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⊰ 11 ⊱ My Surrender: Part 1
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 ⊰ 12 ⊱ As Husband and Wife: Part 2
With the vibrator wand in my hand, I draw a shaky breath as I press the power button, the device vibrating at its lowest setting. With nothing guarding me below, I hesitantly bring my knees apart, spreading my legs just far enough to place the wand between them. My eyes snap up to meet Marcel’s as I reluctantly lower the vibrator to my aching sex, my hand balling the bed sheets into my fist as I press it against my clit. A soft gasp parts my lips, my chest rising sharply. My toes curl, my back arching involuntarily as the wave of pleasure shoots through my core. Through the cloud that quickly hazes my vision and fogs my mind, I watch as Marcel brings his unoccupied hand up to his chin, his index finger brushing his plumb lips. His eyes darken in a lustful beam as his breathing quickly grows uneven. “Marcel…” I moan hopelessly, struggling to keep my eyes open in the midst of pure bliss. I feel myself at the edge of an orgasm, one push away from falling over th
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 12.5 ⊱ Weight of the Crown
⊰ Marcel ⊱ Soft rays of morning light peek around the blackout curtains, casting a warm glow across Mercy’s sleeping form beside me. I prop myself up on one elbow, taking in the sight of her—her dark hair fanned out against the pillow, full lips slightly parted, long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she dreams. My chest swells with an overwhelming surge of love and contentment. Last night was perfect, better than I ever imagined. The way she gave herself to me, trusting me with her body and heart…it’s a precious gift.Sheis a precious gift I’ll cherish forever. Careful not to wake her, I slip out of bed and pad into the bathroom, thoughts of our passionate wedding night still burning under my skin. The memory lingers for a moment, but it doesn’t last very long. As the hot water of the shower cascades over my body, washing away the remnants of sleep, my thoughts shift to the declaration of war Catalina made o
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 13 ⊱ Consequence of Doubt
This can’t be real… I sit on the cold bathroom floor, my back pressed against the locked door, and my knees pulled up to my chest. In my hands, I hold the pregnancy test, its two unmistakable lines staring back at me like a cruel joke. Positive. It’s fucking positive. I want to laugh, cry, and scream all at the same time. This can’t be happening… Not now. Not like this. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I try to calm the storm raging inside me. It could be false, right? Don’t people get false positives all the time? … It’s the nocebo effect. I’m probably manifesting my own symptoms. … No. You’re in denial. I’ve been ignoring the signs for weeks now—my missed period, the constant exhaustion, the way my body feels like a stranger to me. I thought it was all because of the wedding and the stress that came with it, but I’m
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 14 ⊱ The Variable of My Existence
It’s been a week since the four plastic sticks confirmed that I’m pregnant, a week since my world changed. A week since Marcel and I stood on the edge of this new life, the reality of our future pressing down on us, challenging us. And in that week, I’ve hardly seen him at all. He’s been around, fitting in and out of the house at odd hours, always with his phone pressed to his ear or his head buried in paperwork. But he hasn’t beenpresent, not in the way I need him to be. Not in the way I crave with every fiber of my being. I tell myself it’s just the stress of stepping in his father’s place as head of the family empire, but there’s a small, insidious voice in the back of my mind that whispers a different story—a different story that twists a knot in my stomach. Maybe he’s been avoiding me. The thought tugs at my heart, and with it goes my appetite. I push my dinner around my plate, suddenly growing nauseous. Next to me
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 15 ⊱ A Heartbeat Away
I eye my fork as I absently push the scrambled eggs around my plate, the sound of the clinking mixing with the sound of my breathing as I sit at the dining table alone. It’s been two days since Marcel shut down my idea of going back to school—two days of us not saying a word to each other. We’re like parallel lines, destined never to meet, stretching further apart with each passing moment. But as much as I’d like to cling to my righteous indignation, I know today is not the day to be stubborn. Today is the day I face the reality of the life growing inside me, the day I take the first step in my journey to motherhood. I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor as a sigh parts my lips. The sound is unsettling in the stillness of the morning, and for a moment, I pause, half-expecting Marcel to appear in the doorway. He doesn’t. It dawns on me with a twinge of sadness that he’s probably holed up in his office, dealing with the
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 16 ⊱ Between the Lines
The black and white image on the ultrasound printout is seared into my mind as I stare out the window of Marcel’s truck. Eight weeks. That tiny flickering heartbeat, ourlittle bean, has been growing inside me for eight weeks. It’s surreal, knowing that a new life is blossoming within me, a perfect blend of Marcel and myself. A small smile tugs at my lips despite the lingering tension between us, a flicker of warmth spreading across my chest as I absently rub my thumb over the glossy paper. The doctor’s reassurances still echo in my ears—everything looks good, right on track. I’m pulled out of my thoughts as Marcel suddenly flicks on the turn signal, pulling into the drive-thru of a smoothie shop. I shoot him a questioning glance, and before I can mutter a sound, he says matter-of-factly, “You hardly ate this morning. You need to eat something, especially now.” How did he… … Mauricio. I can’t ev
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 16.5 ⊱ Gathering Clouds
⊰ Marcel ⊱ The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that settles like a heavy blanket—smothering and unsettling. Too damn quiet. It’s been weeks since Luciano took the reins of his brother’s cartel, weeks since hevowedvengeance against me for killing Rafael. Weeks… and not a single threat, not a bullet fired in our direction. It’s the stillness before the storm, the type of calm that makes my men jumpy and my own skin itch with an uneasiness. They’re planning something, I can feel it in my bones. The question is: what? And more importantly, how do I keep my family safe? “We can’t let them have the advantage,” Levi mutters, his eyes narrowing as he studies the maps spread across the pool table of the parlor. “I know,” I grunt lowly, tracing a line along the border of our territory with my finger. “We tighten up security, deploy more men—” “No good,” Rick, ever the cautious strategist,
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 17 ⊱ When the Door Locks
The shopping bags rustle at my feet as I settle into the plush leather seat of Alessandra’s sleek black Mercedes. My feet are still aching from all the walking we’ve done over the past few hours—store after store, rack after rack of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. It’s a world I’m still not entirely used to, a level of luxury that feels straight out of a movie. Alessandra slides into the driver’s seat, a satisfied smile on her face as she tosses her own collection of shopping bags into the back. “I think we did some serious damage today,” she says with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. You don’t say… I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned this many clothes in my entire life,” I admit, glancing down at the sea of bags at my feet. “Marcel’s gonna think I’ve lost my mind.” She scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “Please, my brother loves spoiling you. And besides…” her gaze drifts to my sti
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