184

[REBECCA]
Raising my eyes to meet his, my fingertips brushed over his chest, the cadence of his fervent heart beneath them. “This is my pledge to you, Artemy Loskutov. Your love is my anchor, my wellspring of strength. I promise to pour forth my affection from now until eternity’s closure. I vow to nurture, to confide in your love, to be what you require, ensuring your emotions are perpetually considered. I pledge to express my love and reverence. I yearn to share my days alongside you. I, Rebecca Cavalieri, commit to embracing you as my husband, to love, honor, console, and cherish you from this day onward. We meld as one, an eternal unity.”
Savoring the anticipation, I formed my final words. “This vow emerges from the depths of my heart, a pledge to you.”
“May we have the rings, please?” Michael’s voice rang out.
Turning slowly, my gaze met Nona’s as she descended the aisle, Cevia nestled in her arms. My precious child was adorned in an exquisite white tutu dress, crowned with a delicate flower headband.
Our hands exchanged rings, a momentous act that set my heart aflutter.
Finally, I cupped Artemy’s cheeks, drawing him close. “Artemy Loskutov, my love for you knows no bounds.”
Unrestrained tears traced their path down my cheeks, carrying with them the weight of those words I had longed to utter. Today, under the sun’s perfect embrace, I could at last declare my love.
Artemy’s sharp inhalation resounded, followed by his fervent kiss, a declaration that defied all onlookers, uniting us in passion. His lips meshed with mine, a fervent, consuming dance.
His fingers brushed my neck, pulling me impossibly nearer. “Angel, I love you,” he breathed against me, the words resonating through our entwined breaths.
Michael cleared his throat, but Artemy remained steadfast, lost in our union. Repeated attempts to capture his attention proved futile. We were an entity unto ourselves.
“Boss,” Michael persisted, striving to pierce our cocoon of affection.
Another throat clearing, accompanied by a hesitant proclamation. “Well… umm… with the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may continue to kiss the bride.”
Laughter rippled through the assembly, my lips curving in response to Artemy’s playful smirk.
“You’re mine now,” he whispered against my lips.
“Always have been, always will be. Yours alone, Artemy,” I replied, our words sealed with the intimacy of our lingering touch.
As we drew apart, breathless and connected, warmth suffused my cheeks, and my lips tingled. But above all, my heart surged with untamed fervor.
Artemy clasped my hand, and together we turned toward the crowd. Michael stood in the background, his voice brimming with jubilation.
“It is with immense honor that I introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Artemy Loskutov.”
Applause erupted, jubilant cheers filling the air.
With graceful strength, Artemy scooped me up, cradling me to his chest as he descended from the stage. My arms encircled his neck, and we retraced our steps.
“Artemy, I love you,” I murmured against his cheek, imprinting a kiss that lingered. “I vow to love you until my last breath.”
His embrace tightened, his affection palpable.
My husband. My sovereign. My eternal love. My rescuer. My enigma. My partner in the shadows.
And I, his unwavering Angel.
[ARTEMY]
As I carried Rebecca away from the platform, an ardent desire lingered within me for a moment of seclusion. Regrettably, over five hundred pairs of eyes were upon us, bearing witness to our every move.
Rebecca, radiant in that instant, held a beauty that inspired a longing to whisk her away, to shield her from the prying gazes and bask in her presence solely for myself.
Her emergence from the doors appeared like a suspension of time; a breath hitched in my chest, making each inhale laborious as she advanced down the aisle toward me.
Then, unexpectedly, her vows flowed forth, catching me off-guard and entangling my thoughts. My affection for her was already boundless, yet as those words rolled from her lips, it was as if my heart threatened to burst with an overflow of emotion.
Rebecca’s arms constricted around my neck, and her lips brushed my skin in a tender kiss.
Drawing her closer still, I murmured into her ear, “Shall we depart?”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, Lynda would track us down.”
Oh, Lynda.
