Wrong Number. Right Don (Sinful Mafia Daddies)

by Natasha L. Black

You’re trouble, aren’t you? Only the best kind, malyshka.

“I’m glad to know you haven’t been kidnapped or trafficked,” Mia teases the second she answers. “Good morning to you, too,”

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“If she’s the right one, nothing you say will scare her off.” His words carry more wisdom than I’ve ever given him credit for.

Whenever he steps into a room, I feel him before I see him.

I murmur, brushing my thumb across her lower lip. “You make it very hard to behave.”

If I’ve learned anything about women in my thirty-seven years, it’s that they dislike secrets a lot more than they dislike difficult news.”

“You’re mine,” he whispers, lips at my ear. “Say it.” “I’m yours,” I gasp.

“I’m just having trouble falling asleep,” I admit. He tugs me back into bed. “Then come back here,” he says with a smile, pulling me against his chest.

“You’re going to love her so much she won’t know what it’s like not to feel it. You’ll kiss every scraped knee, and you’ll teach her everything that matters. You’ll be the heart of her world.” More tears fall, and I can’t help the sob that slips out. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper. “Neither do I,” he says, brushing his forehead against mine. “But we’re going to figure it out together.”

“Does my wife have a spare second to accompany me to our bedroom? I have some unfinished business from last night.” I flush instantly, smacking his chest lightly. “Sergei.” “What?” he says, all faux innocence. “Can’t a man show a little devotion to his beautiful, brilliant wife?” “Devotion, huh?” He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “Desperate, adoring, aching devotion.” He presses a theatrical hand to his heart. “I’m suffering, Nicole. Truly.” I shake my head, grinning as my cheeks heat. “We don’t have long.” “Which is why we shouldn’t waste another second.”

“I missed you today,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’ve been together for the last hour,” I tease.

“You’re staring,” she says suspiciously. I shrug. “You’re beautiful.” She blushes, even after all these years, and it makes my heart do this weird flip-flop. “You’re biased,” she mutters. “But I’m right,” I argue.

But these days I don’t need to be feared as much as I used to. I find that respect works just as well.

She laughs again, and the sound is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I pull her into my arms then, sweeping her clean off her chair. She lets out a laugh that melts into a gasp as I crash my mouth to hers, kissing her like it’s still the first time. Like it’s the hundredth time. Like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to. Fifteen years, and she still tastes like forever. When I set her down, the kids are watching us in mortification. “Ewwwww!” Tatiana cries.