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⊰ 7 ⊱ Amidst a World of Darkness
The drive back from the cake and food tasting is quiet, the hum of the car’s engine filling the silence between Valentina, Alessandra, and me. I lean my head against the window, watching the city blur past us as my mind wanders to the events of the day.
It’s been…a lot. From the bridal boutique to the endless samples of cakes and hors d’oeuvers, my social battery is drained, I’m stuffed, and I’m half a breath away from the itis.
I wanna take a nap.
The weight of the impending wedding settles heavily on my shoulders, and I can’t help but feel like I’m being swept away by a current I can’t control.
Valentina and Alessandra chatter in the front seat, the incessant discussion of the merits of vanilla versus chocolate giving me a headache. I tune them out, their voices fading into the background as my thoughts drift to Marcel. I haven’t seen him since this morning, and a part of me aches for his presence, for the comfort and stabilit
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The reception is a whirlwind of music and dancing, the grand tent filled to the brim with well-wishers and revelers. As Marcel and I make our way through the crowd, accepting congratulations, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer extravagance of it all. Waiters weave through the guests, offering trays of champagne and hor d’oeuvres, and I find myself reaching for a glass, my mind still hazy from the joint Levi and I shared earlier. But before my fingers can close around the stem, Marcel’s hand closes around my wrist, his grip firm. “Careful, baby doll,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Remember, you’repregnant.” My cheeks flush, realizing my mistake, and quickly snatching my hand back. He’s right. I can’t afford to slip up, not here, not now. With a tight smile, I grab a glass of sparkling cider instead, the sweetness cloying on my tongue. As we make our rounds, I can’t help but feel a sense of pride at the way Marcel commands th
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The hot water cascades over our bodies as we stand in the spacious shower, steam billowing around us. Marcel’s hands roam over my skin, his touch igniting sparks of desire that course through my veins. I close my eyes and lean into him, my head tilted back, letting the water soak my hair and run down my face. Marcel’s lips trail kisses along my neck, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “My wife…” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You’re mine, Mercy.” Wife… … Why does it sound so sexy coming from his mouth? Without warning, he turns me to him, pressing me against the cool, tiled wall. The feeling of the cold ceramic against my heated skin sends a shiver down my spine. His hand comes up to my face, his thumb brushing across my slightly parted lips. The intensity in his gaze takes my breath away—a hunger that threatens to consume me whole. His hand snakes down to my neck, grasping it firmly. “All mine,” he growls,
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- The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 7 ⊱ Amidst a World of Darkness