Upon reaching the heart of the garden, where tables and chairs were arranged, I lowered Rebecca to the ground, her hand finding purchase on my arm to steady herself.
Drawing her nearer, I asserted my possessiveness with a firm grip on her hips. Guests started to gravitate toward us, eager to finally meet Rebecca.
With her by my side, I initiated her introduction to the Bratva assembly.
“Artemy,” Rodrigo approached, accompanied by his wife and children.
A congratulatory slap landed on my back from Rodrigo, accompanied by his well-wishes. “Rebecca, allow me to present Rodrigo Beccari, the head of the Beccari Family, a vital faction within the Bratva.”
Rebecca smiled warmly and shook Rodrigo’s hand. “And this is his wife, Amina. The young girl in her embrace is Jasmine,” I continued to narrate.
Amina stepped forward, embracing Rebecca. “It is a true pleasure to finally meet you, Rebecca.”
“I share the sentiment. I’ve heard much about the Beccari family,” Rebecca responded, placing a delicate kiss on Amina’s cheek.
“And this is my son,” Rodrigo announced, ushering Gregian into view. A fourteen-year-old, he was the heir apparent, destined to lead after his father.
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Ma’am,” he greeted, offering a slight bow.
Gregian acknowledged Rebecca with a nod, his visage impassive, displaying rigorous training and control. I signaled my approval to Rodrigo.
Beyond Rodrigo, Grischa was approaching, a figure who provoked my ire. Drawing Rebecca closer, I felt her confusion through her gaze.
“Artemy, my boy… it wounds me to have discovered your nuptials through others,” Grischa lamented, standing beside Rodrigo.
His eyes appraised Rebecca, an intense gaze that seemed to penetrate her. A smirk danced on his lips, igniting a visceral urge to strike it away.
A comforting hand alighted on my back. “Maintain composure, Artemy,” Brayden advised quietly, standing by my side.
“A splendid wife you’ve secured,” Grischa remarked, his Russian accent rich in his voice.
He progressed forward, seizing Rebecca’s hand before she could react. My fingers pressed into her hips, a struggle to restrain my impulses at the sight of him touching my wife.
Grischa inclined his head, planting a kiss on the back of her hand. “A pleasure, Rebecca Cavalieri,” he intoned, his eyes darkening.
“Loskutov. Rebecca Loskutov. Remember, you’re addressing my wife,” I growled, wrenching Rebecca from his grasp.
“Of course. I apologize,” he hastened, his brows lifting in amusement.
“Grischa, it’s been quite a while,” Damian greeted in Russian, taking his place beside Rebecca. Howard flanked him, both emanating a formidable hostility toward Pirro.
Rebecca’s gaze bore into me, a demand for answers evident in her expression. I met her intensity with a quiet admission, “It’s Grischa Pirro.”
Her eyes widened, and she moved closer, drawn in by the gravity of the name. Grischa Pirro: a possible figure within the Bratva, perhaps a former boss, yet I, the Godfather, still held the reins. He despised the leadership of the Loskutovs over the other families.
Grischa’s ambitions to seize control were no secret, a relentless pursuit that had never found its opportunity, not then, not ever. The Russian words flowed between Grischa and Damian, forming a bridge of conversation.
Howard’s inquiry cut through the Russian dialogue, “Where is your wife?”
“Home,” Grischa’s response dripped with indifference.
Though old enough to be my father, his reign had commenced around the same time as Damian’s, but his wife was considerably younger than I was.
Rebecca’s voice was a hushed whisper, carrying curiosity, “Are they speaking Russian?”
I nodded, tilting my head to murmur in her ear, “Indeed, Grischa’s estate is in Russia. He oversees business there, rarely venturing to the US or Canada.”
Stepping aside from the crowd, Rodrigo acknowledged me with a nod, guiding his wife away after a lingering kiss.
“Can you speak Russian?” Rebecca’s arms found their place around my waist.
A chuckle escaped me at her question, “Of course, Rebecca.”
