Monstrous Urges: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

I used to exist for revenge. It was the fuel that drove me and churned through me like molten lead. I was savage and brutal. Ruthless and unflinching. I had a single-minded approach to life and treated each day like it was a dragon I had to slay.

In many ways, that still summarizes who I am. I am still ruthless, brutal, and at times savage. I am still single-minded in my approach to life.

But I no longer subsist on a diet of vengeance and malice. I no longer feel the need to vanquish every single day that has been given to me.

I want to savor them now. Because now, for the first time in a long, long time, I can appreciate how precious a day is. How valuable each and every moment is.

That is, how precious each day with her is. How valuable every moment with Taylor is.

I’m not completely done with my vendetta against those who slaughtered my family. I have not chosen a path of compassion and forgiveness. That would be like asking a lion to stop it’s desire for blood.

But I don’t have to rush it anymore. I don’t feel the need to pour my everything into destruction and inflicting pain.

Fuck it. Let the few enemies I have left out there wait around nervously, dreading the day I’m ready to seek them out again.

I have far more important things to do right now: like attend my own wedding, which begins in about⁠—

I lift my wrist to glance at my watch.

Ten minutes.

At the altar, as I drop my wrist back down, I glance over to where Gabriel and Alistair are sitting in the front row, next to their respective wives. Alistair nods slowly at me, giving one more seal of approval. Gabriel smiles in a way that suggests he’ll be coming after me with a flaying knife should I fuck this up.

I can respect that. I also appreciate the protective zeal of these men. They met Taylor when she was alone in the world. They befriended her. They protected her. They built an empire with her.

More importantly, they were like brothers to her.

Brothers, and nothing more.

I might be singing a different tune if that wasn’t the case, but I digress. As it is, if they’re waiting for me to fuck this up, or even looking forward to it so that they can get their pound of flesh, I’m afraid they’re going to be bitterly disappointed.

I’ll never fuck this up. I’ll never hurt Taylor. I’ll never leave her. I’ll never wrong her.

I never want another day of my life without her in it, at my side.

My gaze shifts to the maid of honor, standing across the dais from me. Behind Annika, the waves crash softly against the shore of my island as she gives me a small smile.

Taylor wasn’t quite sure if this is where we should get married. After all, this is where I lost my family, and where we both almost lost each other.

But it’s also where I fell in love with her.

We’re still going to live in New York, of course. Taylor has her firm there, newly expanded in the wake of the acquisition, and I have most of my business there these days too. Plus, we’ve got Annika there now, living in Taylor’s apartment.

Studiously avoiding the subject of Kenzo Mori.

I have my own theories about that. I have my own information about that, too, having dug into it myself. I’ll be interested to see where that all goes. But like I said, for now?

…I have far more important things to think about.

The draping vines of flowers covering the top of the aisle between the guests’ chairs part. The warm Mediterranean sun beams down as she walks through: her eyes shining, her face radiant, her hair piled into a stunning and elaborate twist on top of her head, and her gorgeous white silk dress fanning out behind her.

There’s still a slight limp to her step. The bridge collapse a few months ago crushed her fibula in three places, requiring surgery and a bunch of metal pins. But she’s walking these days—without the cane she hated so much. And physical therapy is helping a lot.

The…recreational running I’m helping her with, personally, seems to be helping things along as well. So much so that I fully expect to get more “recreational running” in this very night after the festivities.

In case that isn’t clear, I don’t mean marathon training.

I mean chasing her through the dark.

Catching her.

Savaging her.

The dress will be staying on for that.

She grins at me as she comes to a stop in front of me. Our hands lock as the celebrant begins to say the words.

She says I do.

I say it, too, with the most conviction I’ve ever felt about anything in my life.

Then I’m scooping her into my arms and planting a merciless, brutal kiss on her mouth as the small crowd stands and applauds. The string quartet to the side starts to play “Into the Mystic”, Taylor’s favorite Van Morrison song, as I take her hand in mine.

I tell her I love her.

She tells me she’ll remember that, no matter what.

And I’m smiling widely as we turn and face the world.

Together.