His Smile: A Mafia Romance

by Katerina Winters

  Mosca grinned broadly at that, remembering the string of private texts he obtained and read from Davies to another dancer colleague. “He hates him,” Roman’s brow rose with piqued interest. “He thinks he is an egotistical asshole who tries to monopolize Rahina’s time in practice.”

  Silently laughing, Roman spread his arms out along the back of the couch. “That should make the dynamic between the two in Moon Princess very believable since they are both supposed to be fighting for my Rahina’s attention.”

  The doors to the office suddenly opened, and Mosca steeled himself for what was to come.

  Both men looked up to see Alexei walk through the door. Mosca had to hand it to the accountant, the man kept any emotion he might have had at seeing Roman brazenly lounging in his office uninvited and unannounced checked behind a stoic expression.

  Leaning forward in his seat, Roman offered the man a friendly smile. “I heard you helped Rahina with her contract with her new dance company while I was away.”

  Alexei said nothing, only raising one brow in silent acknowledgment.

  Roman let out a silent laugh as he shook his head at the accountant’s stubbornness. It was clear Alexei was still angry over their last heated encounter. Standing to his full height, Roman tilted his head and gave Alexei a patient grin.

  "I also hear that you have a private gym in this building," Roman's light-hearted tone held promised mischief, that only made Mosca bite back a sigh. "Come," Roman's steel colored eyes sharpened like an edge of a blade towards Alexei. “Let us get what is standing in the way between us settled so we may move forward.”

  Alexei was so goddamn fast, Mosca found himself gripping the padded rope of the boxing ring with a lethal grip. Alexei's private gym was located a couple of floors below his office. It was very simple and functional, an unmarked door opened up into a large space that held a large boxing ring in the middle, free weights off to the side, a single treadmill, and a suspended punching bag.

  Since Roman had planned this meeting, he had brought along a change of clothes and equipment. Circling each other in the ring, both men were similarly dressed, wearing no shirts, a pair of boxing shorts, and fingerless boxing gloves.

  Alexei’s face was no longer the perfect emotionless mask, it was distorted with long kept rage, while his opponent grinned with a cut bleeding lip and swelling eye like the madman he was. Mosca watched with apprehension laced excitement as Alexei sent out another lightning fast jab barely missing Roman’s face. It truly surprised him to know that Roman was skilled enough in fighting to survive against the ex-underground fighter. But then again, it’s nearly impossible to beat crazy. The thing about crazy is that it never submits, it just keeps getting back up, a lesson both he and Alexei were learning together. Roman's tactics against the fighter were ever changing. In some moments, it appeared as if he wanted the man to hit him, giving Roman the perfect opportunity to get in a devastating blow of his own. And though Roman wasn't nearly as fast as Alexei, his hits shook the air around him. With nearly eighty pounds on Alexei’s slimmer, leaner build the giant man landed heart stopping blows that made Mosca wince on more than one occasion. It had only been a few minutes, but Mosca was ready for this brutal showdown to just fucking end.

  Breathing heavily, Alexei stumbled back favoring his side where Roman punched him hard in the kidney.

  "Are you happy now, brother?" Roman roared with maniacal glee, his own face dripping with blood. "Will you forgive me now?! Or shall we continue this until you are pissing blood?"

  Alexei let out his own thundering bellow of anger as he rushed the madman.

  Mosca could only sigh.

  ~*~

  Rahina kept her gaze fixed on the elevator door as she rode up in silence next to Mosca.

  “So, your plan is to continue to ignore me,” Mosca’s dry tone broke the silence.

  Turning her head purposely further away, she gave a small huff under her breath.

  “Because I wouldn’t let you out of the car the night Roman caught you on a date with your would-be-fiancé?” Mosca continued.

  Baited, she turned and pointed an accusing finger at him, ignoring the satisfaction in his eye. “First of all, it was not a date, and you ignored me when I was trying to figure out what was going on. You’re a traitor.”

