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Wary Wolf/ Naomi Porter -- 1st ed.

ISBN 978-1-952423-63-5
WARY WOLF
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 1

Wolf

A coldness raked down my spine and dread engulfed my soul, canceling the joy I’d felt for my
brother, Ire, and his new wife. When Maddox hollered at Storm, the mood shifted from light to dark,
and the old ladies’ lively and sexy performance, was totally forgotten.
I followed the Prez and Track, who ran toward the front of the clubhouse, leaving Ire and Ava’s
wedding reception. The guests stayed where they were. They knew how stuff worked in the MC and
didn’t dare push the line despite their curiosity.
I couldn’t go faster than a slug; my feet felt stuck in quicksand. And then…
Trepidation churned in my gut.
My heart ricocheted in my chest.
I couldn’t breathe as I made out the shape of a woman sitting on a bench next to the building. Were
my eyes playing tricks on me? No, my mind was playing tricks on me. It couldn’t be her. I squeezed
my lids shut and rolled my hands into fists to force myself back to reality.
It didn’t help. My ears dialed into the voices surrounding me, and my gaze settled on her. I held my
breath, refusing to let my wild imagination make me crazy.
It’s not her…
Storm put his hands up slowly. “You’re safe here. We won’t hurt you.”
“Raymond, where’s Raymond?” Her voice shook with terror and uncertainty. Storm was right; she
didn’t need to be afraid of us. Nobody would harm her.
“How do you know him?” Track asked, moving closer toward the girl. “He’s my brother.”
My muscles spasmed, and I felt a magnetic pull guide me to the front of the crowd.
The frightened mouse faced my MC brothers, clearly terrified, but her strength shone as she
continued, “I was told to find Raymond. Is he here?”
A protectiveness I hadn’t felt for anyone other than my Jill swelled inside me. I didn’t need
confirmation from the meek woman to know she was the girl who’d haunted my dreams and
controlled my every thought. Yet, I couldn’t move.
“I’ll get him. Who do I tell him is asking for him?” Track asked.
 “Rosa, Rosa Remotti.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “He’s supposed to help
me.”
That did it. No one would help her but me.
I pushed a couple of guys out of the way, tore off my cut, and threw it. My heart felt like it would
burst out of my chest as I removed the white button-down shirt I’d worn for the wedding. I crept
toward Rosa, careful not to startle her, and put the cloth around her.
She shook and turned her face up to mine. Her mouth fell open, and her soulless hazel eyes went
wide.
“You look cold, princess. Can I take you inside to warm you up?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“Please don’t hurt me.” Tears streaked down her face, and I nearly lost it.
“It would kill me if I hurt you.” Not giving her a chance to deny me, I lifted her tiny, featherlight
body and cradled her against my broad chest. Christ, she was so cold and frail. And smelled like she
hadn’t cleaned herself in weeks, maybe months.
“Wait, what did you want to tell Raymond?” Track darted in front of me.
I bit my tongue, almost shouting at him to get the fuck out of my way. But I refrained for the sake of
the printsessa. Printsessa, printsessa, I said to myself in my native Russian language. Finally, after
months of searching and dreaming about Rosa Morrison Remotti, the Mafia printsessa, she was in my
care.
“That the servant girl is dead. I’m sorry.” Her body shook, and I’d had enough of my brother’s
questioning.
“Shh, princess.” I moved around Track and carried her inside. “You’re safe now. I’ve been
searching for you for a long time. I will never let anyone hurt you again.” My words came out like a
vow. One I’d die before breaking.
“Thank you,” Rosa rested her head against me, and her body went limp.
I glanced down, finding her eyes closed. “Rosa?”
Nothing.
“Rosa?” I listened for her breathing, fearing she’d died in my arms like Jill.
A soft moan set my heart at ease.
“Wolf, Patch is coming,” Sugar said from behind me. “Take her down to one of the dorm rooms. I
heard her directions but didn’t listen, going up the stairs to the counsel’s wing. “Wolf?”
I growled and tightened my embrace.
“Okay, I’ll tell Patch where to find you,” Sugar replied in a confused voice.
I couldn’t explain my actions. All I knew was the printsessa needed to be safe, and I could protect
her better in my suite. Nobody would bother her in my private room. She could use my bathroom
without eyes watching her and sleep in my bed while I guard her.
I shifted the precious package to hold her with one arm and unlocked my door. I’d almost given up
on finding her before Raymond’s abduction.
You fool, curse you.
“Wolf,” Storm said at the door, “I know what you might be feeling, but—”
“You know nothing of what I feel.” I placed Rosa on my bed and covered her with a knitted
blanket. She curled into a small ball on her side and exhaled. I had many questions, but they could
wait.
“You’re right. But you can’t keep her in your room.”
“Watch me.” I brushed the hair off her forehead. She would not leave my sight until I said.
“Fuck, Wolf,” Storm growled. “It’s unhealthy to obsess over this woman the way you have. When
the Remottis arrive, they are taking her.”
I whirled on him. “Get out.”
“Jesus Christ, you’ve lost your mind.”
I pulled my handgun from the back of my pants. “The only people allowed in are Patch and Libby
to examine Rosa. Libby can help her shower. I want to see no one else. You get me, Prez?”
“Yeah, I get you.” Storm stepped backward. “Don’t forget who you answer to. I’m giving you a
pass for pulling your gun. Do it again, and I won’t be so forgiving.” He stomped down the hallway
and the stairs.
I shut the door and stared at Rosa. What had she done to me?
I owed Storm my life and had never disrespected him. He’d kept my secrets from my brothers to
protect me even when there could be blowback on the club. I sagged against the door, filled with
regret.
A soft knock made me jump away from the door.
“What?” I hissed.
“Wolf, it’s Patch and me,” Libby said.
“Come in.” I guarded Rosa with my gun in hand behind my back. Blood would be shed if Storm
and the others tried to overtake me.
“Hi, honey.” Libby gave me a tight smile.
Patch nodded. “Can you step out for the examination?”
“No.”
Libby’s gaze bounced nervously from Patch to me, back to Patch, then me. “Um, just stay at the
door with your back to us, okay? She needs privacy and to know she’s safe.”
“She’s safe with me,” I snapped.
Libby gulped. “I know, honey. But she may not know that, having only met you minutes ago.”
She made a good point. “Fine.” I let them pass and went to the door, keeping my back to them.
I tucked my gun into my waistband for quick access. Thought it better to put it there instead of
holding it in my hand. I was on edge and jumpy. Not a good combination when handling a firearm.
“Rosa, can you wake up, dear?” Libby asked in a kind voice.
I peered over my shoulder. Patch and Libby were beside each other like a wall, blocking my view.
I didn’t like it.
Rosa moaned like she didn’t appreciate them bothering her. I almost told them to leave and return
later, but her well-being was my top priority. If she had any injuries, they needed to be dealt with
now.
“My name is Libby, and this is Lincoln Steward, the club’s doctor. You can call him Patch,” Libby
told her.
“Okay,” Rosa replied.
“Do you know where you’re at?” Patch asked.
“Yes. At Raymond’s club. A biker club, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Patch opened his medical bag and removed a stethoscope. “May I listen to your
heart and lungs?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been sexually assaulted?” Libby asked.
I whirled around on the verge of snapping if Rosa said yes.
“No, almost, but no,” Rosa whispered. “I’ve only been beaten and starved.”
Only beaten and starved? She made it sound like it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever been through.
 “Any broken bones?” Patch asked. “Like your ribs?”
“Mhm, I think so. Or maybe just badly bruised.”
I seethed at her every word.
“Well, we’ll examine you, and then you can shower,” Libby said. “I’ll get you clothes and food.”
“What about him?” Rosa whispered.
“Do you want Wolf to leave?” Patch asked.
Every muscle in my body turned to iron. I was about to bark, “Hell no,” when…
“No, I want him to stay.”
“Very well. Let’s get started,” Patch replied.
I faced the door and pressed my forehead against it. Relief rushed through me like a wild river.
Finally, I would have peace, a little anyway, after feeling like I’d let Rosa down when I couldn’t find
her.
What frightened me most was the insane desperation I felt at the thought of letting her go.
Naturally, her family would take her home. She should be safe with them, but I knew all too well that
family couldn’t always be trusted. Sometimes our blood relatives were the most dangerous monsters
to roam the earth.

Wolf—Ten Years Old…

A crash made me jump. Glass shattering into a million pieces was a sound I recognized as well as I
did my mama’s voice.
Struggling and grunting followed. Papa’s voice boomed off the walls, but I could not understand
him.
I turned the page of my comic book and tried to tune out the fighting. But nothing helped when I
heard my mama’s pleading voice. “Stop it, stop it.” I pressed my palms to my ears. My attempt to
drown out the sounds outside my bedroom was futile.
The door suddenly burst open, and my older brother appeared. He entered with a familiar
coldness in his eyes and acted like nothing was happening in the kitchen. He kicked the door shut and
sat on the corner of my bed. He studied me in an uneasy way, as if he were concocting a plan that
involved me. My heart raced, but I wouldn’t show weakness.
Kira was five years older than me, tall and fierce, and a hellraiser. He and Papa were close, more
like friends than father and son. Sometimes Papa called him partner. Kira often went to work with
Papa instead of school, which Mama disliked. I suspected today’s argument was because Kira had
been out all night again. Or perhaps it had to do with the gun she’d found in his underwear drawer.
“Chto ty delayesh’, malen’kiy brat?” What you doing, little brother?
Papa would be angry if he heard Kira speaking Russian. We were only allowed to speak English,
a rule Papa showed no mercy when broken. He wanted Kira and me to be fluent in English so we
could succeed in the business world. I didn’t want to be a businessman like him. His work was
dangerous and bloody. At least, that was what Kira had told me. Blood made me ill.
I had no idea what to do when I was older. I may not have a choice in the matter.
“Reading.” I held up the comics.
“Chitaya knigu?” Reading book?
“Mhm.”
“Eto skuchno.” That is boring. He grabbed the comic book from my hand and smirked as he
flipped through the pages.
“Give it back,” I said in a demanding tone.
Something crossed his face. His smirk vanished, and his jaw twitched. “Are you a boy or a man?”
His question confused me. “I am ten, so a boy.”
“No. Not good answer.” He rose to his full length and slapped me across the face. “Boy or man?”
Tears burned behind my eyes and down my throat. I couldn’t cry in front of Kira. He would laugh
at me and brag about it to his friends.
“ Mal’chik ili muzhchina?” Boy or man?
Why was he asking me this question? “Man!” I shouted up at him from where I sat on the floor.
“Man!”
Kira threw the book in my lap. “Reading is for boys.”
“Kira, come!” Papa yelled from the kitchen.
“I teach you to be man another day.” He knocked me upside the head and left.
I glowered at his back and blinked back tears.
When I heard the front door slam shut, I ran out of my bedroom to find my mama. No searching
was needed. Crying came from her room.
“Mama, you okay?”
“Bring ice pack, malysh.” She was brave to call me baby boy. If Papa and Kira heard, she would
be punished.
I quickly retrieved what she needed from the kitchen and avoided the broken glass on the floor. I
would sweep after I took her medicine, water, and ice pack.
“Here, Mama.” I set the items on her bedside table.
“Thank you, malysh.”
I cringed, my heart racing at the term of endearment. She must not call me baby boy for her safety.
Slowly I looked at her face. A black eye was forming, and she had a cut on her cheek from the
rings Papa wore. I ran to the bathroom for a bandage, a cotton ball, and alcohol.
Without prompting, I cared for her while she lay still on the bed. She made no noise or showed
signs of pain. Mama was strong. It could be because Papa hit her often the same way Kira hit me.
When struck many times, we got used to it. A slap did not sting anymore and felt like a caress.
Although a punch in the face or stomach was worse, we bore the brunt of the assault to not show
weakness. I stayed in line better than my mama. Poor Mama, she hated everything Papa did these
days.
When I finished cleaning and bandaging her cut, I hugged her gently. “Sorry, Mama.”
“Shh, do not apologize for your papa.” She combed her fingers through my dark hair and kissed my
head. “Never apologize, malysh.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Go clean the mess before he comes back.” She pushed me away. “Do not speak of this.”
“Yes, Mama.” I left her room and grabbed the broom and tray. As I swept the shattered glass,
anger burned through me like a forest fire. I hated how Papa beat Mama. Hated when Kira hit me.
How do I protect her and myself when I am only a boy?
I remembered Kira’s question, “Are you a boy or a man?”
I need to be a man for Mama.
Later that night, when I lay in bed listening for Kira to come home, I made my decision. I wanted
my brother to teach me how to be a man like him, a fearless hellraiser. Someone needed to protect
Mama. It would be me.
 2

Rosa

The pretty blonde combed through my wet hair while I shivered, wrapped in a large towel perched on
the toilet seat. I didn’t have the energy to do anything for myself, weak and exhausted from my
journey. Just breathing took it out of me.
She kindly helped me into the soothing water in the shower, and washed the weeks of dirt and
grime off my body. I would’ve been embarrassed, mortified even, to have someone care for me in
such a personal way, but I didn’t have the strength to care about anything.
Every so often, Libby tossed a clump of my dark strands into the trash bin. My hair was falling out
and getting caught in the brush. She said nothing about it or made sounds of shock. Again, I didn’t
care. I was finally safe, not that I believed it would last long.
The doctor, Patch, had told me I was malnourished. It was no surprise. Since escaping Dorian’s
thugs, I’d only eaten a few times a week the past couple of months. The servant girl, DA-Eight, had
done her best to scavenge for food while hitchhiking from town to town and gave me most of it. She’d
had it in her head that I was more valuable than her, begging me to eat to preserve myself, so I could
return home. When I’d told her she needed to do the same, she’d said she didn’t have a home to return
to. My heart had shattered for her. I owed her so much for all she’d done for me, stealing clothing and
money from carnies and shoplifting when we were desperate.
Food had been the last thing on my mind when I no longer had her support, resourcefulness, and
street smarts.
A lump caught in my throat as I thought of Julie. I’d named her when she asked me to. The sparkle
in her watery blue eyes and genuine smile made me happy I’d selected a name she liked. Julie hadn’t
smiled often. When she did, she’d been talking about Raymond.
“There, all the tangles are out.” Libby placed the brush on the counter and squirted lotion into her
palm. She looked at the cream and bit her bottom lip. “I should’ve asked if you wanted me to rub this
on you.”
I studied the globs and sniffed. “Mmm, cocoa butter. I wish I were sunbathing on a beach in
Hawaii.”
“You and me both.” Libby winked and lowered onto her knees. “How about your legs and feet.”
“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this.” She wasn’t my personal assistant like I had at my
family’s estate. Libby didn’t work for me, so letting her tend to me felt weird.
“I don’t mind. Jeez, after everything you’ve been through. A little pampering might be nice.”
“It’s more than nice.” I forced a smile and looked at the closed bathroom door. A cold bolt shot
down my spine and made me tremble. “Do you trust the man out there? He won’t hurt me, right?”
“Wolf? Oh gosh, he’d rather die a hundred deaths than hurt a hair on your head. If there is anyone
you can trust, it’s him.” The adoration in her green eyes set my mind at ease. I didn’t recall hearing
someone speak about another with such high regard, especially about a man.
“He sounds like a dream.” I was doubtful, despite how convincing she sounded. No man was
trustworthy. They all had darkness in them and were selfish. Only some hid it better than others. Some
could ward off their greedy desires, but most succumbed to depraved inclinations.
“Oh, girl. You have no idea. Every kitten has worshipped the ground Wolf strutted on since I’ve
been around, almost five years now.”
“Including you?” I peered at her through my dark eyelashes.
“Yes, including me.”She rubbed the lotion into my feet, careful not to aggravate the blisters on my
soles and toes. “The growly, grumpy man is a biker god.”
“Interesting.” It was apparent she had a crush on Wolf. “He looks older. I didn’t get a good look at
him, but…” My voice trailed as shame washed over me for making assumptions.
“He’s in his mid-thirties. Nowhere near old,” she snickered. “I’d say he was in his prime. He’s the
most eligible bachelor in the club.”
“Hmm.” Why was he single if he was the cat’s meow? “And what’s a kitten?”
“A club girl. We service the men.” She beamed with pride as she worked the cream into my
calves. “Well, there are only a few single guys around. Most are married.” She frowned like she was
bummed about it.
“If this Wolf is such a terrific guy, why hasn’t he found himself a woman?” I snapped my mouth
shut, realizing my thoughts had left my lips.
Sadness dulled her bright green eyes. “He lost the love of his life almost two years ago. She died
in his arms.”
My heart seized as I imagined the enormous man holding a dying woman. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t
be so nosy.” I pushed her hands off me and reached for the leggings she’d brought. “Help me, please.”
“Of course.” She considered me, likely forming opinions about me. I wished I could hear her
thoughts. People treated me with respect for most of my life, but I knew they talked behind my back
and hated me for being a Mafia princess, a term I despised. They had no idea what it was like to have
their life controlled by others or told who to marry. It was my duty as a Remotti to do whatever the
family needed to grow the business, even become the wife of an abusive man.
Of course my family had no idea who Stephen Morrison had really been, that he had no intention
of ever having sex with me to create an heir. I’d been repulsive to him because I had a pussy and not a
dick.
The T-shirt fell to my thighs and was about ten times too big.
“I should’ve brought a smaller shirt.” Libby grimaced and bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. He
insisted you wear it.”
“Who’s he?”
“Wolf.”
 “Why would he do that? I could’ve worn something of yours.”
“Yes. Well, bikers are fickle men. It’s my job to not question them.”
“Hmm. Sounds a bit like Mafia men.” My oldest brother, Ciro, had forced me to change my clothes
more times than I could count. It was a power play to keep me in line and to know who had authority
over me, usually when I tried to flex my independence.
“Exactly. Are you ready to go out there?”
“Sure.”
When we exited the bathroom, Wolf flew out of his chair. His face was red and sweaty. A blast of
heat hit me like I’d entered the Amazon rainforest during a scorching spell. The hum of a space heater
in the corner stole my attention.
“It feels like an oven in here.” Libby spoke the words I was too afraid to let leave my lips.
“She was freezing.” He nodded to the square box and wiped his brow. “Thought it would heat the
space faster.”
Wow, Libby hadn’t been embellishing about Wolf at all. “Thank you. You can turn it off if you’re
overheated.”
“I’m not. If you are, I’ll shut it off.” Was he crazy? Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and
into his dark, gnarly beard. His cheeks looked like they were on fire, and he panted a bit.
“Um…” I glanced at Libby.
“How about turning it off to see how her body temperature regulates itself.” Libby guided me to
the bed and tucked me in. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with some food.”
“Thank you.” I tugged the blanket under my chin, my gaze never leaving Wolf’s.
He swayed on his feet, then turned the heater off and sat in the chair beside the bed. We just stared
at each other for the longest time. Usually, I would’ve ripped my eyes away in an awkward situation,
but I couldn’t. Some invisible force kept them locked on his wary blue eyes.
It almost seemed as if he was staring at a ghost. Or maybe he didn’t appreciate me invading his
bedroom.
“Thank you for letting me stay in your room.” I needed to break the silence if he wouldn’t. Show
him I wasn’t a shy, spineless woman. “But I can go to another one if you’d like.”
“I wouldn’t like that,” he snapped in a low voice.
“Oh, but why?”
He struggled to answer me. His forehead wrinkled and his breathing got faster. “I need…” He
leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “I need…”
“Need what?”
The door opened, startling Wolf. He flew out of his chair and pulled out his gun. “Shit, Lib.”
“Sorry, sorry!” She froze and stared at Wolf, shamefaced. “I should’ve knocked first.”
“It’s fine.” He put his handgun away.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” She set a tray beside me on the bed.
“This is great. I appreciate you so much. I doubt I’ll eat it all.” I laughed awkwardly. “I’m just so
tired.”
Wolf instantly placed his hand on Libby’s back and directed her toward the door. “She must rest.”
“Okay, I’m leaving. Storm needs to speak to you,” Libby told Wolf.
“Not now.” He pushed her out and shut the door.
“Eat a little, then rest.” He pointed at the tray.
“Okay.” I picked up the mug filled with some kind of soup. I inhaled the aroma and hummed in
delight. I didn’t care about the sweltering heat. The soup would soothe my soul. “Chicken wild rice is
my favorite.”
His features relaxed as if pleased. His blue eyes never left mine while I ate a third of the soup and
nibbled on a dinner roll.
When too full to eat another bite, I scooted farther under the covers. “I’m going to sleep now. You
won’t leave, right?”
“No. I won’t move from this spot.”
Strangely, I believed him and melted into the comfortable mattress. “Okay.” I yawned and fluttered
my eyelashes. “Thank you.”
He grunted his reply. The deep gravelly sound was the last thing I heard before I drifted off to
sleep.

