Mafia Darling (The Kings of Italy Book 2)

A full glass of whiskey in hand, I stood in the dark at my office window and stared off into the night. With the lights out, the stars over the vineyard would be radiant, but I didn’t even notice. Fury still burned bright in my chest, a ball of frustration that tightened with every breath I took.

Giulio was supposed to be my heir, the future of my empire. The men looked to him for leadership, an example of our strength and tradition. He needed to instill fear and respect. Instead, he was getting high and stalking his ex-boyfriend. Dio santo, if anyone should find out . . .

I rubbed my eyes. What did he want, to be the first openly gay leader of the ’Ndrangheta? This was a death sentence. He’d never make it to capo and everything I had sacrificed, everything I had done would be for naught. Did he care nothing for this family or his own life? For what I’d built?

There was only one solution to this problem, but my son would hate me forever. There was no turning back after I ordered it.

But order it I would.

That’s why I was the don. I had to make the tough decisions and carry them out, even when I didn’t want to.

I swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, the heat scalding my throat. Exhaling, I leaned against the window glass. I felt on the edge of my sanity these days. Perhaps a night of torturing Enzo D’Agostino would distract me from this ever-tangling knot of irritation inside me.

The door suddenly opened and light slashed into the room. Marco, no doubt. I didn’t turn around. “I thought you went home.”

The door closed and darkness returned. I heard light steps on the carpet, then the scent of olives and earth teased my nostrils. Awareness slid over my skin like a thousand tiny pinpricks. She always smelled like my estate.

This was not a good time, however. “I’m not in the mood for company, dolcezza.”

“Too bad.” She stood next to me and propped a shoulder against the window frame. “I want to know what you’re going to do about Giulio.”

“It is none of your concern.”

“That means it’s something bad.”

She was learning. “Go to bed, Francesca. It has been a long day. I will come upstairs later.”

“Don’t send me to bed like a small child. I want to know what you are planning to do.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Let him be with Paulo.”

I snorted and finished the rest of the whiskey in my glass. “Impossible, for many reasons.”

“What does that mean?” She grabbed my arm and forced me to look at her. “I know of one reason, because he’s your son and heir. What other reason could there be?”

I just stared down at her. She would figure it out. Francesca was a smart woman.

“No. Fuck, no,” she said, eyes wide as they searched my face. “You can’t do that. You can’t have Paulo killed.”

“He will never focus until Paulo is gone. He’s still watching him, for fuck’s sake.”

“Like you watched me when I was at the beach?”

I didn’t care for the comparison. “It’s hardly the same,” I snapped.

“It’s exactly the same.” She gave a small shake of her head. “He’s heartbroken. Fausto, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. He’ll never forgive you.”

I looked out the window again, not answering. Of course she would think there was another way. But I knew this life better than she ever could, and there was no alternative. I would not justify it, either. My hand trembled as I shoved it into my trouser pocket. Violence lurked in the pit of my stomach, the darkness that resurfaced more and more lately, seemingly never satisfied. Even Marco had winced at some of the creative ways I’d hurt Enzo.

What happened when I could not shove the darkness away?

Francesca slipped between me and the window, her beautiful face looking up at me. Cristo, I wanted her so badly. But my feelings were too raw, too brutal. I needed to be alone.

I scowled down at her. “You should go.”

“No, I won’t leave you until . . .” Her palm came up to caress my jaw, her expression both understanding and resolved. “Do not purposely hurt your son like this. There are some things you can’t fix once you break them.”

She’d said this to me before. I hated the reminder of how I hurt her, how I ruined everything between us. “Like you?”

“This is a line you cannot cross. Giulio will find out and this will ruin any relationship you have with him. You’re his father. I know you love him. Deep down, you don’t want to hurt him.”

“I care a great deal for you, amore. More than almost anything else.” I brushed her hair off her face, loving the way the soft strands felt against my skin. “But don’t ask this of me.”

“I am asking—and I’ll ask again and again until you listen to me. This is a mistake.”

“I’ve already decided. I cannot change my mind.”

“That’s bullshit. You can change anything you like. You are the one with all the power over us, paparino.”

The use of the word us was not lost on me, nor the nickname. I swallowed hard, stepped back, and went to pour another drink. “You should leave.”

“No, I won’t. I have to know what you’re going to do. We’re having a child together. I don’t want to think you’re capable of such cruelty when it comes to your own flesh and blood.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I snapped. “And unless you are finally ready to let me fuck you, you are wasting your breath.”

“Is that what it would take to clear your head? Will fucking me calm you down enough to see reason?”

“No. It will only make me want to fuck you more.”

“What if we make a deal?”

I paused, whiskey glass halfway to my mouth. Was she serious? “Are you trading your pussy for Paulo’s life?”

“Would it work?”

I let my gaze travel the length of her body, my cock very much liking the idea. “I don’t know.”

“Then perhaps we should try it and see.”

There was no hint of hesitation in her expression, but this wasn’t enough. I didn’t want her to ride my dick as part of a negotiation for some stronzo’s life. I wanted her compliance and her full participation. I wanted her to crave what only I could give her, as I did with her.