  “Rahina,” he grumbled exasperatedly. “I can’t be a traitor when I have always been on Roman’s side. I couldn’t choose your side even if I wanted to.”

  She knew that, but she still wanted to give the lieutenant a hard time. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin. "Well, it’s good to know where I stand with you,” she said dramatically.

  Mumbling something in Russian, he rolled his eyes just as the doors opened. The elevator stopped in a small hallway with a white metal door at the end. Roman had texted her to meet him at this address after practice, he wanted to introduce her to the wives of the other men he worked with. When he told her that, Rahina couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect. Did this mean their relationship was moving into deeper waters? Ever since he came back from his mandated trip, they had been inseparable, she only visited her apartment to pick up clothes and water her plants. She couldn’t get enough of the man. Roman made her feel things she never even thought was possible. He opened up a sexual awareness inside of her that she had no clue that existed, making her want things she had no idea she would love. She loved his dominance over her when they made love, the tinge of fear she felt when he loomed over commanding her to do shameless unspeakable things. After each time, once they finished, there was only ever a brief moment of embarrassment before he took her into his arms slowly kissing it away as he cleaned her up. What they had between them was nothing she could ever have imagined, her body thrummed in a constant state of satisfaction while her heart felt painfully full with emotions she didn’t dare evaluate.

  Even as she followed Mosca to the door and waited as he knocked, she pushed away the surge of hope this introduction into Roman’s life might represent. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, not yet.

  “I should warn you,” Mosca turned as if just remembering an important detail. “Roman’s face is…”

  Roman heard her voice coming from the hall and smiled, and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his face. Cursing under his breath, he glanced over to Alexei who sat next to him holding an ice pack his wife, Christelle, forced him to hold at his side. Alexei didn’t miss his wince and shot him a satisfied smile at his pain.

  “Hi Mikhail,” Rahina’s chipper voice bounced down the hall. “Wow, your place is nice.”

  "Hello, Rahina," Mikhail’s deep emotionless voice was barely audible. “This is Alexei's place, and Roman is in the kitchen.”

  Still marveling at her surroundings, Roman watched with braced expectation as her head slowly turned to the kitchen. It took seconds for her eyes to work past the other occupants in the kitchen and meet his battered face. The look of horror was expected, her unnatural silence was not—nor was her outfit. As she silently took in his assaulted visage, his eyes and everyone else’s at the table travelled the length of the dancer’s body. With Mikhail and Mosca standing behind her at the kitchen’s entrance, Rahina stood nearly taller than both men in her black platform wedges. Her long legs led the eye up and past her bare thighs to the black pleated skirt and glittering black top that hung off her shoulders. Her hair which was normally in her customary mushroom puff ball at the crown of her head, hung down in a glorious glossy black curtain around her shoulders stopping at her waist. She was stunning and not at all how he wanted her to look when he introduced her to the other women. But more importantly, not at all how he wanted her to look in front of the other men, which was ludicrous Roman reminded himself savagely. These men were happily married, and also, they were not insane. They knew he would gut them where they stood if he so much as questioned their interest in Rahina.

  She ignored the frown he purposely gave her as well as everyone else as she marched directly over to where
he sat at the end of the table next to Alexei.

  “What happened?” she demanded stopping in front of him. Lifting a hand to his face, she stopped just shy of touching him. Roman would be a liar if he didn’t admit he enjoyed watching her horrified look of worry as she examined his cut lip and bruised face.

  “Alexei and I got into a fight,” he admitted. He could practically feel Christelle’s scorching stare of resentment at him, thankfully she was a kind and fair woman who didn’t spare her husband the same look.

  “Who did you guys fight?” Rahina asked.

  The innocent question was met with silence. Roman could see Mikhail, who was still standing near the kitchen entrance, laughing silently.

  Shaking his head, Roman turned his attention back to Rahina. “I will explain it better later. Why are you dressed like this?” He demanded.

  Frowning because she wasn’t getting the answers she wanted, she looked over to Alexei as she answered absently. “I was doing an interview with a local entertainment channel for the upcoming performance. Alexei has an ice pack, where is yours?”