“Please, no.” I caught as the pressure around my throat tightened. “Please, I have money. Lots of
money.”
“Sure you do, and I’m the Easter Bunny.” The fair worker held me down and unbuttoned his
pants. For a trim guy, he had no problem overpowering me.
My heart hammered in my chest and reality set in. God help me. How many times would I have
to face violence? When would I ever be safe?
No answer came.
There was one thing I knew for sure. I would never wear a dress again, so men couldn’t easily
access my intimate place.
“No,” I cried as he tore my underwear off.
“Shut up, whore!” He pushed his weight on me. “You should’ve never come around if you didn’t
want to play.”
It wasn’t my idea. Julie had said we’d find food and shelter. Where was she?
He licked my cheek, and his breath stunk. I struggled more fiercely, fighting for my life and
freedom.
“Help me!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help me!”
“Argh!” Came from behind me, then the carnie was knocked off me. “Run, Rosa. Run!”
I held onto my throat, rolling on the dirt and gasping for air.
“Run!” Julie’s blood-curdling scream had me jumping to my feet, but I couldn’t leave her
behind.
“Going somewhere?” A deep, menacing voice startled me. Before I could react, he grabbed me
around the waist.
I vaulted into a sitting position, panting and gasping for air. Wholly disoriented and scared for my
life, I scanned my surroundings. Vaguely recalling when I’d arrived at the biker club, the crowd of
burly men questioning me, and the one named Wolf who’d carried me…
He’d brought me into this room, and I was in his bed. I was safe and clean, not hiding in a field or
shrubs, dirty and starving, and wincing in pain with every step I took.
 Safe, you’re safe.
And I must have slept all night because daylight filtered through the blinds and brightened the
room.
I gasped and covered my mouth when I noticed Wolf lying on his side, staring at me with a stricken
face. His thick arm was secured around my waist, which must’ve been what I’d felt while sleeping.
Nobody had grabbed me. It was only a nightmare, part of it anyway. Some of it had really happened.
Wolf didn’t move a muscle. Neither did I. His intense blue eyes were focused on me, and he
seemed to be holding his breath.
Seconds turned into minutes. I didn’t know what to do and tried not to freak out. What on earth
was going on? Why wouldn’t he say something? Why did he keep his arm on me in a possessive hold,
or maybe in a protective one?
“You’re safe,” he muttered. “You’re safe.”
“I, I’m…” I stuttered, unsure of what to say.
“You’re safe.”
“Okay, thank you.” I gathered my hair into a ponytail but didn’t have a hair tie, so I pulled it over
my shoulder. “Why aren’t you moving?”
“I wasn’t sure you were fully awake. Patch told me not to wake you when you were having a
nightmare. I could cause you more harm.”
I blinked in confusion. “Oh. When did Patch tell you that?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“What? That makes no sense. I wasn’t here yesterday afternoon. I arrived in the evening during the
reception.” Which reminded me. Whose celebration had I interrupted? I felt horrible about it.
“That was two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” My body shook and emotion bubbled in my chest. “I don’t remember anything
from yesterday.” Oh my gosh. Was I losing my mind?
“Calm down, printsessa. You’ve been asleep the whole time. Right now was the first time you’ve
woken up during a nightmare.”
I collapsed against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. “That’s crazy. I’ve never slept that long
before.”
“Patch said it was normal after everything you’ve been through. He checked on you throughout the
day. One time you were having a nightmare. He told me to lie beside you to keep you from hurting
yourself. So you’d feel safe.”
I was stunned. “What time is it?”
“Morning. After eight or nine.”
I rolled onto my side and faced him. “You’ve been next to me the whole time?” I should have been
pushing him away, screaming because a strange man was in bed with me, but I didn’t.
“Yes.”
“When did you eat?”
“I haven’t.”
“What about going to the bathroom?”
“I haven’t.”
My mind was blown. “You didn’t have to go to such extreme measures.”
He cradled my cheek. “Yes, I did.” His thumb stroked my skin as he stared into my eyes. An
indescribable feeling burrowed in my soul. All my unease faded away, and peace soothed the
brokenness inside me. “I will go take a massive leak, then call for food. Will you be okay?”
 I cradled his cheek as he did mine, wanting to show gratitude for his attentiveness and dedication.
I didn’t have an ounce of shyness touching him. “Yes, please go relieve yourself.”
He leaned into my hand, nodding, then got out of bed. The connection I’d felt seconds ago was
broken when he stalked away from me and entered the bathroom. A cold emptiness filled the room
when the door closed, leaving me barren and desolate.
How ridiculous was I? I didn’t know this man, yet his absence nearly brought me to tears. Fear
and sadness swirled like a funnel cloud in my soul, building strength and confusing me.
What’s happening?
I wrung my hands, eyeing the bathroom. Even knowing he wasn’t actually gone, I was on the brink
of breaking. His words whispered in my head, “You’re safe. You’re safe.” I believed him, but then I
didn’t. My gaze shot to the bedroom door, then back to the bathroom.
Hurry, Wolf. Open the door, so I can see you.
I gazed around the understated room with tan walls to get my mind off the biker god. His bedding
was a solid navy blue, and the furniture was dark stained with clean lines. Nothing in the room was
fancy or feminine, no curtains on the windows or pictures.
On my right side, I noticed a photograph in a silver frame sitting on the nightstand. Could it be his
beloved?
Removing the covers, I sat on the edge for a closer look. My body shook, and my heart raced as I
stared at her. She was attractive with dark-framed glasses, ice-blue eyes, and short brown hair. She
had a fashionable hipster look about her. Shame on me, but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman to
be with a biker like Wolf.
I shut my eyes, wishing I could unsee her. The toilet flushed, and suddenly I had to pee. Power of
suggestion, no doubt.
Standing, I took three wobbly steps like a newborn fawn and collapsed. “Ah!” I landed hard on the
wooden floors.
“Printsessa!” The door flew open, and Wolf scooped me up before I could tell him I was okay.
“What are you doing? You’re like a weak kitten, printsessa.”
“I need to pee.”
“Oh.” He turned around and went back into the bathroom. “I’ll help you.” He steadied me on my
feet.
“No, I can do it.”
“Pfft. No.” He tugged my leggings down like the action didn’t faze him. Thank God I had on his
oversized T-shirt, so he couldn’t see my lady parts. “Sit.” How could he treat me as if we were
friends or something more when we had only met two days ago?
Naturally, I obeyed the giant biker god. But nothing happened. “I can’t pee with you staring at me.”
My face heated with embarrassment.
He wrinkled his brow, perplexed. “I’ll turn around.” And he did. His butt was in my face as his
large form filled most of the entrance. My God, he was a beast. Broad shoulders, thick tattooed arms,
a great-looking ass. Dorian’s goons, and my father’s, couldn’t hold a candle to Wolf. If I put him in a
two thousand-dollar Italian suit and his long hair into a ponytail, he’d be every woman’s wet dream—
and a terrifying mafioso.
Earth to Rosa. Pee already. “Um, I’m not sure turning your back is enough. I’ll be okay in here.”
A low growl vibrated off the walls of the modest-sized room. “Don’t get off the toilet when you
finish. You could fall and hit your head on the counter.” He tapped the corner of the surface.
At least he was willing to compromise. “Okay. I’ll call you when I’m done.” Because it was
totally normal to have a stranger, a biker god, put me on the toilet and help me off. Whatever. After
the hell I’d been through, allowing Wolf to care for me was a piece of cake.
He seemed satisfied with my response and left, shutting the door behind him.
I exhaled in relief. My poor bladder was screaming at me. Yet it took a bit to relax and do my
business, knowing my protector was likely listening. If he’d recently lost the love of his life, maybe
he’d seen her pee… before she died.
Stephen, the man I’d been forced to marry for my family to form an alliance with the Morrisons,
never saw me do anything in the bathroom. I preferred it that way. I hated Stephen.
I felt clearer-headed and sane this morning. Sleeping for more than twenty-four hours definitely
helped. I still couldn’t believe I’d been out so long. Most days, I’d felt like a zombie, constantly
looking over my shoulder, fearing one of Dorian’s henchmen would find me and drag me kicking and
screaming back to Coby… my fiancé, the monster who’d bought me.
I shuddered at the idea of marrying that psychopath. Julie had told me what he’d done to his sex
slaves. Outrageously, hideous evil acts, kinky shit like blood play and pouring liquid wax on them,
and mutilations. No woman in her right mind would marry a monster like him, which was why he’d
bought me after my goddamn husband had sold me.
Apparently, a virgin Mafia princess from a prominent Sicilian family was worth half a billion
dollars to Coby. My stomach roiled, wholly disgusted.
What if Dorian and Coby found me at the club?
My hands shook, and my heart rate thundered against my ribs. You’re safe. Wolf won’t let anything
happen to you. At least I didn’t need to worry about going home to Stephen. According to Dorian, my
husband was dead. Was I sad? Hell no. But I still stressed over my future.
I exhaled a slow, cleansing breath and checked out the bathroom to calm down before calling
Wolf. His bathroom was spotless—not even a smudge on the mirror. The sink and facet sparkled like
he hadn’t used them minutes ago. My brothers were messy and relied on the maids to keep their suites
and bathrooms clean. I missed them, but I was also nervous to see them.
A soft knock pulled me out of my thoughts.
“Come in.”
The door opened and he stared at me. Wolf was not the kind of man I was used to. Remottis only
dressed in the finest clothing from Italy, our homeland. Wolf’s jeans were faded in all the right places,
showing years of wear and tear. His plain black T-shirt and leather vest made him look important. I
couldn’t help but admire his beauty and wish we’d met years ago. Although my family would have
never given me their blessing to be with him.
“Stand slowly, so you don’t make yourself dizzy.” His large hand went under my armpit, and I
followed his instructions with my gaze locked on his. “Good. Don’t move.” He squatted and tugged
my panties up, then the leggings. The tips of his fingers grazed my skin, eliciting tingles between my
thighs and a tightness in my chest.
“I need to wash my hands and brush my teeth,” I said in a breathy voice.
“Okay.” He moved me in front of the sink and stood behind me, so close I felt his warmth envelop
me like a fuzzy, cozy blanket.
Never in my life had I felt a magnetic draw to a man, especially not a gruff, brooding biker.
I quickly washed my hands and felt his eyes on me in the mirror. I didn’t steal a glance. The way
he stared at me at all times felt strange. I didn’t understand why he looked at me so much. I wasn’t
attractive like his beloved. My face was thin and had lost its glow, and my eyes had dark bags under
them. My hair was falling out, and I was skin and bones—hideous and sickly.
 His thick arms reached around me, and I froze. He took the pink toothbrush out of its packaging,
put toothpaste on it, and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I’d almost said I could do it, but he’d already taken care of it, so what was the
point?
I brushed my teeth for a long time. No matter how much I scrubbed them, they didn’t feel clean. I
would make an appointment with my dentist once back in Canada for a thorough cleaning.
My legs wiggled, so I leaned one arm on the counter to avoid falling.
“Enough.” Wolf snatched the toothbrush from my hand and put the cup of water at my lips.
“Rinse.”
I swished and spit into the sink. “Are you always so bossy?” I dried my mouth.
“Yes.” He swept me off my feet and carried me to the bed. “You’re overdoing it.”
“I was fine.”
“You almost fell.”
“No, I didn’t. Besides, you would’ve caught me, right?”
He growled, appearing done with me. “You need to be careful.” He tucked me in and took out his
phone. “Any allergies?”
“What?”
“Are you allergic to anything? Peanuts, shellfish, dairy, anything?”
“Oh, no.”
“Libby, she’s awake. Bring a big breakfast. I’m starving.” He ended the call.
“I’m sorry you’re starving. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Darkness crossed his face as he stared at me, displeased. I turned onto my side and put my back
toward him. Something hurt deep in my soul I couldn’t put words to. I didn’t understand what was
happening to me, but it didn’t matter. I was sure Ciro would arrive any moment to take me home, and
I’d never see Wolf again.
 3

