Married to the mafia boss Series

Angelo

Anastsia looks so peaceful sleeping, I don’t disrupt her. My phone is lighting up and vibrating on my side table. I ignore it at first but as soon as the call ends, a new one begins.

I’m careful when I move out of bed trying not to cause too much movement and stir her awake. I grab my phone and head out into the hallway. The caller ID is from Antonio. My first thought is that he’s either going to continue to give me shit about Anastasia or something is wrong with Liliana.

I realize now that my sister has stopped trying to contact me. Maybe she’s given up.

“What do you want?” I say with gritted teeth trying to keep my tone as calm as possible.

“I’ve taken care of your little problem.”

“You what?”

“Your men are getting angry that you aren’t doing anything. My sources say they are already planning an uprising to take you out. Obviously your sister doesn’t want you dead and you are being ruled by your own dick to make any rational decisions, so I stepped up.”

“I never asked you to get involved, Antonio! I have things handled.”

“Apparently you don’t!” He yells back. “Even Vasiliev doesn’t take you seriously. If he did he would’ve bargained for his daughter which he hasn’t. You’re welcome, Angelo.”

“Fuck you, Antonio!”

“Would you rather I let your own men kill you? If they did that they’d see Anastsia Vasiliev living in your house and they would take care of things.”

I gulp thinking of all the horrible things my men would do to her. “What the hell did you do?”

“Bargained. Threatened,” he says nonchalantly. “I’ll text you the details. You have today and tomorrow to say your goodbye.”

The line goes dead.

I scream tempted to throw my phone at the wall, until my phone buzzes in my hands. A text from Antonio listing the drop off time and location and what I get in return for giving Viktor back his daughter alive.

It isn’t everything I asked for, but it’s something. A good chunk of his terrority. A nice section too, one by the docks with a large warehouse we can use a new headquarters for our illegal operation. My men will be pleased with this. I should be pleased with this but I feel miserable. For the first time in a long time I’m happy and now it’s all going to be taken away from me.

Antonio should have let my men kill me. I don’t want to live a life if it means I can’t live one with her.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I run my hands through my hair. There has to be a solution. There is no solution. I’m screwed. I have to give her up.

But I’ve always known that she’d have to go back to the Bratva-to her father. She is my enemy’s daughter. My men are looking to me for leadership. For ruthlessness. For unforgiving violence towards Vasiliev and our men who have killed so many of ours including Nario and Carlo.

I just never thought the day would come so soon. I thought I had more time.

I won’t tell her. I don’t want the next two days to be filled with anger or bitterness or resentment or sadness. I want her and her contagious happiness. I want our late night conversation. Our mutual understanding of each other. I want her lips and her body. I want it all.

I want even more.

But I can’t have more.

I should be grateful Antonio allotted me two days to say my silent goodbyes. I should also kill Antonio for butting into my business. His worry is Chicago, not Boston.

Boston is my worry.

Boston is my burden.

Creeping back into my room, Anastasia is lying on her side, eyes open holding my gaze.

“Business,” I hold up my phone before setting it back on the bedside table and joining her under the warmth of the covers.

It’s nearly winter in Boston, the weather cold and crappy. The Holiday season among us as traffic gets busy with people leaving and coming to visit families. Malls packed with people doing their Christmas shopping.

For the past two years I have spent Thanksgiving and Christmas by myself. This year will be no different.

Anastsia turns around to face me. I keep my hand on her waist pulling her body so we’re flush against each other. I lean in and savor a kiss, quick and simple. She smiles and my heart skips a beat. I adore her smile. I push a strand of red hair out of her face.

“Do you miss your blonde hair?”

“I guess,” she shrugs.

“Why don’t we go to the salon and get your hair done?”

She smiles, excited, then it falters into a frown. “But people will recognize me.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I won’t let anyone take you from me, the words almost leave my lips. I wish I could say those words to her and have them be the truth. But it would be cruel to lie to her like that. “So what?” I shrug back. “We will buy you more sunglasses and hats maybe even some wigs.”

“What about a wig with blue hair?” She raises an eyebrow.

I chuckle. “Anything your heart desires, Anastasia.”

We both lean in for a kiss. She feels so soft and warm in my arms. I never want to let her go. My bed has been so cold and empty without her and it’s not something I’m going to be happy to go back to. I’d rather take the couch again if it means she’d stay. I won’t be able to handle the silence when she’s gone. I’ll miss the feel of her radiant presence in the room and I’ll miss her snoring.

There’s a long list of things I will miss. Even her most annoying habits I will miss.

