained their fervent pace, an unyielding possession of my lips that set my heart aflutter with a surge of overwhelming love.
In kind, I matched his ardent kisses, our connection akin to two souls famished for one another’s embrace-perhaps an outcome of the adrenaline that surged through us following our victorious triumph.
Amid his embrace, his fingers constricted in my hair, and he nipped at my lower lip. His words, raw and impassioned, escaped through his lips, “I’m home.”
Breaking the kiss but still holding the nape of his neck, I bestowed a smile upon Artemy, then bridged the gap between us for yet another kiss.
“Welcome home, my love,” my voice, barely above a whisper, brushed against his lips.
A low groan escaped him, his arm cinching even tighter around my waist. Were it not for my rounded belly, our forms would have melded into one another’s seamlessly.
“Repeat that,” he commanded.
“Welcome home, my love.”
“The latter part, say it once more,” he insisted, his lips finding mine once again.
A soft laugh bubbled from within me, my cheeks tinting with warmth-blushing, even now, despite the intimacy we had shared.
As my fingers traced the contours of his neck, I gazed into his eyes, a shade reminiscent of bluish steel, my affection unreservedly evident. “My love,” I murmured once more, a declaration meant for his ears alone.
Artemy’s lips curved into a smirk, and he withdrew slightly, a jubilant roar emanating from him. “We have emerged victorious!”
Sharing in his elation, I laughed, holding him close.
Indeed, we had triumphed.
Swallowing back the tightness in my throat, I acknowledged the weight of this moment. My father’s absence, Raffaele’s absence, and the Loskutov family’s ascendancy over the Italians-all tangible before my eyes, all felt in the core of my being.
This day, so improbable, had unfolded before me. I was an active participant in it.
Theoretically, I should have felt shattered by the Cavalieri family’s defeat.
But I didn’t. Because the Cavalieris had never truly been my family.
Now, my real family had claimed victory, and I was prepared to revel in it alongside them.
The camaraderie of the men surged forth, Artemy receiving hearty pats on the back, while they enveloped me in their embraces. The air was thick with laughter, radiant smiles, and jubilation.
As the jubilant cacophony eventually dwindled, Artemy leaned close, his voice a whisper by my ear. “I must attend to some matters. I’ll see you tonight.”
Our eyes locked, and I adopted a pout, unable to conceal my reluctance. “Must you leave so soon? You’ve only just returned.”
His intense azure gaze ignited with a passionate fervor at my words, a glint of possession unmistakably present. “It’s necessary, Angel. There are matters to address now that his reign is over. Loose ends to tie under new directives.”
The way he spat out the words sent a shiver down my spine.
Temptation coursed through me, the urge to inquire about Raffaele’s demise nearly overpowering. But in the final moment, I exercised restraint.
Perhaps it was better to remain in the dark about the specifics.
Artemy sealed our exchange with a brief kiss before stepping away. My lips instinctively formed another pout, my actions perhaps speaking louder than words.
With a sigh, he captured my pouting lips in a fervent kiss-a kiss laden with a commanding dominance.
“Cease your pouting. You’re making it harder for me to depart,” he growled, his voice low and commanding.
It was precisely my intention, even if I refrained from vocalizing it.
Artemy gifted me a wink before ascending the stairs, the group trailing behind him.
A sigh escaped me as Lynda sidled up to me, her presence a comforting presence amidst the electric atmosphere.
“Perhaps a touch less public display of affection next time, dear. Your consideration would be greatly appreciated,” she quipped, a knowing arch of her eyebrow accompanying her words.
I tightly closed my eyes, the intensity of her gaze making my cheeks flush with heat. “Oh, look at you now, blushing and all red. Remember when Artemy was practically clinging to you in front of everyone?”
A sharp sound reached my ears, and I opened my eyes to witness Nona’s stern glare aimed at Lynda. “Show some restraint.”
Lynda just laughed, shooting a playful wink my way. She caught my arm and tugged me towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go.”
Taking a seat on a stool, I observed Lynda as she busied herself preparing lunch. “Need any help?”
She shook her head, her fingers deftly moving around. “Nah, just sit tight. You should be in bed, you know. Claire’s orders. I’m surprised Artemy didn’t drag you back there.”
Lynda paused, her eyes dancing mischievously. “But then again, he had his hands full with something else.”
Her teasing tone set off a silent laughter that shook my shoulders. Lynda set two plates on the counter. Just as she was about to sit, I reached out, my fingers gently curling around her wrist.
“We’re not eating until you talk, Lynda.”
My voice was resolute yet gentle, trying to coax her to open up. She was bottling up too much, and it was taking a toll.
Her eyes, haunted and troubled, met mine. She shook her head, her voice a warning. “Rebecca.”
I ignored her caution and persisted. “What’s going on, Lynda? Why won’t you share? I know Milandro hurt you. It’s a lot to take in. He betrayed Artemy, yes, but he hurt you too. There’s more beneath the surface.”
Lynda snatched her wrist away, her voice edged with frustration. “Cut it out, Rebecca!”
I rose from my seat, enveloping her in a hug. My arms held her gently, a comforting embrace. “You can tell me anything, Lynda. I’m here for you. Seeing you like this-it’s like looking at my old self. I can’t bear it.”
She struggled out of my grasp, her glare intense, anger directed at me this time. It was a new look on her.
“You don’t understand anything!” she erupted.
“Because you won’t let me understand,” I responded softly.
Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving. Tears brimmed, and she sniffled, putting distance between us.
My heart ached, witnessing her pain.
“I lost him!” she spat out.