Wolf

Out of my hair? She couldn’t possibly believe I was put out having her in my room. It was the
opposite. After months of searching for her, my demons were finally quiet, and it had everything to do
with Rosa Remotti.
I dropped into the chair across from her, unsure how to respond to her comment. So I said nothing
while I watched her. What was going on in her head?
She fiddled with her nails as my mama used to when she avoided talking to anyone. She’d always
had a lot on her mind and never spoke about it. Fear had kept my sweet mama silent.
Could Rosa be afraid of me like Mama was of Papa? Had I come on too strong and pushy?
Shit, I knew I had been domineering, but I couldn’t stop myself. The printsessa was weaker than a
newborn kitten. How could I let her take care of herself? She needed me. And I needed to protect the
young woman. Young. How young?
“Rosa?”
“Hmm?” Her gaze cut to mine in a flash.
“How old are you?” My stomach tightened, sensing she was much younger than me.
“Twenty-two. How old are you?”
“Older than you.” I sank into the chair, disappointment dragging me down.
“How much older? I can tell you’re in your thirties.” She sat taller in the bed, and her features
seemed light and curious.
“Thirty-six.”
“That’s not so old.” Her reaction wasn’t what I expected. “My brother Ciro is thirty-seven. Roman
is thirty-two, and Luca is twenty-nine.”
“They’re quite a bit older than you.”
“Yes. We don’t have the same mothers. Well, Roman and Luca do.” Her deep brown eyes teared
up. “The Mafia life is dangerous. Enemies always go for the wives and children when they retaliate
or just want to knock off il Padrino… the Godfather. I don’t expect to make it to thirty.” She sniffled
and wiped a tear off her cheek.
A soft knock launched me out of the chair. “It’s Libby,” I told Rosa to put her mind at ease, but I
wanted to wrap her in my massive embrace and protect her so she could live a long, happy life. Of
course it would be foolish to make such promises when she’d fall in love, and her husband would be
the one to keep her safe.
“Hi. Breakfast has arrived.” Libby held the tray in front of her as proof.
“Come in.” I opened the door wider and peeked out into the hallway. No one was around, to my
relief. At some point, I’d have to talk to Storm. I dreaded that conversation and wasn’t ready for Rosa
to speak to Prez either. I wanted more time with her, which was stupid. She needed to return home
with her family. Will they keep her safe? They better.
“You look a million times better,” Libby told Rosa and set the tray on the bed.
“I feel better than I have in weeks.” Her voice had a girlie influx she hadn’t displayed and rose
several octaves. Dammit, she was adorable. Adorable and young.
I stalked to the end of the bed to observe their interaction. My obsession with Rosa had been
amplified since having her in my possession. The need to protect her at all costs was all-consuming. I
would attack any man or woman if they dared to harm her.
It’d been agonizing to watch Rosa have nightmares and be unable to save her from whatever evil
threatened her. She’d screamed, thrashed on the bed, and cried. I’d never seen anything like it, and it
fucking gutted me that I couldn’t do a damn thing to protect her.
But now she was rested, brown eyes sparkling as she spoke to Libby and ate her breakfast, and my
heart pounded like a drum. The only other person I’d ever felt, something remotely close to how I did
now, was with my Jill.
“Oh my gosh, this is delicious. Wolf, are you going to eat?” She patted the spot next to her. “Come
on. I know you’re starving.”
I grunted and got comfortable beside her.
“Don’t get mad.” Libby cut her gaze at me. “Storm said you must see him today if you want to see
tomorrow.”
Rosa gasped. “He’ll see Storm after we eat.”
“Don’t speak for me,” I snapped and instantly regretted losing control.
“Yikes. Wolf’s obviously grumpy because he’s hungry.” She put her hand lightly on my thigh. “Eat
so you’ll feel better before seeing Storm.”
Libby stared at us with a confused expression. “Okay. I’ll tell Storm you’ll come down after you
eat.”
“No,” I barked. “He can come up. I will not leave Rosa.”
“Wolf, I’ll be okay.” Her words didn’t match the hesitation in her voice. Gone was the light and
relaxed tone she had a moment ago.
“Listen, I’ll tell Storm to come up. Whether he does it or not is up to him.” Libby went to the door
and opened it. “Also, Ciro and his associates will arrive this evening. Bye.” She rushed out and
slammed it.
I growled and flew off the bed. “She should’ve told me about Ciro immediately.” I was losing
control and unhinged. Fuck, what was happening to me?
“What’s going on? It shouldn’t surprise you that my brother is coming to retrieve me.”
I faced her and couldn’t speak. Jesus fuck, she was absolutely right.
“Wolf, please sit and eat. I feel bad enough for invading your life and the sacrifices you’ve made
for me.”
 My anger disappeared. “Don’t speak like that ever again.” I dropped onto the bed next to her. “Do
you hear me?”
She swallowed thickly. “But it’s true.”
“No, it isn’t.” I lifted her hand to my lips and held it there, holding her gaze captive. “I can’t
explain what’s happening, what I feel. If I am too much, tell me.” After losing Jill, I didn’t think it was
possible to love another. I couldn’t say I loved Rosa, but I couldn’t deny how my heart raced when
she was near me. I hated the idea of never seeing her again.
“No one has talked to me the way you do. Or touched me with tenderness.” Tears pooled in her
brown depths.
“You deserve the best of everything, printsessa.” I doubted anyone could give her what she
needed except for me. Don’t be a fool. You can’t give her what she deserves, either. You’re too old
and a biker. Her family would disapprove.
I was running on little sleep and not making any sense, even to myself. I didn’t want to be with
Rosa. How could I when I didn’t know her? But…
“You’re a sweet man, Wolf. What does printsessa mean?”
“Princess in Russian.”
“You’re Russian?”
“Da.” I winked at her. “Yes.”
She studied my face. “I would’ve never guessed.” A sadness turned her smile into a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re not too much.” She caressed the side of my face. “I will be sad to leave you. You’ve made
me feel safe and cared for, something I haven’t experienced in years.” She pushed the tray toward me.
“Eat. I’m tired.” She scooted under the covers and rolled onto her side away from me.
I shoveled forkfuls of eggs and potatoes into my mouth, ate whole sausage links in one bite, and
washed it down with coffee. I couldn’t stand to see Rosa curled into a ball and alone. She needed me,
and I would be there for her. So I inhaled the food Libby brought, not once savoring it. I only wanted
to fill my belly so I could lie with the printsessa for a while before Storm blew in and destroyed the
friendship developing between Rosa and me.
Friendship? You wish for more.
Quiet!
Prez would crash through my bedroom door like a destructive hurricane and demand I leave Rosa
alone. He would stand between her and me in the name of brotherly love and loyalty when Ciro came
to collect her. I wasn’t sure what I’d do when the time came…
Chewing the last bite, I set the tray on the floor and lay beside Rosa. “Printsessa, is this all
right?” I spooned her, and my large body swallowed hers as I put my arm across her hip. It pleased
me when she didn’t flinch. I could protect her better this way.
“You must’ve heard my silent prayers.” She melted against me. “I don’t know what’s happening
either. I just know I like it.”
“Good. Now rest.” I inhaled her scent into my lungs, searing it into my memory. What would I do
when Ciro arrived? Everyone would think I’d lost my mind. Perhaps I had. I didn’t care. The draw to
Rosa Remotti was out of my control, a force stronger than me was at work, and I wasn’t about to put a
stop to it.
“If you’re Russian, did you live in Russia, or were you born in America?” Her innocent question
made my muscles lock up.
“No talking, printsessa. You need rest.”
 She sighed and patted my hand. “Okay, but I want to hear about your life, Wolf. What’s your real
name?”
“Timur Orlov.” A sour, bitter poison coated my tongue. I hated lying, but Rosa could not know
who I really was—no one could. No one but Storm, and he’d sworn to take my secrets to the grave.
Shit, even friendship with Rosa was dangerous. Everyone closest to me, those I loved, had died.
When the time came, I had to set her free. Knowing she was in her family’s care would give me
peace… it had to. My obsession would come to an end.
I watched the door as I listened to her sleep. It’d been an hour since we ate. Any second, Storm
would arrive, and I couldn’t have him find me in bed with Rosa. If word ever got back to Ciro, there
was no telling what he would do to me.
The Mafia was a lot like MCs. Ciro would torture me and have great joy doing it. Rosa’s brother
was a powerful, worldly man who could destroy my life with one phone call. The blowback would
be catastrophic for Knight’s Legion MC, and I would not wish such devastation on my club family.
Carefully, I lifted my arm off Rosa and got off the bed. Pull yourself together. Your mission is
over, and Rosa is mostly intact. Emotionally, it’d take years, but she’d never forget the hell she’d
been through.
I sat in the chair and combed my fingers through my messy long hair. Going forward, I would keep
a distance between us. It was for the best for both of us.
A firm knock at the door jolted me and woke Rosa. Her hand went behind her to feel for me. When
she felt an empty spot, she lifted and sought me out.
“I just got up.” I went to the door and opened it.
“Oh.” She adjusted herself and fixed her hair.
Storm steely gaze bore through me. He didn’t look happy, though he seldom did when his wife and
children weren’t around. He was a serious man and reminded me of my brother in many ways. Only
Storm had a beating heart, whereas my brother did not.
“Are you coming in?” I jerked my chin to enter.
“Not yet.” He backed away from the door and gestured to step out into the hallway.
“We’ll be right out here, Rosa.”
“Okay.” She gave me a small smile.
I closed the door and didn’t move away from it.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” Storm launched right into his ass chewing. “Do you know
what the buzz is in the club about you and the Mafia princess sleeping in the same bed? Jesus Christ,
Wolf. You’re unhinged, and that ain’t okay with me. If Ciro finds out you’ve been alone with his
sister, I’m not sure I can protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That’s your reply?” He shot a lethal glare at me.
“Didn’t mean any disrespect, but I don’t expect the club to save my ass. Whatever happens, just let
it happen.”
“I hate your god complex.” He pointed at me. “It needs to stop. The wild goose chase you were on
searching for Rosa and turning up empty fucked with your head, brother. You made it your personal
mission, and it wasn’t.”
“What’d you want me to do? She was held against her will and sold to fucking Coby Adrienne. I
couldn’t carry that knowledge and not try to find her.”
“And now that she’s here, you’ve taken it upon yourself to guard her twenty-four-seven. A
prospect could stand guard. Nobody will fuck with her in the clubhouse.” He blew out a frustrated
breath. “You gotta stop, brother.”
“I’m seeing it through, Storm. Unless you plan to strip me of my patch or lock me in the quiet
room, I won’t stop until she’s…”
“Until she’s what?” Storm growled.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m done. Let’s talk to Rosa.”
I didn’t move or open the door. “Go easy on her,” I told him in a warning tone.
“You really are trying my patience. Now move the fuck out of the way.” Prez shook his head.
I got it. I couldn’t believe how I was acting either.
Entering my room first, I watched Rosa. She didn’t seem scared or nervous. After the hell she’d
been through, it shocked me how with each passing minute, she became more assertive. Perhaps it
was due to her background being from a powerful Mafia family. In a crime family, the dirty business
wasn’t easy to hide. The Remottis were known worldwide, so Rosa couldn’t have been in the dark.
“Good morning,” she said to Storm.
“Morning. How are you feeling?”
I closed the door and stayed by it while they talked.
“Much better, thank you.” She gave him a small, guarded smile.
“I won’t beat around the bush. What can you tell me about the servant girl and Dorian Adrienne?
And just so you know, Dorian and Coby are dead.”
Her eyes went wide. “They’re dead? How do you know?”
“I saw their expired bodies.” Storm cut his gaze at me. He’d never tell her what happened to
Dorian in the dungeon or Tina’s part.
Rosa sat forward on the bed. “I’m shocked. When did they die?”
“In July.”
A sob bubbled out of her, and she put her hand against her chest. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”
“It’s okay. Take your time,” Storm told her.
Dammit, I almost went to comfort her. I could see it in her eyes. She wanted me to, but I wouldn’t
with Storm in the room.
“Julie might not be dead if we’d known Dorian and Coby were no longer a threat.” She reached
for a tissue and dabbed her tears.
“When did she die? How did she die?” Storm asked.
“We were in Wyoming at a small fair.” Rosa’s bottom lip trembled. “She was caught stealing from
a worker. Carnies are what she called the people there. It was the second one we’d been to. At the
first fair, she’d saved me from a drunk man trying to assault me.”
Rage exploded inside me.
“But I couldn’t save her when she needed help.” She buried her face in her hands. “I wasn’t strong
enough. “She yelled at me to find Raymond on my own. Her last words were, ‘Survive for both of us.’
Then he slit her throat.”
I was done.
“It’s okay, printsessa.” I took her into my arms and held her while she cried. “You honored her
wishes. You survived.”
“I should’ve saved her,” she sobbed against my chest. “I let her down.”
I knew her pain. Said the same thing after I left Russia nearly two decades ago and when Jill died
in my arms. I couldn’t save the two women I loved most, but I wouldn’t let Rosa down too. Whatever
she needed, whatever she asked of me, I would do. No one, and nothing would stop me.
 4

Rosa

Storm sighed like he was annoyed. It was wrong to seek comfort from Wolf. I knew it was, but he’d
immediately made me feel safe and oddly comfortable. It was almost like I’d known him my whole
life.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled away from the biker god and regained my composure before we both got into
trouble. Wolf with Storm, and me with my family. They would never approve of how close we’d
been. I didn’t want to imagine what my brothers might do to Wolf. Ciro, especially. Since his
girlfriend left him, he’d been unbearable.
“It’s okay.” Storm dropped his gaze to the floor. “You’ve been through a lot. But rest assured,
Dorian’s organization has been dismantled. He and his brother can’t hurt you anymore.”
“That is comforting.” I dried my eyes. “When will Ciro arrive, exactly?”
My brother wouldn’t want to stay in Minnesota long. He didn’t like being away from the estate,
but I wasn’t ready to go home. After I married Stephen, my family let him control me. He’d abused me
right under their noses during our short, three-year marriage. To add insult to injury, my father and
brothers had ignored me when I’d told them how awful Stephen had been to me. Because I didn’t
want to marry him, they’d believed I was trying to get out of it. I hadn’t forgiven them and didn’t trust
them to put my best interest before the family.
“After lunch.” Storm crossed his arms over his broad chest. I’d never met him before, but he was
attractive in a severe, all-business sort of way. “Raymond would like to see you, and we’re having
church at eleven before Ciro’s arrival.” He cut his gray eyes at Wolf. “I expect you to be there.
Maddox and Sugar will watch over Rosa.”
I waited for Wolf to reply this time. I wouldn’t speak for him as I had earlier. My burst of
confidence had dwindled after Storm got here. He had an intimidating aura, one I wouldn’t dare
disturb.
“I’ll be there,” Wolf muttered and went to the door, opening it.
“Good. Rosa, I’ll let you rest for a while before sending Raymond up with his mom and dad.”
 “Thank you, Storm, for everything.”
He nodded as he left the room, and mercifully, the tension went with him. I exhaled a relieved
breath and wilted against the pillows.
Wolf shut the door without saying anything to his president and faced me. “Are you okay?”
“He’s intense.” Not that I wasn’t used to men like Storm and Wolf. Mafia men were equally
intense and violent, many without a soul. “But I’m okay.”
“You’re leaving today.” He sat on the bed beside me, a lost look in his denim-blue eyes.
I swallowed a walnut-sized lump in my throat that instantly sprouted. “Yes. Thank you for taking
care of me. If it weren’t for you, I’d be a basket case.” I laughed awkwardly, doing my best to lighten
the mood.
“No.” He considered me for a long second. “You’re a strong woman. We all have limits, and when
we go past them, we break. You didn’t. You’re a survivor.”
“Can I tell you something?” I trusted Wolf more than anyone, which was crazy after only knowing
him for two days. And most of the time, I’d been asleep. But he emitted a trustworthy vibe, and I was
confident he’d never harm me. “Just promise you won’t tell anyone.”
“You have my word.”
“I’m afraid to go home.” I diverted my gaze away from his when a deep wrinkle appeared
between his brows.
“Why?”
“The family business comes before me,” I told him in a low voice as if my father or brothers might
overhear. “As the only girl, I have a responsibility to help form alliances with marriage.”
“Arranged marriage?”
“Yes. It doesn’t help that I’m still a virgin. My father and brothers will use that to their advantage.
I’m a transaction, nothing more.” I closed my eyes to keep the hot tears from falling.
His warm hand cradled my cheek. “You’re not a transaction. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, kind
woman. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
I sniffled and wiped my tears away. “I wish there were more men in the world like you, Wolf.
Strong and deadly, but soft and protective toward women.”
“What about my handsome good looks?” He tugged on his wild beard.
I giggled softly. “Oh yes, you’re attractive and apparently funny. You’re the whole package, a biker
god.”
“So are you, printsessa.”
Whenever he called me princess in Russian, it tugged on my heartstrings. I wondered if it was
something he called every woman, a term that had little meaning but was sweet nonetheless. I wasn’t
anyone special, definitely not the love of his life. Had he called her princess too?
“I should get ready.” I threw back the blankets.
“I’ll help you to the bathroom.” He was at my side with his hands on my waist.
“Thank you.” I sucked in a breath when my stomach flip-flopped. It’d do no good to politely refuse
his assistance. He’d overrule me. But honestly, I’d relish every second of his attention, and touch,
until we said goodbye.
I wished Wolf was by my side as I looked into the heartbroken face of this young boy. Raymond and
his parents arrived only minutes ago with a woman named Sugar and her son, Maddox. Wolf had
promptly left to attend the meeting Storm had called.
This was the most challenging discussion I’d ever had, and I was alone with people I didn’t know.
Although Wolf had assured me I was safe, his comforting words had done nothing to help me give
Raymond an account of what had happened to Julie.
“We know this is difficult for you,” Tina said kindly. “Take your time.”
“Mom,” Raymond said her name in a painful tone. Poor guy was eager to hear what happened to
Julie, DA-Eight, but his parents were understanding and likely knew what I’d been through.
I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure how much to say. Julie wouldn’t want you to hear what she went
through. She wanted you to live your life to the fullest.”
“She’d told me she didn’t have a name.” His dark depths shimmered with emotion.
“I had named her Julie. I didn’t like calling her DA-Eight.”
“How about you tell us about the day she died,” Raul said. “Not the details, just the events of the
day.”
“I can hear what happened to her,” Raymond snapped at his dad. “I’m not a baby. I can handle the
truth.”
“All right, big man.” Raul gave his son’s shoulder a squeeze. “Tell us what happened.” He flicked
his almost black eyes at me.
I launched into the sordid tale and focused on what I felt were the essential details to help
Raymond process everything. Julie wouldn’t want him picturing her being beaten and raped, so I left
that part out, but I sensed he knew she had been sexually assaulted by the way his jaw clenched.
“Going to county fairs was Julie’s idea. She thought we’d blend in with the carnies. And we did.
No one had questioned us at the first one in Rapid City.” I paused for a second. “That is until men
noticed us, and one tried to assault me.”
“How did you get out of Minnesota?” Raul asked. “The day of the exchange, didn’t Dorian’s
henchmen have you?”
“Yes. We’d been loaded into an SUV, our heads covered. But Julie had a knife tucked into her
pants and had managed to kill the driver. We’d thought there was more than one in the vehicle, but
there wasn’t. The others had left in a different car.”
“Julie killed the guy?” Raymond almost smiled.
“Yeah, she did. Hours after the driver stopped, Julie made her move. Turned out we were in South
Dakota.”
“Then what?” Raul asked.
“We wanted to get as far away from Dorian as possible, so I drove the car until we ran out of gas.
It was stupid. They could’ve traced the car. We took what little cash the driver had on him and
walked until we got to Rapid City.”
“And it never occurred to you to call your family for help?” Raul stared at me like I was an idiot.
 “My family had married me off to Stephen Morrison. How was I to know if they were involved
with Dorian or not? Not once had they protected me from my husband.”
“Ciro took care of your husband.” Raul eyed me as if not wanting to say exactly what my brother
had done to Stephen. “Yes, I know now, but I didn’t months ago.”
“You poor thing.” Tina put her arm around Raymond’s shoulders. “I understand completely. It’s
difficult to know who to trust sometimes.”
“Yes, it is. But I knew I could trust Julie.”
“Me too.” Raymond nodded. “I want to know how she died.”
“She was murdered. Her throat slit.” I let the words tumble out of my mouth unbidden. I wanted
this conversation over with after Raul had asked why I didn’t call my family. My stomach was in
knots and queasy. Ciro would arrive soon, and I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. Even if he had
killed Stephen, how could I trust him?
“Jesus,” Raymond hissed and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “Fuck,” he cried.
“I’m sorry.” Tears rained down my face. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save her. She was my friend and
sacrificed herself, so I could escape.”
“I’m not surprised.” Raymond turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.
“I’ll go after him.” Tina rushed out.
“I’m sorry.” I sat there crying and trembling as the memory of Julie’s death crashed through me.
“Shh, it’s okay.” Sugar pulled me into her embrace. “That’s enough for now, Raul.”
“I don’t have any more questions. Thanks for your time, Rosa.”
I dialed into his footsteps, the door opening and closing.
“Can I get you anything?” Sugar rubbed her hand up and down my back.
“I don’t know how I will face my family. They’re going to be angry that I didn’t contact them when
I had the chance. But how could I? They’d forced me to marry an awful man who sold me to a
monster. I can’t go through that again.”
“Oh, honey.” She squeezed me tighter.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“What would you do?” I pulled back and met her gaze. “Please, I can’t go through with another
loveless marriage.”
Sugar stared at me with compassion. “I can tell you what I’d do but can’t tell you what to do.”
“Mom,” Maddox said her name in a low warning growl. “Don’t.”
“Son, leave us alone for a few minutes.”
My eyes ping-ponged between the two.
“You know what will happen if Storm finds out you advised her wrong.”
“I don’t want to get you into trouble.” I reached for a tissue. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“Maddox, give us a few minutes,” she told her son sternly.
He glared at his mother and left. His aura reminded me of Storm’s, intense to the nth degree.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” I dabbed my eyes.
“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help you? Us women need to stick together.”
“I wish I had more friends like you.” After graduating high school, I lost touch with my friends. I’d
gone to an all-girls, private Catholic school. Was the only girl from a Mafia family and had kept my
guard up.
“Every woman in this club would have your back. Maybe not the kittens, but they don’t count.”
Sugar winked with a smile. “And from what I can tell, you also have Wolf on your side.”
 My face heated. “He’s been very attentive. I’m sure I’ve been a pain in his butt, like a younger
sister.” Although, my brothers would never spoon me how Wolf had done. Gross. I shuddered to think
of sleeping with one of my brothers.
Sugar snorted. “Oh no, honey. He doesn’t think of you as a sister at all.”
“How can you tell?”
“You can’t tell the difference?”
“I, I guess…” I diverted my gaze and looked at the woman in the photo. “Maybe a little, but what
about her? His beloved.”
“Yes, that’s Jill. In February, it will have been two years since her death.”
“How tragic.” My throat constricted.
“Any time we lose a loved one, it’s devastating. I lost my husband to cancer but found love again.”
“When did your husband die?”
Sugar took my hand. “Eight years ago. I’m proof there is love after loss, and I’ll tell you a secret,
my man and I are having a baby. The club doesn’t know yet.” She put her finger to her lips. “And it’s
early still. We don’t want to announce anything until the second trimester.”
I smiled wide. “I am so happy for you. Your wonderful secret is safe with me.” I squeezed her
hand.
“Thank you. I wouldn’t worry about Wolf.”
“He hasn’t crossed the line.” Suddenly I was ready to defend Wolf if needed. “In fact, our age
difference seems to bother him.” Why did I say that? You’re recovering from trauma. Just stop
talking.
“I can see that. But age is just a number. You’re not a minor; he isn’t old enough to be your father.
In my way of thinking, you two are totally fine if you decide to be together.”
“Really?” I asked in a stunned tone.
“Yes. Do you have feelings for Wolf?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what I feel other than safe with him.”
“That’s a good start. I wouldn’t overthink. Just let nature take its course.”
I smiled and stared at the door, wishing Wolf would return to spend more time with him before
Ciro took me back to Canada. What good would it do? He wasn’t a powerful man in our world. My
brother respected Storm, the Knight’s Legion MC’s president. But respect wouldn’t be enough to give
his blessing for me to be with Wolf. No alliance would be formed. There would be no advantage for
my family except for my happiness, which meant nothing to my father and brothers.
I might as well put any thought of Wolf out of my mind now.
 5