She stretches her arms above her head. “Can we stay in bed all day?”

“Sure,” I smile. “What would you like to do?”

“Sleep,” her own smile grows. “And maybe some other stuff.”

“There are a few things we haven’t done yet that I’d like to do.”

Her cheeks blush. I love that innocent look in her eyes and how timid she gets when I mention anything remotely sexual.

“Are you tired?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “But I like this. Talking with you.”

“What’s on your mind?”

She rolls onto her back and exhales. She raises her hands like she’s about to sign, but stop. Placing her hands on her stomach she shakes her head.

“What’s the matter?”

She turns her head to look at me. “What do you think the weather’s like in Hawaii?”

“Warm,” one side of my lips twitches up giving her a half smile.

“I wonder what it’s like to celebrate Christmas is like in Hawaii,” she stares at the ceiling probably imaging she’s there. A Christmas tree in the living room and out the window next to it is the beach. The weather warm enough that she’s probably picturing herself in shorts and a tshirt or maybe even a bikini. I like the latter better.

“In Russia we celebrate a little later than you do,” she tells me. “It’s just the way of the Orthodox Church. January 7th, but I’ve always liked celebrating in December 25th with everyone else. I love the shops decorated. I love Christmas trees, gingerbread men, and snowmen. Everything.”

Her words remind me of the holidays when I was younger. My father didn’t care much for the holidays, but we always had parties. Father’s men would come to the house, Mother would have it all decorated and for one night-until everyone left-my father acted happy. He would be charming and funny and everything you’d want in a normal father.

Mother always let me and Liliana in charge of making gingerbread houses. I loved decorating them with her. We always had a contest amongst ourselves to see whose people would like better. Luca never made gingerbread houses with us, he said baking and decorating was for girls.

Then when we were done we’d get on our snow pants, hats and gloves, and we’d go outside and make snowmen along the driveway so when people pulled up they could see them. It was our contribution to decorating outside. My Father would hire some of his men to hang up lights around the edges of our mansion.

I always loved the mansion around Christmas time. I loved the nine foot tree in the living room and an abundance of smaller ones scattered throughout the house in the foyer. The staircase, which was the main attraction of the house, as soon as you walked in it was right there. The banister would be decorated with garland.

The holidays were always happy memories for me. Mother would try to make things as enjoyable as possible for us. Even if my parents weren’t necessarily apart of my happy Christmas memories, Liliana was. I would tuck her in and tell her stories of Santa Claus. I would wake her up in the middle of the night to sneak downstairs and look at all the presents.

All my memories were happy because of Liliana.

My stomach churns with the thought of how horrible I’ve been. I’ve been ignoring her and even when she came to visit I was unpleasant. She cares about me and I’ve always cared about her but lately, I haven’t even bothered to check up on her. I didn’t even know she was pregnant-didn’t even know she wanted a second child. And Viola, my goddaughter, I’ve been neglecting her, too. I used to FaceTime and ask for pictures constantly.

I’ve been so caught up in my own misfortune and depression that I’ve neglected the only person in my life who made happy memories of my childhood possible.

“I loved Christmas in Russia. I loved it because we were all practicing for the Nutcracker. It’s one of my favorite ballets. For three years in a row I got the role of Clara. A few years before that I even got the Sugar Plum Fairy. This is my first year not doing it since I was about five years old. I feel lost without it,” she sighs. “Do you think we could decorate the penthouse?”

“Sure,” I lean over and kiss her forehead.

For the first time I hate the smile on her face because it was a smile caused by a lie. I’d give anything to decorate with her. Maybe we still can. “How about we decorate tomorrow? We can go to the mall and buy tons of decorations and a big tree.”

“Really?” She sits up looking at me with disbelief mixed with excitement.

“Really.”

“Angelo,” she signs warily. I wait for her to continue. “Do you think it’s possible… to have a life together?”

Every bone in my body tells me to reassure her. To comfort her. To lie and tell her that we can have a happily ever after. People in the Mafia don’t get happily ever after. My father didn’t, my mother didn’t, Luca didn’t. Even though Liliana is happily married, she will still face hardship. Anyone can easily kidnap her or her children, could easily kill Antonio leaving her a widow and their children fatherless. She could suffer in so many ways just because she’s a part of the Mafia. Because she’s married to a Don.

I won’t get my happy ending either.

I do all I can to avoid the question. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in for a passionate kiss. I deepen the kiss so our tongues dance and our bodies begin to heat. My pants become tighter as my groin begs for attention. Anastasia gets lost in our kiss, her breathing irregular and her body undulating against me.