Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
With the fur falling off her naked shoulders, her arms crossed over her breasts so her cleavage pushed up above the neckline of the coat and those million dollar pearls hung below the hollow of her throat, she’d been positively immoral.
She looked like his pretty little mob wife wrapped in her jewels and furs all kept, done up, and waiting on him. Wicked, wanton, and sexy as hell. Resting on her knees in the middle of the bed with her hair tumbling freely, and her voice demure in the dimly lit room, Viviana had every inch of Anton lit on fire with a burning lust before he even laid a finger on her.
“I heard you like mink,” she had whispered.
Good fucking God, he had groaned a sound that he swore started from the base of his aching cock and ended when it fell out of his mouth. Viviana simply batted her thick, black lashes and gazed back at him innocently, like she didn’t know what she was doing to his mind and body.
She fucking knew, Anton mused.
Clearing his throat, Anton shook his head to get the memory of fucking his wife out of his head while there was another man so close. The husky tone in his voice couldn’t be hidden, however. “I sure liked it, too.”
Joe smirked, almost appreciatively. “I’m sure you did, Boss.”
Before Anton could reprimand the bull for his insinuation, Rory’s loud whoop of success reached their spot. Clearly he’d managed to get the skeet shooter loaded up with another three rounds of clay.
“We good to go?” Joe shouted.
“No, we are not.”
Anton turned at the sound of his wife’s frustrated voice, kicking the rifle behind his leg at the same time to keep it somewhat concealed. Viviana still had her issues about firearms. Whenever one was in her direct vicinity, her hands would clench, her jaw got tight, and her eyes didn’t leave the weapon for a minute until it was gone. Apparently he hadn’t hidden the gun as quick as he thought, even though she knew they were out shooting it off, because his wife stared at the object half-hidden behind him with clear distain.
“Oh, come on, Vine,” Joe whined.
“I thought you didn’t mind us doing some target practice? It’s just a normal hunting rifle.”
Viviana’s eyes narrowed on her husband. “I don’t care about the gun. We’re out in the middle of nowhere, so it isn’t like the cops are going to come running up in here charging you for shooting it off without the proper permits and registrations.”
“Okay.” Anton turned and waved at Rory to get ready to release a skeet. “I mean, if you don’t mind, baby?”
Really, he thought her frustration was cute as hell.
“It’s not me who minds right now, Anton,” she huffed.
“What?”
Over his shoulder, Anton watched Vine rub her hand along the side of her stomach, discomfort written in her frown and drawn down brow. The white T-shirt she wore showcased the roundness of her midsection and the black, lace bra she wore underneath. Damn it, now his mind wasn’t anywhere near shooting shit.
“Every time that goddamn thing goes off, he beats the crap out of my insides. It’s making the Braxton Hicks start up again. So, chill it out for a little while, please? At least until I have a nap.”
Anton opened his mouth to agree quickly, but Joe’s smart mouth beat him to the punch. “That’s just his way of telling you he knows, Vine. The little prince can’t wait to get his hands on his first gun. It’s in his blood—Bratva blood. You can’t blame him.”
Oh shit, Anton thought.
Even if he didn’t already know that comment would piss his wife off, the anger that blinked back in her narrowed gaze certainly did. Her tiny fists balled at her sides before she exhaled a harsh breath, tucking her chin down to hide clenched teeth and a watery stare.
Damn it. “Joe—”
Anton was cut off by Viviana’s derisive snort. “Right, I’m eight months pregnant and he already knows he’s destined to be a gangster. I should assume my son loves the sound of a gun, not the fact that the noise in an otherwise quiet space is bothering him. That’s cute, Joe. Really.”
For the most part, Vine didn’t say much when she overheard someone talking about their child in the future context of what he might be. She brushed it all off and didn’t say a great deal to Anton about it, either. This had clearly been different—maybe it was because of her general dislike of guns, Anton wasn’t really sure.
“Vine, we’ll put it away,” Anton said quietly.
Viviana shook her head and opened a palm, waving for the rifle. “Give me your gun.”
“What—no.”
Like a child about to have his favorite toy taken away, Anton held the weapon further from his wife’s grasp.
“Anton, don’t. Give me your gun. You want to play games and joke, let’s do just that.”