Storm

I didn’t fuckin’ need these kinds of complications in my life. Angel was a month out from having
Chase. She was amazing as always and rarely ever complained. I just wanted to spoil her and take the
load off her shoulders so she could relax until our son was born.
Copper and Ryder were constantly on my mind. I worried about their safety in prison and what
serving time might do to them. It’d be years before either of them was out.
Meanwhile, I had a new distraction Grizzly, and I had been dealing with, one I hadn’t mentioned to
my brothers. I didn’t like hiding shit from them, so today was the day I’d tell them about RJ.
Entering the large room where church was held, my brothers eyed me suspiciously. Ciro had
interrupted us and wanted to speak privately, so I’d gone to my office.
“The plans have changed,” I grumbled and poured myself two fingers of bourbon. “Ciro isn’t
coming today after all.”
The relief on Wolf’s face pissed me off. I worried about my brother’s heart and his life. The
Remottis weren’t to be fucked with. The Knight’s Legion MC ruled the Upper Midwest, but the
Remotti Mafia family had connections worldwide. They occupied several countries and were a force
I would be stupid to cross. We only searched for Rosa because Ciro had asked for our help, and I
didn’t want the Mafia in my territory.
I should’ve never let Wolf have so much control over Rosa. He fuckin’ wasn’t thinking straight,
and his emotions were leading him astray.
“So then what?” Hero asked. “She’s staying here until when?”
“Oh, she’s still leaving today,” I said through gritted teeth. “Ciro wants a crew to take her home.”
Hero threw his hands up. “Since when does Ciro call the shots around here?”
“He doesn’t. We’re doing him a favor.” I cut my gaze at Wolf. “You’ll take Rosa with two men.
Whoever you want, but not Maddox. I need him here.”
My cousin was taking on more responsibility in the club. During the shit storm with Dorian, he’d
proven capable of protecting the compound and Valerie. I was fuckin’ proud of him. He was ready to
get patched in. I’d do the ceremony on his twenty-first birthday and then groom him to take over as
president. The position had always been meant for one of the twins, Maddox or Markey. They were
my uncle’s firstborn sons, and the title of the president went from father to son, but they’d been only
kids when Matt died, so the honor had gone to me. I didn’t want to think about what I’d do after
Maddox was sworn in and held the gavel.
“Are there any volunteers?” Wolf asked the room. “I’ll also take Arctic.”
“Take Hollywood. The rest of us have our families to care for.”
“I can go,” Ire said.
“No way, brother. You just got married.” I shook my head.
“Ava would understand.”
“I’m sure she would, but Hollywood can go. He’s the only single member with no ties, so it falls
on him.” My gaze met Grizzly’s. I couldn’t afford to be without him. He was searching for RJ, and
Libby wasn’t fully healed since she’d been shot while impersonating Brynne. Grizz wouldn’t want to
leave her, even if Toby was around to care for her.
“I agree with Prez.” Hero clasped his hands on the table. “We got too many new babies in the club
and are still securing the compound after Coby blasted through the gate. Hollywood and Arctic get my
vote for going with Wolf.”
“Does anyone object to sending Hollywood and Arctic?” I asked.
Heads shook around the table.
“Done.” I hit the gavel on the table. “You’ll leave this afternoon,” I told Wolf.
“How long will we be in Canada?” Wolf’s question caught me off guard.
“You’re just driving her home. Nothing more.”
He grunted but didn’t seem thrilled about the up-and-back trip. Not my problem. Wolf needed
distance from Rosa before he got himself killed.
“Next up. I received a letter in June that’s fucked with my head. I hadn’t said anything about it
because I wasn’t sure if it was legitimate.”
“A letter from who?” Boxer asked.
“I don’t know. No return address. All it said is, ‘RJ’s blood flows in South Dakota. Knights will
burn in hell.’”
“Fuck,” Boxer hissed.
“Any idea what the fuck that means?” Hero asked.
“No. Grizz has been working on it, but nothing yet.”
“Jesus, Knights will burn in hell? Do we have any enemies in South Dakota?” Lynx asked.
“My dad’s club has the largest territory. Nothing stands out. Why would they send me the note and
not him if it was a threat? And who’s RJ?”
“Obviously, initials for someone,” Lynx said.
“Obviously. Grizz is vetting every person he finds with the same initials, but it takes time. Every
time something pops up at the club, he has to drop what he’s doing. I just wanted to fill you in because
I know I’ve been a cranky bastard.”
“Nothing unusual there,” Track snorted. Damn, I was glad to have him home.
“Do not speak of this to anyone. Not your old ladies or God. You hear me? I will cut out the tongue
of anyone who speaks of RJ.” I pointed at every man. “I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”
My brothers grunted and nodded. They would honor my request or suffer the consequences. There
wasn’t much I asked of them, like now. I knew they wouldn’t let me down.
“Should we tighten security at the compound?” Dodge asked.
 “Yes, it wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll amp up training the prospects.” Boxer crossed his arms over his chest. “Ire and I will turn
them into fearless warriors.”
“Good. Markey’s still soft compared to Maddox. I’m not sure about Jax. He’s not as reliable as
the others.” I flicked my gaze at Dodge. “What do you think? Can he be trusted?”
“That’s a tough question, Prez. He’s Emilee’s brother. She’s protective of him, but with Justin and
Mickey always gone… Well, I really don’t know.”
“I get it. Not everyone is cut out for the MC life. Justin wanted Jax to have a chance, but I’m not
sure about him. Keep him on bike detail and watch him closely. The first time he relapses, even if it’s
only weed, he’s out.”
“Yes, Prez.” Dodge shifted in his chair. He was in a rough spot between his wife’s happiness and
loyalty to the club. Emilee was an intelligent woman. She had to see what I saw. That didn’t mean she
wanted to acknowledge Jax’s shortcomings.
“Okay. Wolf, you get your crew together. The rest of you know what to do on your end. I’m going
home to my Angel and Birdie until supper.” I hit the gavel on the table ending church.
I left the clubhouse and strolled home, inhaling the country air and admiring the small
neighborhood on the property. I was proud of the development at the compound. Uncle Matt would be
too. He and my dad had been complete opposites. Matt was a family man, fiercely protective, and an
exceptional father to his twin boys.
My old man had sucked as a human being and a dad. After he married Jane, he’d started to change,
but I’d never forget how he treated my mom and fucked around with the club girls. I had difficulty
believing he’d remained faithful to Jane, but I hoped he had been.
I checked out Ire and Ava’s new home from my front porch. It should be finished before
Thanksgiving.
It’d be great if my closest brothers lived on Mayberry row. It wasn’t an actual street, but calling it
Mayberry reminded me of Uncle Matt, and Sugar had told me he would’ve loved it, so I had a sign
made. I wasn’t usually sentimental, but I loved my uncle like a father, and there wasn’t anything I
wouldn’t do for him.
I went inside and followed the sweet chatter coming from the TV room. “Where’re my girls?”
“Daddy!” Birdie squealed and ran to me. I lifted her into the air, kissed her cheeks, and inhaled
her sweet innocence into my lungs.
“How’s my Angel?” I eyed her on the sofa, her feet propped on the ottoman. She rubbed her belly
and gave me a heart-stopping smile. My God, she was gorgeous and fuckin’ beaming.
“Good. Just waiting for my man to come home so I can drool over him. You know you are the
sexiest father I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh yeah? How many fathers have you been checking out, Angel?” I growled her name the way
she liked.
“Stop it. Nobody is as good as you.”
I sat beside her, putting Birdie on my lap. “I feel the same about you, baby.” I sealed my lips to
hers, and the whole world faded away. These girls and my unborn son were my life. My MC brothers
felt the same way about their families. It was crazy how our lives had changed over the past few
years… and for the better.
“When will Ciro arrive? Snow plans to avoid the clubhouse.” Her blue eyes met mine. “He
reminds her of Casso.”
“He’s not coming after all. Wolf is taking Rosa and a crew with him to Canada.”
 “Oh. Do you think he should be the one taking her? He’s obsessed with her, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know. He would’ve challenged me if I forced him to stay.”
Her eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t do that to him. Using my position as president to control him is shitty. He’s a grown
man and knows the consequences of his actions. I won’t get between him and her.”
Maddy caressed my cheek. “I love you so much.” She pulled my face toward hers. “You’re an
incredible man, Kaleb Knight.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, Angel. I’m doing my best to deserve you and our children.” I
kissed her again before she tried to convince me I was worthy. I knew I wasn’t an awful and unfair
man. Before Maddy, I’d been consumed by darkness and guilt for my part in her brother, Tommy’s
death. So every day, I tried to be a better man for her.
 6

Wolf

“Yo, Wolf!” Boxer shouted from behind me. Should’ve known he’d follow me.
“What?” I stopped in the hallway outside of the bar.
“Brother, what the hell?” His face was inches from mine, the toes of our boots touching. “I haven’t
seen you since Rosa arrived. I’m concerned.”
“I’m watching over her. That’s all.”
“Is that all it is? You’re her personal bodyguard?”
“Something like that. I need to go.” I stepped around him and was stopped when his hand grabbed
my forearm.
“Wait,” he hissed. “I’m not finished talking to you.”
I tugged my arm out of his grasp and faced him. Boxer was the last person I wanted telling me to
stay away from Rosa. He was my best friend and Jill’s brother. His opinion mattered more to me than
anyone else, which was why I couldn’t talk to him.
“Are you okay? This shit with Rosa consumed you for months. I know she’s messing with your
heart, but she’s Mafia. They won’t let you be together.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean what about me?”
“Do you have any objections about Rosa and me?” Might as well own my intentions.
“Is something going on between you two?” he whispered.
“No.” So much for owning my intentions. Pussy.
“Shit, you scared me.” Boxer exhaled with his hand on his chest. “Don’t go there, brother. If she
wasn’t connected to Remotti, I’d wish you all the best. But she’s Casso’s cousin.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes, but that family doesn’t fuck around. If they want you dead, your days are numbered.”
“And what do I have to live for exactly, brother? Jill wouldn’t want me to be miserable. She’d
want me to love again.”
 “You sure about that?” Boxer snorted. “My sister was a jealous woman, and you know it.”
I slammed him against a wall and clamped my hand around his throat. “Do not speak about Jill that
way.” I squeezed my hand tighter. “She loved me and would want the best for me.”
Boxer gagged, trying to get my hand off his neck.
“What’s going on?” Ire asked from behind me. “Let him go.”
“We’re having a talk.”
Boxer’s eyes bulged, pleading for his life. I didn’t have an ounce of regret in my blood. He had
crossed the line, but I overreacted. The idea of him or anyone getting between Rosa and me set me off
in the worst way. Mentioning Jill’s jealous nature was the nail in the coffin.
“I said, let him go, or you’ll have me to deal with.” Ire bumped his chest into my back.
“Mentioning Jill’s jealousy was a low blow.” I released Boxer and pointed at my best friend. “I
don’t need this drama. Talk bad about Jill again, and we’re done. If you can’t leave it alone about
Rosa, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you chopped up by Ciro and sent home in a box with a red bow on
top.”
“If it comes to that, then I deserved it.”
“Fuck, you’re not thinking straight.” Boxer rubbed his neck.
“I disagree,” Ire said. “Do what you want, brother. You only have one life to live. Don’t let anyone
stop you from being with Rosa if that’s what you want.”
“Shut up, man.” Boxer glared at Ire. “I don’t want to lose my best friend.”
“You almost did with the shit you said,” I snapped at him.
“And I said I’m sorry. Truly, sorry. Just be careful.” Boxer gripped my shoulder. “I love you,
brother.”
“Same.” I gave him a brotherly hug. “I’ll see you when I get back.” I headed upstairs.
“If you need anything, call me. I’ll be in Canada so fast Ciro-fucking-Remotti’s head will spin.”
“Will do.” I raised my hand.
I knew I could depend on Boxer to have my back, the entire club, for that matter. But they didn’t
deserve the fallout because I was a determined, bullheaded man. Hell, if I knew what would happen
with Rosa. I didn’t have a plan. No intentions. I was just following my heart, which I even knew was
dangerous. And I was okay with it.
“Wolf.” Maddox raised his chin in greeting.
“Any problems?”
“Nope.” He moved to the side so I could unlock the door.
“Thanks for guarding her.”
“You got it, brother.” He winked and strutted down the hallway. I appreciated his directness and
minimal words. He was a lot like Storm.
I opened the door and found her in the same spot I’d left her, but wearing different clothes.
“Hi.” She smiled and sat up on the bed.
“How’d it go with Raymond?” I shut the door and locked it.
“It was emotional. I cried.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I seem to be crying all the time. It’s
exhausting.”
“It’s okay to cry.” I sat next to her. “As time passes, it’ll get easier.”
“Good, because I’m so over it.” She considered me. “How are you? You seem tense.”
“I’m fine. Ciro isn’t coming.”
“What? Why not?” Her face brightened. It killed me how she didn’t want to return home, but I
understood fearing the one place you should be safe.
“He had to go to Italy on business and wants us to take you home.”
“Of course. Business before family. God, I wished he’d have his own family. Maybe they would
help set his priorities straight. But I doubt anyone would mean more to him than the business. He lost
his girlfriend because he wouldn’t commit to her.”
Interesting. “Having a family is dangerous when you’re a criminal.”
“Some women are okay with the dangers when their man makes them feel loved and cherished.
Isla didn’t have the pedigree my father expected.”
“Maybe Ciro didn’t really love her.”
“I think he did but didn’t know how to juggle his relationship and the business, plus women
always fall all over him. Isla didn’t like the attention he got. Social media destroys couples.”
“I’m not on social media.”
She smiled wide. “I sensed you wouldn’t be a TikTok junkie. I’m a lurker and never post about
myself. My brothers would lock me away if I drew attention to myself or the family. Causing
problems isn’t tolerated.” She pursed her lips thin as if she’d said too much.
I knew all too well the consequences of causing problems in my family. She’d been lucky to only
get locked up. Beatings were Papa’s favorite punishment. “Will you be ready to leave in an hour? It’s
an all-day drive.”
“Yes. I don’t have any packing to do.” She glanced around the room, then her gaze met mine. “Are
you taking me home?”
“Me and a crew.”
“I’m glad. You’re the only person I trust, Wolf.” Her words made my chest tight. I’d do everything
possible to preserve her trust and keep her safe.