We were both stubborn. Maybe she needed this as an excuse to fuck me again? She’d fingered herself earlier while watching me in the shower, her cunt so wet she had to wipe her fingers off to even continue masturbating. Desire was never a problem between us. So did she need a way to rationalize it?

Her breath quickened and I weakened, my resolve crumbling as my dick lengthened. If this was how I had to have her, then so be it. I was too desperate to refuse.

The words tumbled from my mouth. “Take off your clothes.”

She reached for the hem of her t-shirt. The cloth fell to the ground, revealing red lace—and all the air left my lungs in a rush.

Madre di Dio. The red bodysuit.

“Look what I found in my drawer.” She shimmied out of her yoga pants, displaying those long legs I loved to feel wrapped around my hips. Her waist was still small but the pregnancy made her tits even fuller. They spilled out from the top of the bodysuit cups. Kicking the pants aside, she said, “I guess you didn’t get rid of all my lingerie after you sent me away.”

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I was both grateful and angry, aware that she’d worn this to control me. And it was working. There was no resisting her, no refusal on my tongue. I wanted her too badly, the need in my balls too great. I loved her, and my body craved nothing more than to prove it to her.

I ran my tongue behind my teeth, contemplating, before growling, “Get on the sofa and spread your legs.”

The slightest frown crossed her face. “If I do this, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

Though I had no one to blame but myself, I wanted to punch the wall. Five weeks ago she wouldn’t have questioned an order like this, and I needed that acceptance again. Nothing less would do. She was mine.

Still, I knew what she needed to hear, even if I wasn’t sure I believed it. I inclined my head. “Of course.”

My agreement satisfied her. She started for the sofa, her ass high and tight, absolute perfection as she moved across the floor. I wanted to spank her, to mark her. To whip her just so I could lick her tears. I wanted every part of her, good and bad.

She settled on the cushions, faced me, and spread her legs. Her blond hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and the flush on her cheeks told me how much she liked being on display for me. “Open the snaps,” I said.

Delicate fingers reached between her legs and the snaps flew open one by one, each soft pop a stroke to my poor neglected cock. I was so hard, the skin stretched tight over my shaft, and I couldn’t wait to shove myself inside her, feel that warmth and heat again after so long.

When the fabric parted, there was her pussy on glorious display. She had recently shaved, leaving herself bare, and the glistening lips made my mouth water. My piccola monella, playing with fire.

I put the glass down carefully, then closed the distance to the sofa and dropped to my knees between her thighs. The scent of her arousal filled my nose and lungs, making my head swim. Fuck, yes. I had dreamed of this for so long—every time I closed my eyes for the last five weeks—that I almost couldn’t believe it was real.

My chest heaved as I bent my head, my arms sliding under her thighs to pull her closer, but I paused just before my mouth reached her perfect skin. Breathing on her, but not offering any relief. “Beg me,” I whispered. “Beg me to eat your pussy, dolcezza.”

Francesca

I didn’t have time to wonder whether this was a mistake or not.

I’d worn the red bodysuit as insurance, just in case I needed to break out the lace-covered girls and seduce him into not hurting Giulio or Paulo. In my head, I thought Fausto would take one look at me, agree to whatever demands I put forth, then ravish me in a frenzy.

I should’ve known better.

The soft exhales from his mouth teased my skin, and my clit pulsed with every beat of my heart. No way he hadn’t noticed how wet I was at the moment. I needed his mouth on me. I craved the feel of his lips and tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the way he sucked and licked me like he was starving for me . . .

I hadn’t missed the huge erection tenting his trousers, though. He wanted this every bit as much as I did.

Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through his silky hair, needing to touch him. God, this man. He turned me on like no one else in the entire world.

He snatched my wrist and pulled my hand away from him. “Place your hands behind your head,” he ordered. “Give yourself over to me.”

White-hot arousal shot through me, his dominance my drug, and I hurried to obey. The position put my body at an awkward angle, with my tits thrust up and out, barely encased by the bodysuit. Then he was back between my legs, his mouth hovering just where I needed him most.

“Ti prego,” I whispered, unable to take one second more. “Please, Fausto.”

That was all he needed to hear, apparently, because his mouth latched onto me like he was starving. Like my body was his sustenance and he’d been deprived for years. My back bowed, pleasure arcing through my limbs at his assault, his lips and tongue voracious as they sucked and licked, and I could only sit on the sofa and withstand it. I was forced to take the pleasure he gave me and return none of it, but his growls and sighs into my flesh told me he loved it every bit as much as I did.

Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged my clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my thighs trembled. The tension was almost too much to take. Ribbons of lust were coiling inside my belly, but there was no relief, no gentleness coming from this man. It was almost like a punishment. Death by amazing head.

“You know what I want to hear,” he said, nuzzling me with his nose. “Tell me.”

What was he talking about? Everything throbbed. I was so fucking close. “Don’t stop, please.”

Two long, thick fingers worked inside my opening, filling and stretching me in the best kind of way. It pinched, the fit a tight one after so long, but I welcomed the burn as the digits tunneled inside me. “Holy shit,” I breathed, and the glorious pressure of his fingers nearly made my eyes cross.