“Say something in Russian,” her demand held a hint of desire, sparked by the allure of the unfamiliar tongue.
Drawing her closer, my touch sent shivers along her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut as my fingers traced a path downwards. “Kotyonok,” I growled, nipping at her earlobe.
She jolted, tightening her embrace, breathless as she whispered, “What does that mean?”
“Kitten,” I breathed against her neck, my teeth grazing her sensitive skin.
Understanding dawned, followed by an alluring tension. But a voice intruded, pulling me from the moment.
“Artemy, do you need a room?” The interruption came from Allen Sokolov, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observed us.
Before I could react, he moved forward, claiming the space. “I can introduce myself,” he said, pushing me aside playfully.
“Cut it out, Allen,” irritation tinged my words.
Rebecca was engulfed in Allen’s hug, and he grinned at me, then addressed her, “I’m Allen Sokolov. You’ve probably heard the name. The better-looking Boss,” his tone held a teasing edge.
Rebecca blushed, visibly flustered by the charming newcomer. She managed to respond, “Yes, Artemy has mentioned you.”
Allen’s gaze turned to me, mischief glinting in his eyes, “Can’t believe you’re hitched, Artemy. Am I the last single wolf?”
“Pretty much, unless you’re counting my men,” I quipped, rolling my eyes.
His laugh was easy as he cast a casual glance at a passing woman, “Variety is the spice of life, after all. Can’t be tied down to just one.”
Allen’s attention quickly shifted as a woman walked by. He playfully smacked her on the rear, voicing his interest, “I’ll catch up with you later, sweetheart.”
Unfortunately for Allen, the woman turned out to be Bernadette. She pivoted on her heel, emitting a glare that could turn anyone to stone. “Lay a hand on me again, and you’ll be short a few limbs,” she snarled.
Allen’s hands shot up in a gesture of exasperation. “Damn it, Bernadette. I was under the impression we were on good terms. You seemed to enjoy it last night.”
Rebecca stifled a laugh, her hand moving to her mouth to conceal her amusement.
Without offering a direct response, Bernadette began to stride away, only to halt abruptly. “Oh, and if you dare call me that name again, you’ll regret uttering another word. Crystal clear?”
Allen gazed at her, rendered momentarily speechless. “What’s gotten into her? Is she in dire need of a mood makeover?”
Then he let out a sly grin. “Well, I could assist in removing the metaphorical stick…and perhaps substitute it with something more intriguing.”
He punctuated his remark with a suggestive thrust of his hips and a wink. Rebecca blushed, her gaze shifting downward.
“Speaking of which,” Allen inquired, “where’s Brayden, our esteemed best man?”
“He was right here with us just moments ago,” Rebecca replied. “He must be around here somewhere.”
With a nod, Allen began to retreat. “I’ll catch up with both of you later.”
Rebecca waved, leaning against me as Allen left. “Does he always behave this way?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I responded with a touch of dryness.
Observing the guests mingling, Rebecca remarked, “I’ve now had the pleasure of meeting all the Family members. They emit an… unusual enthusiasm. It’s hard to articulate. Almost surreal.”
“Well, most of us gathered here are seasoned in the art of taking lives, Rebecca. It’s only natural that our social gatherings appear peculiar. After all, we aren’t accustomed to mingling and revelry.”
Rebecca comprehended, nodding as other attendees approached us. She engaged in conversation, displaying a genuine warmth that drew smiles and laughter.
As I watched her effortlessly connect with others, a swell of pride welled within me. We had both traversed a considerable distance. Yet, it was Rebecca who truly deserved this newfound sense of belonging.
Lost in thought, I was roused when Rebecca approached. On her tiptoes, she bestowed a swift kiss upon my lips, catching me off guard.
“I love you,” she mouthed silently.
Amidst the backdrop of laughter and applause, I pulled her onto my lap, my affection for her swelling. Yeah, this woman had captured my heart completely.
And tonight, she would be ardently cherished in every sense.