Wolf—Thirteen Years Old…

Mama told me I would find Papa at the warehouse near the train station. I needed to give him an
urgent message a boy from school gave me.
The past year had been the worst ever. Papa had risen to a higher position in the organization. He
had moved Kira up as well to be his right-hand man. The two of them were well-known and feared in
our community. They showed no mercy for crossing them and regularly made examples of those who
had betrayed the Zotova Bratva.
I approached the steel building, where an armed man guarded the door. This was the third location
they’d occupied this year. I didn’t understand why they kept moving around.
“I’m here to see Papa,” I told him.
He nodded, recognizing me.
“Back office.” He opened the door and closed it behind me.
I quickly scanned the room and didn’t find Papa or Kira. Other men watched me but said nothing.
 The farther I went toward the back, the more my heart raced. Something felt strange. Different
from the other times, I went to Papa’s work.
A woman’s laughter came from behind a metal shelf filled with brown boxes. It seemed to be
where Papa’s office might be in the very back of the building.
I followed the sound, sweat dripped down the sides of my face, and unease pumped through my
veins.
“Ah!” I cried when grabbed by my shirt collar.
“Shut up.” Kira shook me. “Why are you here?”
“I, I have a message for Papa.”
Kira’s gaze darted to the door where a lot of noise came from. It sounded like people were
wrestling, but why was a woman inside? The corner of his mouth curled. “Over here.” He led me to
the door, opened it, and shoved me.
Embarrassment and shock smacked me in the face.
A naked woman was on the desk and Papa’s face was not where it should be. His hands were on
her breasts.
“Vitaly.” She smiled at me and tapped Papa’s head. “Vitaly.”
He raised his head and turned toward me. “What do you want?” He wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand and unzipped his pants. His dick sprung out, and it disappeared inside her when he bucked
his hips. “What?” he yelled.
“I have message for you.” I shamefully looked away.
“Are you embarrassed? Never seen a man fucking a woman?”
I shook my head. Was he crazy? Of course I hadn’t. How could he be with someone other than my
mom?
He and Kira laughed. I’d forgotten my brother was behind me.
“Come here.” Papa waved me over.
“N, no.”
“Come. Here!” he yelled in a commanding tone. “What message do you have for me?”
I rushed over to him, afraid to find out what he’d do to me if I disobeyed. “Igor Zotova is dead.”
Papa smiled wide. “Yes! His Bratva is no more. Now we will rise to the top!”
“I will go home now.” I didn’t care about Igor Zotova and what his death meant for my father. I
was disgusted with my papa.
“No! We celebrate.”
“But.”
“Look, my boy.” He gripped my face in his hands and forced it down. “Look at my cock going into
her tight pussy. See how she likes it?”
She did appear to be enjoying herself.
“Have you ever kissed a girl, son?”
I shook my head.
“Kira, you must teach your brother these things.”
“He is too weak and afraid,” Kira said. “He is embarrassment.”
“That is why you teach him!”
Papa grabbed my hand and put it on the woman’s breast. “Play with her, son.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “Vitaly, he is just a boy.”
Papa’s hand connected with her face. “Shut up, whore!” He moved his hips faster. “Show him
what you like.”
 And she did, moving my fingers around her nipples and pinching them while Papa shook the desk.
Kira went to the other side of the table, took her hand, and forced her to grab his crotch. His head
lowered, and he took her other nipple into his mouth.
“Yes, yes. This is how it should be, my sons!” Papa shouted.
The woman moaned and writhed on the desk. It made my dick tingle and hard as I touched her. But
I couldn’t help but think how wrong this act was and what Mama would say.
Later that night, while lying in bed, I listened to Papa and Mama arguing. He’d told her about the
woman in his office during dinner, so smug and proud of himself. I did not understand why he told her
about his betrayal and what he forced me to do when he knew she’d be angry.
She had cried and screamed at him, smashed cups and plates. She’d called Papa names and told
him she’d leave, but I knew she wouldn’t. She’d said the exact words dozens of times. When Papa
had threatened to sell her, she’d instantly quieted.
Where or to whom he’d sell her, I had no idea. He and Kira had done many bad things; they had
connections. With Igor dead and Papa taking over his Bratva, he would be the most powerful man in
our district.
Mama’s reaction to his threat had shown she believed him capable of getting rid of her, and so
would I.
How could I keep Mama safe and not become like Kira and Papa?
 7

Rosa

We passed through the iron gates of the estate. It might be dark, but the grounds were illuminated
enough, and it was, as I remembered, only without snow. I loved the mansion year-round, but it was
exquisite and magical during winter.
Home. I was finally home after many months away, after hundreds of hours fearing for my life, and
millions of minutes praying for God to end my misery.
I’d had little hope of returning; some days, I hadn’t wanted to.
The muscles along my neck and shoulders shouldn’t be locking up and turning to steel as
Hollywood parked the SUV. My heart pounded in my chest, and my throat constricted. I should be
happy and relieved, not filled with dread.
It didn’t matter that Ciro was out of the country, and Roman and Luca were probably too busy to
welcome me home. My father, the Don of the Remotti family, would be waiting for me. I couldn’t
predict his behavior. What if he was furious with me? Despite my family’s single focus, Remotti
Mafia, they had loved me in their own individual ways.
I’d always been my father’s, preziosa, his precious. But how preziosa was I for him to marry me
off to Stephen Morrison? Stephen had been cocky and snide from the start. My father should’ve
known he wouldn’t treat me well and listened to me when I begged him to call off the wedding.
If I’d been truly precious to my father, he would have hired armies of men to search for me and
turned the world upside down to find his preziosa figlia (precious daughter). Instead, he’d had Ciro
ask Storm for help. If the other Italian families had seen my dad frantic and desperate to find me, they
would’ve viewed him as weak and tried to take down the Remotti empire.
My heart broke knowing I was disposable to my family. Ciro hadn’t had much time for me my
whole life. When I was born, he was learning the business at fourteen. Roman and Luca had doted on
me more, but when I was shipped off to private school, the distance strained our relationship.
My father and brothers had claimed family meant everything to them, but I was a perfect example
that family meant nothing to them. If I were a cruel person, I’d wish for them to suffer the pain and
heartbreak I had experienced the last few years.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs and mentally prepared myself for anything.
“What’s the matter?” Wolf whispered beside me. He took my hand and leaned toward me. “I won’t
let anything happen to you.”
“I know.” I forced a tight smile. He was the sweetest man, so sure of himself and confident. But he
didn’t know my father and brothers. No one could save me from another arranged marriage. My only
purpose as the daughter of Alessio Remotti was to make my family proud with an advantageous union
and to sacrifice my happiness.
“I mean it. I won’t leave until you feel comfortable.” Earnestness shone through his blue eyes. I
regretted not talking to him during our long drive to Canada. It’d been awkward with the two men in
the front. I’d clammed up, afraid to speak in front of them. They might have noticed how much I
enjoyed being with Wolf.
Spending the past seven hours talking to Wolf was a risk I wouldn’t take. My father and brothers
could question Hollywood and Arctic and force them to share information about me and the MC. I
wouldn’t put Wolf and his club in danger, so I had slept most of the way.
“Thank you. But I want you to promise me something,” I whispered and touched the tips of his
fingers.
He narrowed his eyes. “That depends on what it is.”
“Promise me you won’t anger my father and brothers. I know it’s a lot to ask. They aren’t the
nicest people. They’re arrogant and infuriating at times.”
“What do you think I’ll do, printsessa? We’ve come unarmed.”
“Just be careful.” I looked at Hollywood and Arctic in the front-row seats. “All of you, be careful
and try not to disrespect anyone.”
“We won’t.” Wolf stared into my eyes for a long second, then abruptly broke the connection. He
opened his door and helped me out.
A couple of guards, men I hadn’t seen before, acknowledged me. They patted down Wolf and the
other two. I’d seen the act hundreds of times but felt offended on Wolf’s behalf. He’d come to deliver
me to my family. Did they honestly think the three would attack or ambush my family when at least a
dozen men guarded the mansion? No, they didn’t. It was a show of power to intimidate and remind
Wolf and the others where they were and who ruled.
“Rosa, it’s wonderful to have you home.” Emilio, our butler, stood at the opening of the massive
mahogany door. As expected, none of my family rushed out to hug me and thank the Lord for my safe
return. “He’s in the library.”
“Thank you, Emilio.” I peered up at Wolf. “Do you want to wait here while I see my father?” The
very idea of going alone made my blood pressure spike.
“No. I’ll go with you. Hollywood and Arctic will wait here.”
Praise God. “Okay, the library is this way.” I pointed down the long hallway with vaulted
ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and sparkling marble floors. Painted murals graced the walls, scenes
from our homeland and our estate in Italy.
Emilio went ahead of us to announce our arrival. Just before he opened the door, Wolf grabbed my
hand and gazed into my eyes and mouth, “I’m here. You’re safe.” He will never know how much I
appreciate him.
“Sir, Rosa and her escorts have arrived,” Emilio said.
My father stood from his leather smoking chair. “Mia preziosa figlia. (My precious daughter.)
God has answered my prayers.” He wrapped me in his embrace. For being sixty-two, he was
handsome and fit. He squeezed me tightly. “Have they treated you well?”
As if you actually care. “Yes, very well.”
He released me and extended his hand toward Wolf. “Thank you for bringing my daughter
home…” He paused and cut his eyes at me.
“This is Wolf, Padre,” I said quickly, recognizing my impropriety, forgetting to introduce them.
“Alessio, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Wolf said in a cordial tone, one I hadn’t heard from him
before.
“Yes, the pleasure is mine. Please, have a seat.” He fanned his hand to the side for Wolf to sit and
took my hand, leading me to the chair beside his. “Although, you’re probably tired of sitting. Do you
plan to return to Minnesota this evening, Wolf?”
I lowered my gaze to my lap, where my hands were folded, and sat quietly. My instructors at
finishing school would be proud of my ability to hide my unease and exhaustion.
“No, sir. We were told we could stay the night.”
“Yes, of course. Emilio will show you and your associates to guest rooms.” He picked up his
remote and pushed a button, calling Emilio back, no doubt. “I’d like some time with my daughter
now.”
The library door opened, and Emilio appeared. “Yes, sir?”
“Show our guests to their rooms and ensure they have everything they need,” my father told him.
“Yes, sir.” Emilio fanned his hand out. “Follow me, please.”
Wolf stood with a peeved expression.
“Good night, Wolf,” I said in a calm voice. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
He held my gaze briefly. “Good night, Mister Remotti and Rosa.” He left with Emilio, and my
heart hammered against my chest.
“Tell me the truth.” My father’s tight voice made tears burn behind my eyes. “Did any of those
bikers harm you in any way? Touch you inappropriately?”
“No, Padre. They were respectful, and some women tended to me.”
“That is good to hear.” He reached for my hand, and I let him take it. “I am very happy to have mia
preziosa figlia home. We have a lot to catch up on, but not tonight. I know you’re tired and need rest
after everything you’ve been through. You’re a Remotti, through and through, Rosa. A survivor.” The
pride on his face turned my stomach.
“I am tired.” I smiled and patted his hand. “Where are Roman and Luca? I was told Ciro had to go
to Italy.”
“Yes, Ciro’s trip was unexpected. Roman and Luca are in Seattle. They’ll return in a few days.”
“Before Ciro?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“I understand.”
“Rosa, your brothers wanted to be here, truly.”
“I know.” I stared at the library door, trying to muster the confidence to make a request.
“Is something on your mind mia preziosa figlia?”
“Yes,” I replied honestly.
“Tell me.”
“I would like Wolf and the others to stay until Ciro returns.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“I’ve been gone so long I don’t know any of the men guarding the estate.” I squeezed his hand
gently. “I trust Wolf and the others. They helped me feel safe. Please, can they stay?”
 “I will need to check with Ciro.”
“Why? You’re the Don. You’re my father.” My vision blurred as my emotions got the better of me,
and my hands started to shake.
My father stood and reeled me into his arms. “Mia preziosa figlia, of course they can stay if that
will comfort you. I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through, mia preziosa figlia.”
“Thank you, Padre, thank you.” I cried in his arms, feeling genuine love from him for the first time
in many years.
“I’ll have Emilio put your escorts in the guest rooms down the hall from yours.” He removed his
phone and sent a text to Emilio. “They can each take a shift guarding your bedroom.”
“Yes, that would put my mind at ease.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I cannot express how worried I was when you went
missing. Ciro felt responsible.”
“He did? Why?”
“Ciro should be the one to tell you.” He put his arm around my shoulders and led me out of the
library. “I’ll show you to your room, so you can rest.”
We went to the elevator at the end of the hallway and rode up to the third floor. My bedroom was
in the east wing, and there was one guest suite next to mine, the room my nanny used to occupy.
Across the landing were three more rooms. I’d always felt separated from my brothers. Their suites
were on the second floor, and my father was on the main level.
“Here we are.” He opened the double doors and turned on the lights.
I entered the large, luxurious room fit for a princess. Nothing had changed during my absence,
from what I could tell. My stomach flip-flopped. I was Stephen Morrison’s wife the last time I was in
it.
“If there’s anything you need, call Martha. She will tend to you.” He kissed my cheek and brushed
his thumb against it. “I’m so glad you’re home, mia preziosa figlia. I missed you. Sweet dreams.” His
words tugged at my heartstrings. I desperately wanted to believe him. He sounded sincere but…
“Good night, Padre.” I couldn’t show him the same affection he bestowed upon me. He hadn’t
treated me this way since I was a little girl. His sweet sentiments felt scripted and fake. It was awful
to think such things of my father, but he’d let me down in the worst way, forcing me to marry an
abusive man.
He left and closed the door firmly.
My body jerked with the click of the latch. The sound reminded me of being trapped in the dim
room where I’d been held for months.
I darted to the door and slowly twisted the knob, careful to not make a sound. Relief swept through
me. It’s not locked. Opening it farther, I peered into the hallway. My father entered the elevator, and
the brass double doors shut.
My mind was blown. Who was that man and where was my father? Was it possible my
disappearance had changed him?
Impossible. Alessio Remotti wouldn’t bend for anyone and would sacrifice his own child if it
meant preserving the Remotti empire his father and grandfather had built. Nobody would ever mean
more to him than power.
I looked at the suite next to mine. I hadn’t dared to ask if Wolf could be placed in it. Who had
Emilio given the room to? Across the landing were the additional guest suites.
The third floor felt too quiet and ominous. I stepped back into my room and shut the door.
“Don’t scream.” A hand covered my mouth, and my heart jumped into my throat.
 8