“Tell me who you belong to, Francesca.”

I shook my head against the sofa. I couldn’t. He asked too much. I wasn’t ready to say it.

When the silence lapsed, he nipped at my swollen clit. I pressed my toes into the floor, the pain intense and bright behind my eyelids. “Fuck!” I shouted, and the ache quickly ebbed into a rush of endorphins. He gave the nub soft kisses, as if apologizing, and I panted, nearly sobbing, with the need to come.

He stood abruptly, the fabric of his pants soft against my legs. In a daze, I let him position me over the arm of the sofa, face down with my ass in the air. I heard his zipper and half a beat later his cock met my entrance. He shoved in without warning and the force of it moved the sofa across the wooden floor several inches. We both froze, and I struggled to breathe. He felt huge and perfect, the stretch painful but necessary, like he was a part of me. God, I had missed this.

He stroked my shoulder blades, my spine. Then he pushed the bodysuit up and over my head. I was completely naked while he was clothed. Was he aware of how much that turned me on? Knowing Fausto, yes.

His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, holding me down, and I went lax, more than ready for his dominance to take me to where nothing else mattered except having his cock inside me.

He began fucking me then, hard and rough thrusts of his hips, the best kind of punishment. I soared, the pleasure lifting me, replacing everything inside my head until my skin began tingling with an impending orgasm. Moaning, I floated, my pussy his to do with whatever he pleased. My climax hovered just out of reach, and I started shaking, my muscles trembling as I made nonsensical noises, and he finally reached around to pinch my clit.

White-hot sparks raced through me and I shouted, my walls clenching around his dick as I came. It went on and on, and my vision went dark for a second.

He withdrew and I immediately missed the feel of him. Coming around to the front, he sat down, that glorious dick on full display. Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing at all and settled me on his lap, facing him. He reached between us and lined himself up at my entrance, then put a hand on my hip, bringing me down to engulf him. When I had swallowed up his entire length, he stretched his arms along the back of the sofa and waited. A mafia king, content to be served.

Shit, he was sexy.

His gaze burned hot as it trailed over my body, my breasts, but he didn’t touch me. He still hadn’t removed his clothes, either, other than to free his cock. I wanted to rub up against him like a cat, nip and bite him, lick and suck him everywhere. I began rolling my hips, working his dick in and out of me, slow and sinuous, giving him a show.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, his chest rising and falling as I moved, grinding and gyrating, molding my tits with my hands. I presented him with a breast and he leaned forward to take the nipple into his mouth, sucking hard until I gasped. He released me and sat back again, watching me.

I started moving faster, and I soon felt another orgasm gathering at the base of my spine. I chased it, pulling him in deeper, and my lids drifted closed, my palms braced on his knees for leverage, as I rocked and rocked . . .

“Oh, God,” I whispered. “Fuck.”

I could hear his heavy breathing, feel the tremble of his thighs under me. Then the pleasure broke, my body convulsing as I came a second time. It was less intense than the first but went on longer, like a gentle wave. Fausto threw his head back and exhaled a few times, every muscle in his body growing taut just before I felt him expand inside of me. He groaned, his cock jerking as he clutched the sofa back, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief.

Exhausted, I dropped onto his chest and tried to catch my breath, our bodies still connected. We stayed like that for a long minute, while he slowly stroked my spine with one hand. “That was fun,” I said when he didn’t speak.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m glad.”

He was glad? The fuck?

Before I could ask him what that meant, he disentangled our bodies, tucked his glorious cock back into his suit pants, and pulled up his zipper. Naked, I watched as he rose and put himself back together, smoothing his shirtsleeves and fixing his cuff links. It was like watching a knight put on his armor, the protection he used against the rest of the world.

Did he want me to leave? Not that I wanted to hang around. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen down this rabbit hole again. Though it was worth noting that two fantastic orgasms went a long way to dulling my disappointment over my lack of willpower.

Suddenly my yoga pants and t-shirt were in front of my face. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

Slipping into my clothes, I realized we’d never come to a conclusion on the Paulo issue. “Will you let him live?”

Fausto strode behind his desk, sat down, and opened his laptop. “Is that what you’d prefer?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically. “For God’s sake, you can’t have him killed. It would absolutely destroy Giulio. Send Paulo away, if you must, but do not hurt him.”

“Then I will send him away.”

He was acting weird. “Do you promise?”

“Te lo prometto.”

Satisfied with his answer, I stood and stretched out my sore muscles. Who needed cardio with Fausto around? With his attention entirely on his laptop, he seemed to have forgotten about me. Wait, wasn’t that what I wanted?

“See you around,” I said on my way to the door.

“I don’t know what time I will come to bed.” He slipped on those reading glasses that increased his sexiness factor by a thousand degrees. “I have more work to do.”

“Okay.”

I stood at the door, confused. Then I felt the stickiness between my thighs and decided to go shower. So I slipped into the hallway and went upstairs. It was only when I stepped under the hot water that I realized something.

The entire time he’d been fucking me, he hadn’t said a word. At all. Fausto was a talker and I loved his dirty mouth. But he’d been eerily quiet tonight.

He also hadn’t kissed me on the lips.

Huh.