Beautiful Beast (Perfectly Imperfect: Mafia Legacy, #1)

by Neva Altaj

This woman may have been a major source of my agitation recently, but for some reason, I can’t stand the idea of her enduring even a smidgen of pain.

“You will not touch her,” I growl and hit him again.

Beautiful doesn’t even come close to describing her.

“I instructed Mitch to keep up the sabotage, covertly of course, until I say otherwise.” I glance down at my bandaged forearm and smile. “You like her.” “Yes.”

my vespetta

Assassinating people is so much easier than working with them.

“There are many things that scare me, Rafael. Your face isn’t one of them.” “Tell me what they are, and I’ll vanquish each one.”

“There is only one monster lurking in these waters now, my fiery lily of the valley.” He bows his head, placing a kiss on my shoulder. “But I think you know that he won’t ever do you any harm.”

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she wants to stay with me.

“I meant for your head, придурок!” Rafael’s lips tilt into a devious smirk. “Is that a Russian pet name, vespetta?” “It means ‘moron’!” I sneer through my teeth, grab his arm, and pull him toward the exit.

I made the woman I love cry. That realization crushes me like a ten-ton block of concrete. Despair settles in my gut as I cross the room and press my forehead to the wooden surface.

“For her, I would. If she chooses to come back to me and can’t handle being separated from her family, I would move us to fucking Chicago.” “But . . . you’ve fought half your life to be able to return here. You love Sicily.” “I do. But I love her more.” “Fuck, Raff. You’re a total goner for that woman.” “Yes, I am.

I have no idea what could have distressed her so much, but I know it can’t be anything I’ve done. I would rather cut off my own hands. And legs. Slit my own throat. I’ll have to consider a proper order, but the sentiment remains the same.

The degree to which I’m obsessed with my wife is unparalleled. She only needs to touch me—or simply threaten to slice my throat—and I’m a goner.

Uncle Sergei bellows as he steps inside the room and lays a huge semiautomatic rifle on the table, just next to the platter of pork chops. “What? No lamb today?”