Wolf

The guys and I followed the butler up two flights of stairs. I’d never been in a fancy mansion. It was
intimidating and not comfortable like the clubhouse.
I shoved my hands into my pockets to avoid touching anything. My brothers had called me
“Russian giant,” not because I was a lot taller or weighed more than them. My big paws and feet had
set us apart… along with the meat in my jeans.
“The Don would like you to devise a schedule to guard Rosa’s room,” the butler told me. “You
can select your own rooms. There are these two and one down the hall.” He pointed at the different
doors.
Alessio wanted us to guard Rosa? That was strange. I wanted to ask which room was hers but
thought better of it. The last thing I needed was people questioning me about her. I cut my gaze to
Hollywood. “Which do you want?”
He turned toward Arctic. “What room do you want?”
Arctic screwed up his face but quickly recovered. “This one.” The six-foot blond opened the door
closest to him and went inside. All the entries in the mansion were massive, at least eight feet tall.
His broad frame easily cleared the doorway. From the back, he resembled a character from the show
Vikings. The kittens loved to drool over the men, especially Bjorn, once he was fully grown.
Funny thing, Arctic’s birth name was Bjorn Evensen. His great-grandparents had come from
Norway and settled in a small town in Northern Minnesota near the Canadian border. The dude
actually had Viking blood flowing through his veins.
“I guess I’ll take the room across from his.” Hollywood disappeared into his room.
“Then you’ll have the suite next to Rosa.” The butler proceeded down the hallway. “It used to be
her nanny’s room.”
Today must be my lucky day. Haven’t had many of those in my life.
“If you need anything, use the house phone on the nightstand. There’s a directory beside it listing
the staff.” He opened the door to the room. “Breakfast begins at seven and will be available until
nine. Lunch is at twelve-thirty, and dinner is at seven. Do not go near the kitchen after three; Chef
Gianni might chop off your head. He’s a prickly man and doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s
preparing dinner.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“The maids will freshen up the rooms after ten unless you request a different time.”
“I won’t need my room freshened up.”
“It’s required.” The butler glared with a snarl on his thin lips.
“Ten is fine then.” Shit, even the staff were aggressive like their bosses.
A chef who would chop people up and a butler with a deadly snarl wasn’t your typical servant. I’d
bet they were trained assassins. I almost snorted at the ridiculous thought. The idea of trained killers
cooking and answering the front door was laughable, but it also reminded me of the Bratva. The
closest people to the boss and his servants were trained to protect him. Even the maids could fight.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you?”
“No, nothing else.” I scanned the impressive room as he left. I couldn’t imagine living in a
mansion with pristine everything. One night would be okay. I probably wouldn’t relax, but Rosa was
my priority, so I’d be fine for her.
I put my backpack on the bed. Should’ve brought more than clean underwear, socks and a couple
of T-shirts. I didn’t own a suit and only had one white button-down shirt I’d worn the day we buried
Jill. Not sure why I kept it hanging in the back of my closet. I never planned to wear it again.
I called Hollywood to set up a guard schedule.
“Yeah, boss?” He was probably being a smartass calling me boss, but I kind of liked it.
“I’m gonna give Arctic first shift guarding Rosa’s room since you drove.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be up by six.”
“Let him know the schedule. I’ll drive back.” I’d need to do something to take my mind off Rosa
after leaving her.
“Sure. How’re you doing? You seemed stressed after you left Rosa with Alessio.” Hollywood
was a perceptive guy and never missed a thing. He was the pretty boy in the club but could hold his
own when threatened.
“I wouldn’t be if they hadn’t forced her to marry Morrison and let her get sold to Dorian’s
brother.” How could I be sure she was safe with her family?
“No joke. It’s fucked up. What time are we leaving?”
“After breakfast, around ten.”
“Got it. I’ll call Arctic.”
“Thanks.” I ended the call.
On the dresser was a tray of bottled water. I opened one and chugged it while scanning the suite to
familiarize myself with it. Two doors were side by side, across from the king-sized bed.
I opened one and discovered it was a bathroom, complete with a soaking tub, walk-in shower,
long counter, and double sinks. Dark stained cabinets, white solid surfaces. The place was
understated, elegant, and bigger than my bedroom at the clubhouse. It even had a separate room for the
toilet, which I used immediately.
After taking a long-awaited piss and washing my hands, I continued exploring my surroundings.
The second door was a walk-in closet. I flipped the light switch and whistled. Jill would’ve loved
to have a closet like this one with a full-length mirror at the back. My girl loved fashion. The day
she’d opened Sister Chic Boutique had been a dream come true for her. After her passing, I closed the
place because there was no one to run the store. Seeing Jill’s store boarded up in Bastion Township
broke my heart.
Boxer’s wife, Snow, had wanted to reopen it, but the club had dealt with threat after threat since
Jill died. The timing hadn’t been right. Now Boxer and Snow had their son, Max. My best friend
wanted his wife home with his son. Couldn’t say I blamed him. It’d been a couple of crazy and
dangerous years in our territory. My married brothers had kept their wives and children close on the
compound. I would’ve done the same if I had a family.
When Jill and I were together, we’d often argued about starting a family, but she didn’t want kids.
She had been career-driven, passionate about her boutique, and didn’t want to share me with anyone.
I’d respected the hell out of her.
Being with Jill had mattered more to me than having a baby, so I’d agreed to no kids. I figured I’d
get my baby fix from my MC brothers’ kids. But any time I held one of their babies, it felt weird, and
it only made me yearn to have my own.
Perhaps Sister Chic Boutique would reopen someday, and Jill’s legacy would live on. Maybe I’d
fall in love again and start a family. The mere fact that I could imagine loving someone else filled me
with guilt.
I was about to turn the light off when something caught my eye. I went toward the mirror, focusing
on the doorknob. Did it lead to Rosa’s room?
Only one way to find out. I reached for the knob and froze when I heard voices. Dialing in, I made
out Alessio’s voice.
The gods seemed to be on my side and gave me a connecting door to Rosa’s bedroom.
But why wasn’t she talking? Maybe I couldn’t hear her soft voice. Around her father, she’d been
meek and quiet like a scared mouse. I didn’t like it one bit and hated leaving her alone with him. What
could I do though? Flex my muscles and control? Yeah, I would be as good as dead if I’d followed
my instincts.
A door closed, and I heard footsteps. Alessio must’ve left. I waited several seconds, then opened
the door and saw her peeking out into the hallway.
Stealthily I moved toward her. “Don’t scream.” I put my hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t yell
for help.
She turned around with wide, terrified eyes. Upon seeing me, she sagged against my chest. Her
knees buckled, and I caught her.
“Printsessa, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I carried her, sat on the edge of her bed, and set her on
my lap. I’d missed touching her.
“For a second, I’d thought Stephen returned from the dead. He’d done the same thing, covering my
mouth and telling me not to scream.”
“Fuck, printsessa. I’m so sorry.” I kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t want Alessio to hear you.”
How could I’ve been so stupid? After everything she’d been through, I should’ve known better.
“I can’t sleep in my bed. The last night I spent here was with Stephen.” She shook in my arms.
“When I woke up, I was in the trunk of a car. My hands and feet were bound, and my mouth had duck
tape across it. It was the first of many terrifying days.”
“Shit, printsessa.” My heart broke for her.
“How could my father be so insensitive? Why would he think I’d want to be in this room where
Stephen had mentally and physically abused me? Why?”
“Men are idioty. That means idiots.” I stood with her in my arms and took her to my room. “Even
intelligent men like your dad do boneheaded things.”
“What are you doing?”
 “You’ll sleep in here tonight. Tomorrow, you will ask to be moved to a new room.” I set her on the
bed and sat next to her.
“I should’ve said something when he brought me up. He seemed approachable. Even caring like he
might love me.”
“He does love you. But maybe doesn’t show it well.”
“You’re a sweet man, Wolf.” She relaxed against the pillows.
“Do you want to change?”
“No. Leggings and a sweatshirt work for sleeping in.”
“Well, you can’t sleep in shoes.” I unzipped the black boots.
“I can do it.” She sat up, her cheeks turning pink.
“I’ve got it.” I took the boot off, then the other. Our eyes remained locked. She swallowed and
inhaled a deep breath. Her pink face turned red as I massaged her feet gently, so I didn’t cause her
pain. The blisters on her soles weren’t healed yet.
Rosa didn’t complain or try to stop me from enjoying the innocent or not-so-innocent act of
touching her. She was so young and beautiful. Sweet and caring. My heart raced as my hand moved up
toward her ankle.
Tomorrow I’d leave and never see her again. The thought put a tightness in my chest that scared
me.
“Come up here.” She patted the spot next to her. “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”
“We’ll hit the road after breakfast.” I took my boots off, then socks, and put them beside the
dresser.
Disappointment marred her pretty face. “Can’t you stay until Ciro returns?”
“What will your dad say?”
“I already asked, and he’s fine with it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Hell, yes, I’d stay. Not sure how Hollywood and Arctic would feel
about it, but I was the boss on this run and called the shots. They’d have to do what I said.
“Unless you need to get back to the compound?” She teared up.
“Don’t be sad, printsessa. I’ll stay.”
“Really? You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” I undid my belt and pulled my zipper down. “Is this okay? I can’t sleep in my jeans. I
will, but I prefer not to.”
She bit her bottom lip. “You didn’t bring your sweatpants?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” She turned onto her side as if giving me privacy to remove my pants. She was
adorable, but I didn’t have a modest bone in my body.
I put my phone on the bedside table, then crawled in behind her. “Crap, the lights.” I went to get
up, but she grabbed my hand.
“I got it.” She opened the drawer in the nightstand on her side and removed a remote. “This room
is high-tech.” One click of a button and the room went dark.
“Cool.” I stretched out on my back.
“I’m happy you’re staying. Will Storm be okay with it?”
Probably not. “He’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think he’ll be fine. He’s a lot like Ciro. They have to control everything and everyone, and
when they can’t, they don’t hide their frustrations.”
“Sounds about right for Storm, but he’s getting better. His time as president is nearing the end.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Trotzdem die Möglichkeiten der Schaffung guter Cigaretten
mannigfaltig sind, wird doch eine gewisse Übereinstimmung in dem
Urteil festzustellen sein, daß die edlen mazedonischen Tabake der
Xanthi- und Cavalla-Bezirke und die Smyrna-Tabake, wozu noch der
Samsoun tritt, die edelsten Gewächse sind, die zur Verarbeitung
kommen können. Die drei genannten Hauptarten charakterisieren
gleichzeitig gewisse Geschmacksunterschiede der durch sie
erzeugten Cigaretten. Während die aus vorzugsweise
mazedonischen Tabaken hergestellten Cigaretten meist sehr voll,
weich und blumig wirken, zeigen die Cigaretten aus vorzugsweise
Samsoun-Tabaken ein gewisses herbes und charaktervolles Aroma.
Die durch Smyrna-Tabake charakterisierten Cigaretten dagegen
zeichnen sich durch eine außerordentliche Süßigkeit aus, zu der je
nach den verwendeten Fülltabakmischungen eine mehr oder
weniger starke Völligkeit, Weichheit oder auch Strenge der
unmittelbaren Geschmackswirkung hinzukommt.
Die Europäer sind gewohnt, noch von einer anderen
charakteristischen Cigarettensorte mit typischen
Geschmackseigenschaften zu sprechen. Es sind dies die
ägyptischen Cigaretten. Die früher starke Einfuhr von Cigaretten aus
Ägypten hat die Meinung verbreiten lassen, daß dieses Land
ebenfalls zu den eigentlichen Tabakländern gerechnet werden muß.
In Wirklichkeit ist dies durchaus nicht der Fall. Auf Grund
eigentümlicher Zollverhältnisse, die sich aus der Zugehörigkeit des
Landes zur Türkei und innerhalb dieser Zugehörigkeit doch
besonderen Stellung durch die britische Oberhoheit ergaben, sahen
sich eine ganze Anzahl Unternehmer veranlaßt, in Ägypten
Fabrikationsunternehmungen zu gründen, um die dadurch
gegebenen günstigen Zollbedingungen auszunützen. Dadurch
erhielt ein Land, das ursprünglich mit Cigarettentabaken so gut wie
gar nichts zu tun hatte, den Charakter eines Tabaklandes. Heute ist
der eigentliche Anlaß für eine ägyptische Cigarettenindustrie nicht
mehr gegeben. Es mag zwar einerseits einem Bedürfnis der
Tradition entsprechen, die Fabrikation dort aufrecht zu erhalten, und
andererseits ist die Fabrikation bis zu einem gewissen Grade durch
die besonders günstigen klimatischen Verhältnisse begründet. Aber
auch hierin vermag die technische Vervollkommnung unserer Zeit
eine Unabhängigkeit zu garantieren, so daß ein Rückgang der
ägyptischen Produktion vorausgesehen werden kann.

Aus der großen Anzahl der genannten Provenienzen, die sich in

der Praxis noch weit komplizierter verästeln, ergibt es sich, daß der
Einkauf von Tabaken ganz außerordentliche Fachkenntnisse
voraussetzt, und daß von diesem Einkauf besonders das Wohl und
Wehe einer Fabrik abhängt. Die Tabake werden im allgemeinen
nach ihrer Manipulation in Ballen durch einen weiteren
Zwischenhandel auf die europäischen Märkte gebracht. Die weitaus
meisten europäischen Fabriken erwerben erst an diesen Plätzen die
Tabake, die sie zur weiteren Verarbeitung in Cigaretten ihren
Unternehmungen zuführen. Diejenigen Cigarettenfabriken dagegen,
die sich erhöhte Möglichkeiten der Qualifizierung ihrer Erzeugnisse
zu verschaffen suchen, müssen sich von dem europäischen Markt
unabhängig machen und versuchen, in den Ursprungsländern des
Tabaks selbst einzukaufen. Naturgemäß ist dies mit
außerordentlichen Schwierigkeiten verknüpft, denn der direkte
Einkauf setzt nicht nur einen großen technischen Apparat voraus,
sondern zugleich Fachkräfte, die den Europäern selten zur
Verfügung stehen. Aber nur dann ist es möglich, die vielen
Zufälligkeiten unterschiedlicher Ernten zum Erwerb besonders
hochqualifizierter Tabake auszunutzen und dadurch die Möglichkeit
zu gewinnen, allererste Provenienzen bei relativ niedrigen Preisen
zu verarbeiten und diesem entsprechend hochwertige Cigaretten
relativ billig auf den Markt zu bringen.
 Es ist merkwürdig, wie oft die Frage, worin eigentlich der Genuß
des Rauchens besteht, unbeantwortet bleibt, denn es erscheint
unerfindlich, warum dieser Genuß geheimnisvoller und unerklärlicher
sein soll als irgendein anderer. Wenn auch niemand allgemeingültig
die Umwandlung der Erlebnisse unserer Sinnesorgane in eine
Genußvorstellung formulieren kann, so genügt doch bereits zur
Beantwortung der Frage nach dem Genuß des Rauchens der
Nachweis, welche Sinnesorgane beteiligt werden, und welche
Wirkungen der Tabak auf den Menschen ausübt, sobald eine
wirkliche Genußempfindung zum Bewußtsein kommt.
Die vornehmste Aufgabe weist man fast allgemein dem
Geschmackssinn zu, ohne eigentlich recht das Kompetenzgebiet
dieses Sinnesorgans abzugrenzen. Die Geschmacksnerven werden
nur von gelösten Substanzen getroffen, und daraus erkennt man,
daß die Zunge eigentlich recht wenig an der
Geschmacksvorstellung, die wir vom Tabakrauch haben, beteiligt
sein kann. Dies wird jeder leicht feststellen können, der sich beim
Rauchen die Nase zuhält, denn die vorher irgendwie vorhandenen
Geschmacksempfindungen verschwinden sofort. Nur für eine
besondere, jedem Raucher bekannte Erscheinung ist die Zunge
verantwortlich, und zwar für den Nachgeschmack. Er läßt sich
dadurch erklären, daß der Tabakrauch die Feuchtigkeit im Munde bis
zu einem gewissen Grade geschmacklich beeinflußt. Sobald nun die
hauptsächlich durch das Geruchsorgan erzeugte allgemeine
Geschmacksempfindung vom Tabak nachgelassen hat, und die
Empfindungen der Zunge nicht mehr übertönt werden, bringt sich
der nach dem Ausstoßen des Rauches noch im Munde
zurückbleibende Speichel zur Geltung.
Die eigentlichen Geschmacksnerven können nur wenige einfache
Kontrastempfindungen vermitteln. Die einzigen Geschmacksarten
sind süß, sauer, bitter und salzig. Aus diesen vier Arten setzen sich
alle auch noch so komplizierten Geschmackserlebnisse zusammen,
gleichwie aus vier Grundfarben eine unendliche Anzahl von
Mischungsfarben und Bildern entstehen kann.
 Der größte und wesentlichste Teil der Empfindungen, den wir
allgemein Geschmack nennen, wird durch das Geruchsorgan
vermittelt. Die Geruchsnerven sind ihrerseits wieder nur in der Lage,
gasförmige Stoffe wahrzunehmen, und zwar müssen diese
gasförmigen Stoffe an den wie feine Härchen die Schleimhaut
überragenden Nervenenden in der dritten obersten Muschelwindung
der Nase vorbeistreichen, denn die Gerüche von ruhenden Gasen
können nicht wahrgenommen werden. Die Bewegung der
gasförmigen Stoffe wird durch die Atmung hervorgerufen. Das
menschliche Geruchsorgan ist vielleicht der empfindlichste Apparat,
den der Mensch besitzt, denn er übertrifft an Feinheit selbst die
besten chemischen Untersuchungsmethoden. So werden auch die
wesentlichsten Geschmacksempfindungen beim Tabakrauchen
durch die Geruchsnerven vermittelt, vor allem solche, von denen
man ganz speziell bei einer Geschmackskritik spricht.
Eine gewisse Rolle spielt bei dem Rauchgenuß auch das
Tastgefühl, denn es vermittelt das angenehme Gefühl der Wärme
und des Tabakrauchvolumens. Die verschiedene Brennart
verschiedener Tabake und das unterschiedliche Format der
Brandfläche ergeben ganz unterschiedliche Volumina des bei
einmaligem normalen Ziehen gewonnenen Rauches. Vor allem bei
milden Cigaretten, die eine größere Rauchmenge ohne
Aufdringlichkeit zulassen, ergibt das Tastgefühl die Empfindung der
Völligkeit, die besonders im Verein mit dem Gefühl der Wärme
angenehm empfunden werden kann. Die Wärmegrade spielen ganz
allgemein bei Genußmitteln eine ganz außerordentliche Rolle. Zum
Beispiel können auch die raffiniertesten Weinkenner durch
geschickte unterschiedliche Temperierung der zu kritisierenden
Weine völlig in Verwirrung gebracht werden; und so angenehm der
Tabakrauch im warmen Zustand empfunden werden kann, so
unangenehm ist die Wirkung des kalten Rauches, wie wir ihn
manchmal in schlecht gelüfteten Räumen antreffen oder aus
türkischen Wasserpfeifen kennen, wenn bei ihnen das Wasser im
Gefäß nicht mehr warm genug ist.
Alle Empfindungen, die durch die drei genannten Nervenarten des
Geschmacks, Geruchs und des Tastgefühls vermittelt werden,
ergeben zusammen den eigentlichen Geschmacksakkord. Genau
wie bei Kunstwerken der Musik, Literatur usw. nicht die einzelnen
Teile, aus denen das Erlebnis besteht, für den Wert maßgebend
sind, genau so ist das, was wir Geschmack nennen, jeweils aus
vielen Einzelempfindungen zusammengesetzt, die vielleicht jede für
sich allein unerträglich sein mögen, aber im Zusammenklang die
höchste Befriedigung erzeugen können.

Häufig hört man den Gedanken ausgedrückt, daß bei dem Genuß
des Rauchens vorzugsweise das Auge beteiligt sei. Man erzählt zum
Beweis die Beobachtung, daß man in völliger Dunkelheit ebenso
wenig wie ein Blinder am Rauchen Vergnügen finden würde.
Zweifellos wird man nicht bestreiten können, daß die Betrachtung
der aufsteigenden Rauchwölkchen ein beschauliches Gemüt in den
genießerischen Zustand der Gedankenlosigkeit zu bringen vermag.
Aber es wäre durchaus verfehlt, hierin einen Hauptgrund des
Rauchbedürfnisses suchen zu wollen. Es gibt sehr wohl Blinde, die
rauchen, und sehr viele Menschen, die gar nicht den Unterschied
kennen, den man nach der vorhergehenden Behauptung zwischen
dem Tabakgenuß bei Licht und bei Dunkelheit machen müßte.
Gerade für die Geschmackskritik sind die Wahrnehmungen des
Auges völlig belanglos. Wenn Gründe gesucht werden sollen,
weshalb die Tätigkeit des Auges beim Rauchen nur ungern völlig
ausgeschaltet wird, so sind sie sehr leicht darin zu finden, daß jeder
Mensch nur mit Unbehagen einen Verbrennungsvorgang ohne
vorsichtige Kontrolle der Augen zuläßt, zumal wenn beim Anzünden
des Tabaks wie in den weitaus meisten Fällen eine offene Flamme
verwendet wird.