  Before he could answer, Christelle stepped closer, standing almost protectively at Alexei's shoulder as she stared wide-eyed up at Rahina. “I tried to give him one,” she began softly. “But he said he didn’t want one.”

  As if just noticing the woman, Rahina stood straighter and looked down at the smaller woman and smiled. “Oh hi, sorry,” she looked around behind her and finally noticed the other woman sitting at the other end of the table near Mikhail. "I'm Rahina. Sorry, I just barged in; I wasn’t expecting to see Roman beat up.”

  “I was not beat up, I won,” he felt the need to clarify.

  Alexei mumbled in Russian, but Roman chose to ignore it.

  “Rahina Chopra?” Misha, the other woman at the end of the table, said slowly.

  Turning in her direction, Rahina gave the very round pregnant young woman a dazzling smile as she looked back and forth to both stunned women. “Yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet both of you.” She waited expectantly for them to introduce themselves.

  Roman bit down a curse as he watched insecurity settle into both women’s eyes. Neither Mikhail nor Alexei had bothered to explain just who exactly their wives were going to be introduced to tonight. When he arrived, Roman had fought off both women’s inquiring questions about the mystery girl their husbands had been telling them about. Roman had gone along with it, partly enjoying their curiosity and thinking Rahina would arrive in her usual after practice clothing and introduce herself to the women. Now all three men watched with discomfort as Mikhail’s young seven-month pregnant wife and Alexei’s disheveled wife, who had spent the entire afternoon cooking for all of them, stared at the beautiful dancer who knew their husbands on a first name basis. Leave it to Rahina to turn his plan upside down.

  Alexei cleared his throat at the awkwardness in the room. “This is my wife, Christelle.”

  Reaching over Alexei's shoulder, Christelle offered a smile as she shook Rahina's hand. "I think I have seen you on TV.”

  Rahina was about to reply just as Misha chimed in. “I have too, you’re going to be in the new play with Yuri Gosev, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rahina nodded, pulling out the chair in between him and Misha to sit down. “You look so familiar; do I know you? Did you go to St. Helen's Catholic school? I can hardly remember my graduating class; I swear I am always running into people I went to school with but can’t remember.”

  Roman laughed, and Mikhail shot him a dark look. Misha was far too young to have graduated with Rahina. Roman took great pleasure in provoking the stoic bastard about the young wife he practically raised.

  “No,” Misha’s curly hair bounced as she shook her head with a smile. “But I know Yuri, I performed with him once.”

  Realization struck Rahina as she sat up straighter with an excited smile. "The violinist!" she exclaimed. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere when I was looking up some of Yuri's past performances, I came across yours with him. This is wonderful.”

  “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Christelle announced.

  “I would offer to help but…” Rahina made a grimacing face. “I have been told by numerous people my cooking is abysmal,” Rahina laughed, crossing her legs in her chair.

  It felt as if every eye in the room magnetized to the dancer’s long legs as she adjusted, Roman observed with a scowl. Looking up, he even noted Mosca, who was standing dutifully by the kitchen entrance, turning his gaze away.

  “Are you sure you don’t want this?” Christelle interrupted his thoughts, offering him an ice pack.

  “Yes, he does,” Rahina insisted, standing up to take the ice pack from Christelle. “Thank you.”

  Not waiting for his approval, Rahina stood next to him and pressed the ice pack to his face, ignoring his wince. Standing up to go help his wife in the kitchen, Alexei left them both to themselves at the far end of the table.

  “I feel like an overdressed giraffe,” Rahina whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me this was going to be informal, I would have changed before I got here?”

  Wrapping a hand around the back of her thigh, Roman resisted the urge to slide it up the length of the strong tapered muscle and squeeze. “Since you only seem to dress this way for other men, I assumed you would be fine.”

  He could feel her body tense beneath his hand, and he tilted his head back to give her a provoking smile.

  “How many times must I apologize for that?” she hissed.

