To say that we were now deeply embroiled in all mafia business was putting it mildly. My family had been on Raphael’s shit list for years. But we’d painted giant fucking targets on our backs over the last several months. At least Raphael and the Gabbianos were in jail and on a fast track to prison. Raphael’s trial was coming up in a matter of weeks, and it was going to be a slam dunk. There was no way he could get off on those charges, boss or not.
But none of that was even our biggest concern at the moment.
My stress level rose as I listened to Dad explain the most recent developments and summarize the events of the last few months.
Two of my brothers had found love.
How fucking sweet.
God knew I was more than thrilled for Cris and Jasmine, as well as for Ace and his little spitfire Roxy. But ruminating over their newfound happiness grated in light of my current circumstances.
I remained silent as my brothers chimed in here and there over the line. All I could do was stew in the ramifications of my new situation and try to get my shit together. Which proved difficult because I could still barely wrap my head around it.
Married.
I, the confirmed bachelor of all sluthood, the King of Smartasses, was actually stunned speechless. I couldn’t come up with a single sarcastic quip, not one witty retort. Because nothing about this was funny.
Not one fucking bit.
Although, I’d damn sure had a response for everything Alexia “Lexi” Kozlov had to say to me earlier.
That sharp tongue of hers had pushed every one of my buttons, which had me asininely turned on in seconds. Not that such a reaction was anything unusual for me. A stunning woman spitting sass at me through red-painted lips? Fuck, that was like my kryptonite. I’d instantly boned up the moment she’d flashed that icy glare my way and told me to speak for myself.
You’ve fucking lost it, Rossetti.
She was obviously no more thrilled about this ridiculous arrangement than I was, which worked perfectly. Our mutual disdain would make it easier to avoid each other once we got back to the States. Christ, I was going to have a woman living with me. Sharing my space. Invading my privacy. Most likely frustrating the bejesus out of me.
I really hadn’t thought this through.
But I hadn’t had much choice in the matter.
“I think that about does it. Nico?” Dad suddenly asked, cutting into my spiraling thoughts. “You have anything to add?”
I hesitated for a moment, close to pussying out completely.
Just get it over with, jackass.
“Actually, yeah.” I cleared my throat when it started burning like hell. “So, uh, I kind of did something…”
Luka, one of the twins, chuckled. “What did you do this time, bro? Join the Communist Party? Screw the daughter of a Russian mafia boss?”
Everyone snickered through the speaker.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t laughing along with them. Hell, I was the one usually cutting up first. I was the one always dicking around, making inappropriate jokes at someone else’s expense.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
“No,” I said gravely. “But I married her.”
The line went deathly quiet.
And it stayed that way for an ungodly number of seconds.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Dad eventually barked.
All five of his sons were taller and bigger than him, but that didn’t mean Enzo Rossetti still wasn’t the imposing, intimidating patriarch of our family. He was a man you did not want to fuck with.
I swallowed, my mouth now dry as a desert. “I got married…to Sergei Kozlov’s daughter.”
“Sergei Kozlov?” Cris spat.
“The boss of the Russian mafia?” Rome, the other twin, followed up, sounding more shocked than I’d ever heard the former special ops sniper.
“The same.”
I drained the rest of the wannabe whiskey in one pull. It was the appropriate punishment for my half-baked, impulsive actions. Which normally served me well in my various business dealings. But in this case, I was afraid I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
I was now in bed with the Russian mafia…at least figuratively.
And my family didn’t have to say the words for me to know exactly what they were thinking.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I must have lost the plot because I didn’t know which was upsetting me more.
The fact that my father hadn’t been present at my own wedding, sham nuptials or not.
The fact that I was married to a cocky American stranger.