Zu den oben genannten mehr unmittelbaren Genußarten kommen

noch einige andere hinzu, die wir zwar als mittelbare Genußarten
bezeichnen können, die aber keineswegs unwesentlicher sind. Der
Tabak würde für den Menschen bedeutungslos sein, wenn er
ausschließlich geschmackliche Reize durch die genannten
Sinnesorgane auslösen würde. Schon wenn wir den spielerischen
Reiz, den das Verfolgen der Tabakwölkchen unter Umständen
verursachen kann, als eine positive Genußmöglichkeit des Tabaks
erklären, so muß ein anderer ebenfalls vom Geschmack
unabhängiger Reiz noch mehr betont werden, und zwar liegt dieser
in den automatischen Bewegungen, die der Rauchvorgang mit sich
bringt. Das Saugen an dem Rauchobjekt in periodischen Abständen,
die automatisch gleichartigen Bewegungen der Hand usw.
beschäftigen sehr häufig den Raucher in einem gewissen
beruhigenden Maße. Die Beschäftigung selbst ist mühelos und stellt
weder körperliche noch geistige Anforderungen, so daß die
periodische Tätigkeit eine Entlastung des Körpers und des Geistes
ergibt.
Dem gleichen Zweck der inneren Beruhigung dienen
beispielsweise auch die verschiedenen Perlenketten, die man vor
allem bei arabischen Kaufleuten häufig antrifft. Um jede Übereilung
zu verhindern und ein gewisses methodisches Vorgehen des
Verstandes anzuregen, lassen sie gedankenlos und automatisch an
ihren Perlenketten eine Perle nach der anderen langsam durch ihre
Finger gleiten. Dadurch wird die Zeit gewissermaßen fühlbar
gemacht und in gleichmäßige Intervalle eingeteilt. Jeder, der bei
starker Beanspruchung seines Denkvermögens einmal zu solch
einem Hilfsmittel gegriffen hat, wird mit Verwunderung die tatsächlich
stark beruhigende Wirkung festgestellt haben. Man kann auch in
Europa bei sehr vielen Menschen irgendwelche ganz unwillkürlichen
gleichmäßigen Bewegungen bei schwieriger Gedankenarbeit
beobachten, so daß scheinbar ein instinktiver Drang nach einer
Rhythmisierung des Zeitablaufes a priori im Menschen vorhanden
ist. Der eine wippt mit den Fußspitzen, der andere klopft mit dem
Finger oder seinem Fingerring gedankenlos an seinen Stuhl oder
Tisch, die meisten aber greifen zu einem Rauchmittel, das heute
beinahe zu einem unentbehrlichen Konferenzrequisit geworden ist.
Man kann deutlich bemerken, daß ein langsam und scheinbar
sorgfältig genossenes Rauchmittel in Augenblicken starker geistiger
Anstrengung zu einem Instrument gleichmäßiger, automatischer,
skandierender Nebensächlichkeit wird, das alle störenden
Beeinflussungen von Seiten der Umwelt bindet und somit
unschädlich macht.

Mit dem eigentlichen Rauchgenuß hat diese Nebenerscheinung

nichts zu tun. Die beruhigende Einwirkung, die den eigentlichen Wert
des Tabaks ausmacht und weder durch Rosenketten noch durch
ähnliche Dinge ersetzt werden kann, beruht in seiner — wenn auch
noch so schwachen — narkotischen Wirkung.

Die narkotische Wirkung des Tabaks ist außerordentlich

verschieden und nicht unmittelbar von den Qualitätsgraden
abhängig. Analytisch ist der Nikotingehalt gerade bei den edelsten
Dubec-Blättern prozentual am geringsten und bei den ganz tief am
Stamm sitzenden Blättern am stärksten. Die Genußwürdigkeit
dagegen steht hierzu im umgekehrten Verhältnis.
Die Einwirkung des Tabakrauchens auf den Organismus erfolgt
durch die Atmungsorgane. Man hört häufig den Vorwurf gegen die
Cigarette, daß sie das Inhalieren des Tabakrauches gegenüber den
früher verwendeten Pfeifen und Cigarren begünstige.
Demgegenüber muß festgestellt werden, daß das Inhalieren bei
Pfeifen und Cigarren zwar seltener ist, die effektive Wirkung aber
eher umgekehrt; und da sich überhaupt keine andere Möglichkeit der
Beeinflussung des Körpers durch den Tabakgenuß auffinden läßt, ist
schließlich letzten Endes die Wirkung selbst entscheidend. Die
amerikanischen Tabake und vor allen Dingen ihre Gebrauchsformen,
die sich durch besonders breite und große Brandflächen gegenüber
der Cigarette charakterisieren lassen, wirken bedeutend schwerer
als Cigarettentabake, und dementsprechend ist ihre Einwirkung
durch die Atmungsorgane auch erheblicher. Außerdem wird jedoch
bei jeder Tabakart und Rauchform die unmittelbare physische
Wirkung auf die Lunge ganz außerordentlich überschätzt. Man
verkennt vollkommen das enorme Anpassungsvermögen des
menschlichen Körpers. Wenn den Wirkungen nachgegangen werden
soll, die ein unmäßiger Tabakgenuß hervorruft, dann sind diese wohl
kaum je in irgendwelchen Schädigungen der Lunge zu suchen,
sondern fast ausschließlich in den Beanspruchungen der Nerven,
denn durch die Lunge gewinnt der Tabak einen gewissen Einfluß auf
das Blut, das Blut selbst teilt diesen den Nervenenden mit, und in
den nachweisbaren Einwirkungen auf das Nervensystem müssen wir
das einzige sehen, wodurch eine Beeinflussung des menschlichen
Organismus durch den Tabakgenuß stattfindet. Wie sich manche
törichten Menschen an Lasten überheben, die ihre Kräfte bei weitem
übersteigen, und dadurch Schaden an ihrer Gesundheit nehmen, so
gibt es auch Menschen, die ihrer Genußsucht keine Grenzen setzen.
Aber bei dem Tabakgenuß weiß die Natur Mittel, um den Raucher
zur Ordnung zu rufen. Sobald die Beeinflussung des Körpers einen
gewissen harmlosen Grad übersteigt, macht der Körper eine erhöhte
Anzahl von weißen Blutkörperchen mobil, die eine gründliche
Reinigung vornehmen. Dies wird von einer Erhöhung der
Körpertemperatur begleitet, so daß der Raucher sich heiß oder
sogar fieberig fühlt. Dies ist ein Warnungsruf: »Halt, jetzt hör auf!«
Darauf muß der Raucher unbedingt achten, denn wenn er diese
Stimme der Natur überhört, wird sie sehr energisch und steigert dies
bei außergewöhnlichen Exzessen bis zu wirklichem Fieber, Frösteln,
Schwäche und Schwindelanfällen: eine sogenannte
Nikotinvergiftung. Gegen sinnloses Übertreiben und die
Unvernünftigkeit der Menschen gibt es allerdings keine Mittel, aber
daran ist nicht der Tabak schuld. Es ist eben hier auch so wie sonst
überall im Leben. Wenn jedoch der Warnung der Natur Folge
geleistet wird, dann bleibt sie ohne die geringsten Folgen. Als gutes
Gegenmittel merke man sich Kaffee und Tee, die als
gerbsäurehaltige Stoffe das Alkaloid Nikotin binden und dadurch
unschädlich machen. Deshalb raucht der kluge Türke am liebsten
seine Cigarette zu einer guten Tasse Mokka, wobei sich beide
Genußmittel gegenseitig in sehr weitgehendem Maße aufheben.
 Die dem Mundspeichel durch den Tabakrauch mitgeteilten Stoffe,
deren Geschmackseigentümlichkeiten an dem sogenannten
Nachgeschmack erkannt werden, gelangen durch das
gewohnheitsmäßige Schlucken in den Magen. Man hört
infolgedessen häufig die Annahme, daß der Einfluß des
Tabakgenusses auf den Raucher vorzugsweise hierdurch erfolgt.
Dies ist jedoch nicht der Fall, denn die dem Speichel mitgeteilten
Stoffquanten sind außerordentlich gering (wie wir an der
bezeichnenden Geringfügigkeit des Nachgeschmackes sehen), und
außerdem würde selbst ein Tabaksud einen gründlich verdorbenen
Magen ergeben, aber keineswegs die typischen Genußerlebnisse
des Rauchens. Man hört hin und wieder, daß die durch den Speichel
aufgelösten Tabakstoffe eine Förderung der Verdauung bewirken,
also leicht abführend wirken, aber von Beschwerden könnte nur
dann die Rede sein, wenn der Magen nicht in Ordnung und daher
überempfindlich war, also sowieso eine ganze Reihe von Dingen
nicht vertragen hätte, die für einen gesunden Magen sogar wichtige
und unbestreitbar wertvolle Nahrungsmittel sein können. Wenn
jemand einen schwachen Magen hat, ist ihm wohl einerseits ein
starker Tabakgenuß nicht zu empfehlen, aber andererseits müßte
man den betreffenden gleichzeitig vor einer ganzen Anzahl schöner
Dinge wie Hummermayonnaise, Plumpudding u. a. warnen. Ähnlich
wäre es, wenn man von einem Einwirkungsweg des Tabaks auf den
menschlichen Körper reden würde, sobald irgend jemand bei starker
Erkältung und übergroßer Empfindlichkeit der Atmungsorgane durch
den Tabakrauch Hustenanfälle bekommt. Wenn jemand stark
erkältet ist, so wird er tunlichst seinen Tabakverbrauch auf ein
Mindestmaß beschränken oder lieber zeitweise überhaupt einstellen,
ohne daß dies für die Frage nach der Beeinflussung des
menschlichen Körpers durch den Tabak von Bedeutung sein kann.

Die mittelbaren Arten des Tabakgenusses, die den unmittelbaren

des reinen Geschmacksgenusses gegenüberstehen, lassen sich in
zwei Gruppen teilen. Einmal handelt es sich um Anregungen des
reinen Einbildungsvermögens, und weiterhin um die obig
beschriebene Einwirkung auf die Nerven. Beide Arten sind sowohl
unter sich als auch von dem unmittelbaren Geschmacksgenuß
untrennbar. Keine Art tritt irgendwie allein auf, sondern erst alle
zusammen ergeben in ihrer außerordentlichen Kompliziertheit und
Fülle von unkontrollierbaren Einzelempfindungen dem Kenner den
im einzelnen niemals restlos definierbaren, beinahe geheimnisvollen
Genuß an einem edlen Tabak.
Dem Menschen ist es nicht gegeben, eine größere Anzahl von
unzusammenhängenden Sinneseindrücken gleichzeitig empfinden
zu können. Es ist demnach natürlich, daß der Tabakgenuß einen
bestimmten Bereich des Vorstellungsvermögens des Menschen in
Anspruch nehmen und den Menschen dadurch von vielen störenden
Dingen ablenken kann, die ihm zwar vielleicht nicht zum Bewußtsein
kommen, die aber in ihm ein Gefühl der Unrast und der
Konzentrationsunfähigkeit erregen. Die gleiche Wirkung erzielt der
Tabakgenuß durch seine Beeinflussung der Nerven. Bei dem
modernen Menschen existiert meistens eine außerordentliche
Überempfindlichkeit der Nerven. Der Tabakgenuß vermag nun diese
Überempfindlichkeit zu dämpfen. Es ist ähnlich wie bei den vielen
allopathischen und homöopathischen Beruhigungsmitteln, die Ärzte
zu verschreiben pflegen. Nur ist die rein organische Wirkung ganz
unvergleichlich schwächer, denn, wie gesagt, kommen beim
Tabakgenuß so viel mehr suggestive Momente hinzu, daß die
praktische Wirkung der Beruhigung und Abdämpfung der
Überempfindlichkeit der Nerven in den feinsten Graduierungen
erreicht wird, ohne daß die tatsächlich physische Beeinflussung der
Nerven wesentlich zu sein braucht.
Die Abdämpfung der Überempfindlichkeit der Nerven zusammen
mit der Ablenkung, die alle physischen und psychischen Wirkungen
des Tabaks ergeben, lassen den Menschen eine Ruhe und eine
Behaglichkeit kennen lernen, die er anders sich nur durch stets recht
wenig empfehlenswerte Drogen verschaffen könnte. Es ist zu allen
Zeiten bekannt gewesen und auch gerade in dem letzten Kriege
immer wieder bestätigt worden, wie sehr der Tabakgenuß den
Menschen über die Mangelhaftigkeit einer Situation
hinwegzubringen vermag. Er stillt Schmerzen, beruhigt den Hunger
und läßt die größten Aufregungen überwinden. Wie häufig bringen
starke geistige Beanspruchungen das menschliche Gehirn in eine
Unruhe, die schließlich keinen geschlossenen Gedanken ganz mehr
aufkommen läßt. Das durch starke Stöße angetriebene Räderwerk
des Gehirns kommt nicht zum Stillstand; selbst dann nicht, wenn die
Aufgabe vollbracht ist, also Hoffnung und Anrecht auf Ruhe und
Erholung besteht. Der Tabak dämpft die Unrast des Räderwerkes. Er
verschließt die vielen Pforten zu den Nebenwegen haltloser
Gedankenabschweifungen und beseitigt die ununterbrochene
Ablenkung von beabsichtigten großen Gedankengängen, die der
moderne Mensch mit seinem häufig so mangelhaften
Konzentrationsvermögen, der Überreiztheit seiner Nerven und der
daraus sich ergebenden Zerstreutheit und gedanklichen
Zersplitterung dauernd erlebt. Der Tabakrauch wirkt wie das Öl im
Kompaß; es verhindert nicht die Zielrichtung der Kompaßnadel, aber
es sorgt dafür, daß die Nadel nicht von jeder Kleinigkeit abgelenkt
wird und ununterbrochen unruhig hin und her zittert, sondern daß sie
ruhig, sicher und beständig ihre Aufgabe erfüllt.
Die Schönheit des kultivierten Tabakgenusses liegt aber vor allem
in der sich aus dem Vorhergehenden ergebenden
Anpassungsfähigkeit der Wirkung an die jeweiligen Bedürfnisse.
Demjenigen, der sich behaglich ausruhen will und Ablenkung von
allen vorhergehenden Beschäftigungen sucht, ermöglicht er eine
ruhige innere Behaglichkeit. Andererseits ermöglicht der
Tabakgenuß demjenigen, der die Anregung zu intensiver Arbeit
sucht, die notwendige Konzentration der Gedanken und die
Erfrischung seines körperlichen Befindens. Selbstverständlich ist
physisch die Wirkung des Tabaks immer wieder dieselbe, und nur
nach Stärkegraden abstufbar, aber gerade weil die Wirkung nicht wie
bei Schlafmitteln oder ähnlichen Drogen in starker physischer
Beeinflussung beruht, sondern weil sie beinahe nur andeutet und
anregt, ermöglicht sie die ruhige, sichere Grundfläche, auf der sich
ungestört alles das aufbauen läßt, worauf die Wünsche des
Rauchers abzielen. Selbstverständlich spielt hierbei die Einbildung
eine große Rolle, aber sie ist ein wichtiger Bestandteil des
Tabakgenusses. Es ist keine Einbildung, die auch ohne den
Tabakgenuß konstruiert werden könnte, sondern sie kann eben nur
durch die wenn auch geringen Einwirkungen auf die Nerven
zusammen mit den wichtigen Geschmacksmomenten entstehen. So
ist es tatsächlich möglich, daß man in einem Falle durch den
Tabakgenuß lebhaft angeregt wird und in einem anderen Falle
gerade gegenteilig beruhigt wird. Diese mit verschiedenen
Differenzierungen möglichen verschiedenen Wirkungen kann der
kultivierte Raucher durch bestimmte Geschmacksdifferenzierungen
unterstützen. Die Wichtigkeit der verschiedenen Geschmacksarten
ist gerade darin zu suchen, daß sie das jeweilige Endergebnis der
verschiedenen praktischen Wirkungsmöglichkeiten bis zu einem
gewissen Grade bestimmen.
 Es ist gesagt worden, daß durch eine Auswahl der Tabake nach
verschiedenen Geschmacksakkorden die jeweilig beabsichtigte
Wirkung des Rauchgenusses bestimmt werden kann. Außer einer
solchen Anpassung an die jeweilig durch Augenblicksstimmungen
bedingten Geschmacksforderungen wird jedoch vor allem die
Anpassung an die jeweils individuellen Eigenarten des Rauchers
vorauszusetzen sein.
Die individuellen Eigenarten eines Rauchers liegen einerseits in
der Eigenart jedes persönlichen Geschmacksempfindens begründet,
andererseits ist das Temperament und deshalb sogar die
Lebensanschauung des einzelnen von grundlegender Wichtigkeit.
Es mag snobbistisch klingen, wenn in scheinbarer Anlehnung an
ästhetisierende Phrasenhelden heutiger Mode »unproblematische«
und »primitive« Genußmittel mit weltanschaulichen Dingen
zusammengezogen werden, aber die Tatsache des innigen
Zusammenhanges ist jedem Untersuchenden so unbestreitbar, daß
eine Tabakbewertung auch von dieser Seite aus zu vertreten ist.
Schon der alte Platon teilt alle Genußmöglichkeiten des Menschen
in zwei scharf voneinander zu trennende Arten, die den
Zusammenhang des Tabakgenusses mit den wesentlichsten
geistigen Werten des Menschen bedingen. Er unterscheidet
einerseits die negativen Genüsse, d. h. solche, die nur in der
Beseitigung eines Mangels bestehen. Hierzu rechnet er alle
Genüsse des Essens, des Trinkens, der Liebe usw., die Befriedigung
aller körperlichen Bedürfnisse, die ja erst durch die Voraussetzungen
des Hungers, des Durstes, der Liebessehnsucht usw. möglich
werden. Die andere Art von Genüssen nennt er Geschenke der
Götter. Hierzu gehören nur zwei Formen: die Freude an Erlebnissen
und Ergebnissen des Verstandes und Narkotika. Unter Narkotika
verstanden die alten Griechen zwar noch nicht den Tabak unserer
Zeit, aber ein Rauschmittel, das praktisch für sie dieselbe Bedeutung
hatte wie für uns der Tabak, denn es waren wohlriechende
Räuchereien, die zum Zweck leiser Abdämpfung der Nerven und
Befreiung des Geistes aus den Hemmungen körperlicher
Gebundenheit eingeatmet wurden. Solche Genußmittel und die
mannigfaltigen Betätigungen des menschlichen Geistes waren die
voneinander untrennbaren »Geschenke der Götter«. Man lese im
Symposion des Xenophon die Worte des großen Sokrates, mit
denen er den Segen dieser Göttergeschenke gegenüber der
brutalen Genußsucht seiner Zeit vertritt, und man wird verstehen,
welchen innigen Zusammenhang ein harmloses, primitiv
erscheinendes Genußmittel in Wirklichkeit mit den unsterblichen
Worten und Werken der alten Griechen beansprucht hat, vor denen
wir heute noch voll Staunen und ehrfürchtiger Bewunderung stehen.
Das göttliche Geschenk unserer Zeit ist der Tabak: in ihm liegt die
Philosophie unserer Zeit begründet. Aus seinen Erscheinungsformen
lassen sich die Stile und Charaktere der Jahrhunderte seiner
Herrschaft erkennen, denn die Innigkeit seines Zusammenhanges
mit dem Wechsel der Anschauungen verlangt eine Anpassung
seiner Wirkungsarten, aus denen wir heute rückwirkend
psychologische Studien der Zeiten machen können. Es wird wohl
kein Genußmittel vorgewiesen werden können, das derartig
anpassungsfähig ist wie der Tabak. Nicht nur die unendlich
mannigfaltigen rein geschmacklichen Abstufungen, sondern auch die
mannigfaltigen Genußformen, z. B. in den verschiedenen
Pfeifenarten, als Kautabak, Schnupftabak, Cigarre, Cigarette und als
Räuchermittel, ergeben Varianten, die den weitest
auseinanderliegenden Genußbedürfnissen gerecht werden können.