  “When we get home tonight, I will tell you just how many.” he promised, enjoying the look of sexual awareness color her eyes.

  Pressing her lips together to hold back a smile, she grabbed his hand and replaced it where hers was previously holding the ice pack to his face and turned neatly in place facing Christelle at the kitchen counter.

  “Umm, I feel a little overdressed,” Rahina gestured to her outfit. “Is there any way I can run down to my car and grab my gym bag and change into some extra clothes I have.”

  Christelle gave her a large smile in return. “Sure, you can use the restroom next to the nursery. The door should be open.”

  When she reemerged later dressed in a wrinkled loose-fitting shirt and a pair of tights Roman could swear, he heard an audible sigh of relief somewhere in the room. Dinner went exactly how he expected it after that, the women kept the conversation going and occasionally asked for the men’s input. It was pleasant, Roman realized. Sitting down like this talking and surrounded by smiles and laughter—it felt like something only he childhood dreams contrived. But he knew he didn’t deserve it, to ask for this would be testing fate. Watching Alexei laugh at something his wife said or watching Mikhail as he silently stared at his pregnant wife with a tenderness no member of the bratva should ever be able to possess.

  Maybe for them. But Roman wasn’t a fool.

  Devils had no right to dance with angels.

  ~*~

  “I really enjoyed talking to Misha and Christelle,” Rahina called out from the bathroom where she stood freshly showered and combing out her hair in front of the vanity. She was wearing a plain black satin nightgown.

  When she came back to the dinner donned her in the look Roman dubbed as her “mushroom look” the awkward tension that Rahina noticed initially seemed to disappear. Which was totally understandable in hindsight, she realized, both women were just introduced to some strange woman both of their husbands had previously met. If she was in their place, she would have probably been more than just a little awkward, she would have drug Roman off by his ear for some explanations. The sudden visual stilled her, did she just imagine Roman as her husband in that scenario?

  Looking up at the mirror, she caught Roman's gaze as he stood wearing only a pair of gray lounge pants leaning on the bathroom doorway watching her. The bruising at his eye and lip was much darker now.

  Setting down the comb, she turned and crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Are you going
to tell me now, just who exactly you were fighting and why?”

  Roman shrugged. “I told you, I got into a fight with Alexei.”

  “You mean just you and Alexei, not together…as a team?”

  Roman laughed. “No, but if I had to get into a fight and I needed a wingman, I would definitely pick Alexei as back up.”

  “Why were you two fighting?” She didn’t understand at all.

  “A simply disagreement. I knew he would never stop sulking unless I let him hit me.”

  “But you hit him back,” she said, confused even more so now. How was letting Alexei hit him an apology?

  “Of course,” he said as if insulted by the idea.

  “That’s a terrible way of settling a disagreement,” stepping closer to him she tilted her head up to look at him and her heart fluttered. He hadn’t shaved today. Normally, Roman kept his wide jawline neat and shaven each day, but today she could see some of the dark hair trying to grow through. Unshaven and bruised and covered in tattoos, he looked exactly like the man people feared him to be. “You don’t plan to do this often, right?” she gestured to his bruised face. “I don’t think I could handle seeing you beat up like this.”

  Reaching for her waist, he gave her an admonishing click of his tongue as he pulled her against him. "I told you I won."

  Smiling, she let him pull her from the bathroom and walk her into the bedroom. “Mmm, but Alexei didn’t look as bad as you.”

  “Because his is mostly internal organ damage,” he grinned delightedly.

  She wanted to ask him why he invited her tonight. From the moment she sat down at the dinner table next to him, talking and laughing with the other women, she felt strangely out of place while feeling like she belonged at the same time. Was what they had even real? Was this odd relationship she had with this dangerous man going anywhere? When it first started, she wasn’t thinking about the future, she just wanted him. She wanted to be possessed by this man, touched by him. She wanted Roman to want her as much as she wanted him, and now—she found herself wanting the same thing all over again but craving something deeper.