Um innerhalb der Vielheit von Erscheinungsformen eine gewisse

Übersicht zu gewinnen, müssen wir uns auf einige wenige typische
Formen beschränken und jedem Leser überlassen, durch
Ableitungen und Mischungen unter den aufgestellten Beispielen
nach eigenen Erfahrungen die der Wirklichkeit entsprechende
Mannigfaltigkeit zu ergänzen. Weiterhin müssen wir die vielen
Formen eines Tabakgenusses ausschalten, die dem modernen
Europäer fast unbekannt sind und niemals Einfluß gewonnen haben.
Streng genommen sind doch auch Opium, Haschisch, Betelnuß, Kiff-
Kiff und sogar Kokain und Äther Genußmittel, die durch Rauchen,
Kauen, Schnupfen genossen werden, tabakartige Narkotika, wenn
auch ihre Gleichstellung mit den Erzeugnissen aus der Tabakpflanze
sehr ungerecht sein würde. Für den Europäer sind jedoch eigentlich
nur die verschiedenen amerikanischen Tabake mit ihren süd- und
westeuropäischen, afrikanischen usw. Anbaugebieten einerseits und
die Orienttabake im Südosten Europas und Vorderasiens
andererseits von allgemeiner Bedeutung. Die Unterscheidung ist
historisch nicht richtig, aber praktisch durchaus anwendbar, so daß
wir im folgenden zwischen amerikanischen und orientalischen
Tabaken unterscheiden wollen, ohne dabei an entsprechend
begrenzte Herkunftsländer zu denken.
Die beiden Tabakarten unterscheiden sich in ihrem Geschmack
wie in ihrer Rauchwirkung grundsätzlich. Sie entsprechen
verschiedenen Menschenarten und verlangen entsprechend
unterschiedliche Genußmethoden.
Der Geschmacksakkord der amerikanischen Tabake wird
besonders durch seine hauptsächlichen Verbrauchsformen: in der
Pfeife und als Cigarre bedingt. Beide Formen ergeben gegenüber
der Cigarette eine weitaus größere Brandfläche, wodurch das
Empfinden größerer Völligkeit und größerer Wärme ausgelöst wird.
Ohne das positive Gefühl größeren Rauchvolumens beim normalen
Ziehen an der Pfeife oder Cigarre würde der Genuß des
amerikanischen Tabaks unvollkommen bleiben müssen, denn die
Geschmackseigenarten sind meist sehr fein unter einer recht großen
Herbheit des Rauches verdeckt. Auch die eigentliche Rauchwirkung
ist nur langsam fortschreitend; sie würde bei zu geringer Völligkeit
nur ungenügend zur Entwicklung kommen. Dem Cigarettenraucher
ist außer der Wärme und der Völligkeit beim Rauchen der
amerikanischen Tabake besonders die schon genannte Herbheit
auffallend. Die Nervenenden der Nase scheinen mit ziemlicher
Bitterkeit und Schärfe gereizt zu werden, und nur langsam entwickelt
sich daneben ein eigentliches Aroma, das der richtige
Cigarrenkenner jedoch gerade bei den ersten Zügen am deutlichsten
zu verspüren meint. Man muß sich zwei verschiedenartige
Stärkegraduierungen vorstellen, um sich ein Beurteilungsbild zu
schaffen. Ein Rauchmittel kann äußerlich und auch innerlich kräftig
sein. Äußerlich kräftig soll heißen, daß die beizende Wirkung auf die
Geschmacks- und Geruchsnerven sehr stark ist; innerlich soll
dagegen heißen, daß ihre Rauchwirkung ganz unabhängig vom
Geschmack kräftig oder nachhaltig ist. Dies entspricht
verschiedenen Geschmacksforderungen: die einen lieben ein mildes
Aroma bei relativ kräftigerer narkotischer Wirkung, die anderen
wollen den Rauch vor allem richtig »fühlen«. Im Bereiche auch aller
der Tabakarten, die wir aushilfsweise einfach amerikanische Tabake
nennen, gibt es, wie schon gesagt, eine übergroße Zahl
unterschiedlichster Provenienzen, Sortierungen und Mischungen.
Zum Unterschied vom Orienttabak ist er jedoch keineswegs auf so
komplizierte Mischungsrezepte angewiesen, um genossen werden
zu können. Er ist relativ einfach. Die Unterschiede der Tabake von
Habana, Sumatra, Java, Portoriko, Mexiko, Varinas, Manila,
Maryland usw. beruhen zwar auch auf aromatischen Variationen,
aber hauptsächlich auf den verschiedenen Verhältnissen der
äußeren und inneren Kraft der Rauchwirkung. Bei den Habana-
Tabaken ist das Verhältnis zugunsten eines sehr edlen Duftes sehr
weit nach der inneren Kraft verschoben. Deshalb wird gerade dieser
Tabak als hochwertiges Würzmittel bei sehr vielen Mischungen
verwandt. Aber auch bei ihm ist die innere Wirkung an eine
langsame Entwicklung gebunden.
Diesen Eigenarten des amerikanischen Tabaks entsprechen auch
ihre Freunde. Die langsame Entwicklung seiner inneren Kraft
verlangt eine relativ lange Dauer des Rauchvorganges und die
entsprechende Zeit, Ruhe und Aufmerksamkeit. So sehen wir den
richtigen Cigarrenraucher in unbeirrbarer Ruhe die ganze
Entwicklung genießerisch auskosten. Junge Leute verstehen selten,
eine gute Cigarre richtig zu genießen; sie haben weder die Zeit, die
Ruhe, noch die beschauliche Lebensphilosophie, die zur Cigarre
gehört. Allerdings ist der intensive Genießer der Cigarre ein Extrem,
das nicht allzu häufig vorkommen mag, aber mehr oder weniger hat
jeder Cigarrenraucher von diesem Typ in sich. Das vollkommenste
Bild ergibt der genießerisch und kultivierte Holländer der alten Zeit.
In ihm hat eine jahrhundertelange Tradition seiner
Kolonialbeziehungen eine Rauchkultur entstehen lassen, die
nirgends sonst in der Welt gefunden wird. Die Einfachheit des
Aromas und das Konkrete der voluminösen Rauchwirkung edler
amerikanischer Tabake ergab die Weltanschauung saturierter
Menschen. Sie lieben positive und einfache Dinge. Die schweren
Importen setzen einen guten Magen voraus. Die Beschaulichkeit des
Genusses bedingt ein ruhiges, streng geregeltes Leben, das sich in
der holländischen Häuslichkeit und dem unbeirrbaren
Konservativismus der Vertreter alter Rauchkultur zeigt. Es bedingt
das Bedürfnis eines soliden Fundamentes auch eine Begrenzung
der Interessen auf wenige Dinge positiver Art. Daher die Abneigung
gegen alles Genialische und die häufige Abwertung der Menschen
nach einseitigen Gesichtspunkten, z. B. der jeweiligen
Vermögensbasis. Aber die alten Herren haben einen Stil und eine
Lebenskunst bewiesen, die sie mit Recht jedem Angreifer auf ihre
etwaige Nüchternheit, ihr Spießbürgertum und ihre Verachtung
spekulativer Dinge zur Rechtfertigung vorweisen können.
In allen möglichen Abschattierungen findet man in aller Herren
Ländern Konsumenten amerikanischer Tabake, die dem Typ des
alten Holländers mehr oder weniger ähneln. Die Ähnlichkeit der
Weltanschauungen nimmt mit der Ähnlichkeit der Genußformen zu
und ab. Von dem erklärten Typ der edlen amerikanischen Tabake
leichterer äußerer und schwererer innerer Kraft laufen Ketten von
Übergängen nach den anderen Grenzfällen, die mehr durch kräftiges
äußeres Aroma zugleich oder auch ohne innere Kraft oder gar durch
Verzicht auf Kraft in beider Hinsicht charakterisiert werden.
Die äußerlich größere Milde der edlen holländischen Cigarren
leistet der beruhigenden Wirkung des Rauchgenusses mit dem Ziel
der Erholung Vorschub. Die Zunahme der geschmacklichen Reizung
veranlaßt bei aller Beruhigung der Nerven eine mehr anregende
Wirkung. Infolgedessen werden die Cigarren stärkerer aromatischer
Art vorzugsweise in romanischen Ländern geraucht, wo das
lebhaftere Temperament keine rechte Würdigung der geschmacklich
weniger aufdringlichen Tabake aufkommen läßt. Dem Nordländer
erscheint der Romane sehr oft äußerlicher und manchmal
oberflächlicher, als objektiv zugegeben werden kann; aber dieser
Anschauungsunterschied prägt sich sehr deutlich in den
Genußformen des Tabaks aus. Eine Pfeffersuppe, wie sie der
Spanier kennt, ist in Nordeuropa eine Unmöglichkeit, aber trotzdem
kann man nicht allgemein von einem geringeren
Geschmacksraffinement der Romanen sprechen. Charakteristisch ist
jedoch für sie das Bedürfnis stark anregender Geschmacksreize,
ohne die er keinen wirklichen Genuß anerkennt. Der Romane ist
selten fähig, ein Genußmittel fast um seiner selbst willen zu
verehren. Es ist ihm Mittel zum Zweck, ohne Gedanken an
Vertiefung. Er will einen unmittelbaren Reiz verspüren, trotzdem er
auch bei den schärfsten Reizen noch Unterschiede macht. Es läßt
dies den Verdacht aufkommen, daß seine Sinne schon sehr
abgestumpft und verbraucht sind, daß er Sensationen verlangt, die
den Stierkämpfen der Spanier und den Grausamkeitsinstinkten
mancher alten Völker entsprechen. Es liegt scheinbar eine
Weltanschauung zugrunde, die sich in äußerlichen Wirkungen,
scharfen Genüssen, extremen Vorstellungen und in einer Schärfe
äußerer Gegensätzlichkeiten auslebt, ohne daß große
Beharrlichkeit, Methodik, ernste Vertiefung und positive Fundierung
gesucht wird. Es gibt dort Cigarren von einer Giftigkeit des
Geschmacks. daß deren Genuß schon beinahe pervers genannt
werden kann; es liegt manchmal — cum grano salis — fast ein
wenig genießerische Selbstquälerei zugrunde. Bei den noch
möglichen Unterschieden der äußerlichen Geschmacksmomente
und den entsprechenden individuellen Unterschieden der Raucher
besteht trotzdem keine betonbare Individualität. Die überraschend
große Gleichförmigkeit des Tabakgenusses verbürgt ein geringes
Individualisierungsbestreben innerhalb des Volksganzen als Masse.
Die Kultur des Romanen ist die schöne Kultur der Geste, der
gedanklich unbeschwerten Form, der den Nordeuropäern
beneidenswert erscheinenden künstlerischen Selbstverständlichkeit
und scheinbaren Problemlosigkeit. Sie läßt eine Kultur der Cigarre
am holländischen Maßstab gemessen nicht zu, sie ergibt keine
Häuslichkeit, keine Beständigkeit und keine Intimität. Weil dem
Romanen an der Vertiefung der inneren Wirkung nichts liegt, wertet
er für die amerikanischen Tabake auch die sonst wenig verständliche
Form der Cigarette aus. In dieser Form verliert infolge der kleineren
Brandfläche und der kürzeren Genußdauer der amerikanische Tabak
seine innere Kraft fast ganz und gar. Der in der Cigarre durch die
Schärfe hindurch lebendige aromatische Geschmack wird gleichfalls
sehr vermindert; es bleibt das äußerliche Vergnügen am
Rauchvorgang selbst, an den automatischen Bewegungen und vor
allem an der Sensation des herben Tabakreizes, der nur wenig
feinere Geschmackseigenarten und Graduierungen empfinden läßt.
Hier ist der Tabakgenuß zu einer ganz nebensächlichen, lediglich
anreizenden Aufgabe abgedrängt worden. Sein Genuß ist völlig
andachtslos geworden und dadurch kaum entwicklungsfähig.
Außer diesen Grenzfällen äußerlicher und innerlicher
Kraftentfaltung des Tabaks gibt es noch eine Kategorie von
Menschen, die zwar gern Cigarren rauchen, aber in der
immerwährenden Angst vor der Kraft leben. Es sind die vielen
besonders in Deutschland heimischen Raucher, die stets nach
kleineren Formaten und hellen Farben in der Hoffnung auf große
Leichtigkeit des Tabaks suchen. Sie kennen keine Intensität
genießerischer Rauchmethoden, auch nicht die Brutalität ätzender
Sensationen, sie suchen eine milde leichte Sorte und haben die Idee
aufgebracht, daß die Milde an der Helligkeit der Deckblattfarben
erkennbar sei. Diejenigen dieser Kategorie, die noch das Bedürfnis
aromatischer Erlebnisse mitbringen, sind eigentlich verloren
gegangene Cigarettenraucher. Sie haben die Cigarre von ihren
Vorbildern übernommen, ohne die Zeit und Ruhe für einen
intensiven Genuß aufbringen zu können oder einen Sinn für scharfe
Anreize zu besitzen. Diese Zwischengeneration versucht in ihrer
Anschauung traditionell zu sein, ohne auch nur eine Ahnung von
dem Stil ihrer Vorbilder zu haben; sie rauchen aus einem unklaren
Verlangen heraus, pendeln ziemlich wahllos zwischen scheinbaren
Geschmackskulturen hin und her, ahmen mehr nach, als sie selbst
nachzuerleben vermögen. Sie sind so farblos wie ihre
Geschmacksbegriffe, trotzdem sie in verzeihlichem Selbstbetrug sich
für wichtiger halten, als sie sind. Sie haben keine Weltanschauung.
Wenn der Romane trotz seines Temperaments doch noch die
eigentlichen Formen des Genusses amerikanischer Tabake, vor
allem die Cigarre beibehalten hat, so liegt das daran, daß seine
wenig intensive Ausnutzung dieser Form seinem Temperament keine
große Beschränkung auferlegt. Die Zunahme des Lebenstempos in
den letzten Jahrzehnten mußte jedoch die jüngeren Europäer
notwendig zur Abwendung von der Cigarre überhaupt führen. Die
Intensität des Genußverlangens blieb dieselbe, so daß der
amerikanische Tabak in Form der Cigarette nur einen sehr
unvollkommenen Ersatz gebildet hätte. Es mußte also ein Tabak
gefunden werden, der würziger, aromatischer und auch innerlich
kräftiger war als die bisherigen amerikanischen Tabake, und bereits
in der Form der Cigarette bei kürzerer Brenndauer und kleinerer
Brandfläche wirksam werden konnte.
Im Gegensatz zu den Orienttabaken müssen die meisten
amerikanischen Tabake außer der Fermentation noch einen
Verwandlungsprozeß durch Rösten, Zusatz von Beizen und Laugen
aus Zuckerstoffen, Salzen, Färbemitteln, Gewürzen usw.
durchmachen. Dadurch konnte man die Geschmackserscheinungen
in weitem Maße künstlich variieren. Dies benutzte man besonders
bei den Virginia-Tabaken, um diese für die Bedingungen der
Cigarettenform brauchbar zu machen, so daß der Name Virginia-
Tabak heute bereits fast speziell den typischen englischen
Cigarettentabak bezeichnet, trotzdem Virginia-Tabak, der
sogenannte »echte« Tabak, die eigentliche Mutterpflanze fast aller
edlen Tabaksorten der Welt bedeutet. Der Virginia-Cigarettentabak
ist heute typisch für die angelsächsischen Länder, besonders
Nordamerika. Eine sehr große Kultur verrät dieses Zwischenprodukt
nicht. Es ist im Geschmack ziemlich gehaltlos und vorwiegend durch
die künstlichen Zusätze bestimmt, ist aber immerhin der
Cigarettenform angepaßt und ermöglicht bei kleinerer Brandfläche
und kürzerer Brenndauer einen bis zu einem gewissen Grade
abgeschlossenen Geschmacksakkord. Sicher ist die Virginia-
Cigarette beinahe bis zur blonden Farbe des Tabaks für die
Angelsachsen charakteristisch: sie gehört zu einer etwas
sentimentalen Süßigkeit und auf die Dauer zu einer großen
Langweiligkeit. Variationsmöglichkeiten sind nicht viel gegeben, da
der süße Zuckergeschmack sich immer wieder vordrängt.
Geistig komplizierter organisierten Menschen kann der künstliche
Cigarettentabak wenig bieten. Die alte Cigarrenkultur ist im
Aussterben. Die Genußintensität der Pflanzer ist in unseren kalten
Ländern nicht möglich. Die modernen Menschen beanspruchen