Mafia Darling (The Kings of Italy Book 2)

He was carrying me through the house. I tried not to think about how good it felt for Fausto to touch me, the warmth of his chest surrounding me after all this time. That was a slippery slope, and no way was I signing up to take that ride again.

My body’s reaction to him annoyed me. “Put me down,” I snapped. “You’re still covered in blood and sweat.”

“No.”

I thought about smashing this cake in his face, but decided not to. While I would find it satisfying, it was a waste of great cake.

When we reached the top of the stairs, he turned left instead of right, walking toward his wing of the castello. “Where are you going? You went the wrong way.”

“You are staying with me from now on.”

The absolute nerve. “I want my own room, Fausto.”

“You will stay in here with me.”

God, no. Please, anything but that. Being close to him, smelling him. There would be no reprieve from my long-buried feelings. I grabbed the fork out of the top of the cake and held it up like a weapon. “My own room, or I swear to God I will poke your eye out.”

The side of his mouth hitched as he shoved the door open with his shoulder. “There is my bloodthirsty dolcezza.”

I slipped the fork back in the cake and went quiet. Damn it. I had to remember he got off on my spirit and sass. If I remained blank, an empty shell he couldn’t play with or bait, he’d grow bored. He’d realize he didn’t want to be a father at his age. Then he would let me go.

He carefully placed me on his bed, arranging me on the pillows. Then he picked up the house phone and began giving rapid orders about the doctor’s imminent arrival, but I tuned him out. The smell of him permeated the room, so familiar and sexy. I’d almost forgotten it, the combination of oranges and spice and raw power. The man was a walking aphrodisiac—and I hated that he still affected me.

Miserable, I grabbed the fork and started on the cake. The moist, nutty flavor and creamy icing melted on my tongue. My God, that was good. I closed my eyes, wishing I could have Zia in my life without Fausto. Everyone needed a Zia who baked like this.

When my lids opened, I saw Fausto staring at me like I was his walnut cake. Hungry and desperate, a man on the edge of his control. I took another bite and let myself enjoy it, just to antagonize him. Look at what you can’t have, I told him silently as I licked icing off the fork.

Suddenly, he gave a devious twist of his lips. Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he began to pull upward. The fork paused halfway to my mouth. Was he . . . ?

His t-shirt slid slowly up his body, higher and higher, revealing his flat stomach and the treasure trail I’d once licked. Then ribs and pecs, more clearly defined than I remembered, and his wide chest bisected with dark hair. Finally, his shoulders flexed and bunched as he tossed the shirt to the ground. That body . . . it wasn’t fair. So manly, so hot. My stomach warmed and dipped, my lungs squeezing tight as I fought the urge to sigh.

I hadn’t been horny in weeks and now it was like my body was wired, every cell electrified. All because he’d removed his damn shirt. I never should’ve told him how much I loved his chest all those weeks ago.

The skin along his side was scraped raw and it looked painful. At least, I hoped it was. Very, very painful. “Maybe the doctor should look at you first.”

“I’m fine. He’ll check you while I shower.”

“You’re leaving me alone with the doctor?”

“There’s a guard outside the door. You won’t be able to get away from me.”

“We’ll see.”

His mouth curved into a frown but a knock sounded, interrupting our little standoff. Fausto called for them to enter and a handsome man stepped into the room, a backpack and a bike helmet in his hands. He and Fausto kissed cheeks as Italians liked to do. “Buona sera, Don Ravazzani.”

Fausto pointed to me. “Ciao, David. Come, meet Francesca.” He clapped the doctor on the shoulder and said to me, “Dr. Abruzzi will look you over. He has equipment to listen to the baby, too. Let him check you, all right?”

Fausto, asking for my permission? This was new. I nodded, hiding my surprise behind another bite of cake. He exchanged a few words with the doctor and disappeared into his bathroom.

“Signorina Mancini,” the man said, setting his backpack on the bed. “I’m David. With your permission I’d like to do a quick examination. Nothing invasive.”

This was the doctor? I had expected someone older with a stethoscope and black medical bag. “You speak English?”

“I do. Nine years in Michigan, first for my degree, then for my residency. I’m Fausto’s second cousin.”

So much for hoping the doctor would help me escape. I set down the cake and brushed crumbs off my fingers. “Nice to meet you. Let’s get this over with.”

David slipped on a pair of latex gloves then opened his backpack to find his instruments. He listened to my heartbeat, took my blood pressure, and asked me questions about how I’d been feeling. “Other than being nauseous, fine,” I told him.

“That will pass in another few weeks. Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”

“Oddly enough, my kidnappers didn’t grab them when they were shoving me inside a trunk.”

He nodded once. “I’ll send a prescription to the pharmacy. One of the men will retrieve it for you. Any bleeding or spotting?”

“No.”

“You should be checked by an obstetrician, of course, but let’s listen to the baby’s heartbeat.”

An obstetrician?

I nearly snorted. As if I’d been given the opportunity to visit a doctor during my “vacation” at the beach house.

He took a small box with what looked like a tiny microphone attached. We heard the rapid whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat inside me and I relaxed into the pillows, relief rushing through me. With all the stress and uncertainty, I’d been worried about my little bambina in there.

Fausto appeared as the doctor was packing up. My baby daddy was naked except for the towel around his waist, his big body glistening from the heat of the shower. An ache pulsed in me and I shifted, willing it to go away. He and David exchanged words, then the doctor bid me goodbye and left.

I tried to ignore a mostly naked Fausto and concentrated on my cake. He went into his closet and I heard him getting dressed. When we were together I loved to watch him dress. His suits were cut to perfection, and seeing him go from the man who drove me wild in bed to the powerful don got me wet every time.

I could feel the dampness between my legs even now. What was wrong with me? A few hours ago I was in a gun battle. Shouldn’t I be in shock? Afraid? Reliving the nightmare of being kidnapped and having Enzo’s pistol shoved in my mouth?

For whatever reason, I wasn’t. I was thinking about Fausto’s big cock and the heat in his eyes when he stood by the bed and stared down at me. How he’d punched Enzo in the face and killed the guard who had been manhandling me.

You heard my woman.

Damn that possessive asshole—and damn me for liking it so much.

He kicked me out, broke my heart, and treated me like garbage. Again. The only reason he came after me was because someone else had dared to take what was his. That’s all I was to him, a possession. His whore, breeding the next generation of killers and kidnappers. I would never forgive him for kicking me out and ignoring me, for leaving me alone and allowing me to be taken by his rival.

Sadly, my body was not on the same page.

I was broken. Fucked in the head. It had to be these pregnancy hormones—they’d restarted my sex drive tonight like a pair of jumper cables on a dead car battery.

But I wouldn’t allow my feelings to show this time. I wouldn’t give Fausto an opening back into my life. He’d never know how much he affected me or how my body still craved the mind-numbing pleasure he gave it. As far as he was concerned, I was now a frigid bitch.

Whatever I fantasized about in private was my own business.

When he emerged from the closet, he wore a white t-shirt that stretched across his powerful chest and hugged those delicious shoulders. His lower half was covered in a pair of old jeans. Was he going to the dungeon to deal with Enzo?

Sadly, the shiver that worked its way over my skin was not revulsion. Not at all.

I kept my eyes averted and forked up another bite of cake. He came over and covered my lower half with a soft blanket. Had he mistaken that shiver for a chill? I didn’t correct him, too surprised at how careful he was being with me.

“Francesca,” he said, his voice a deep patient rumble.

When I didn’t respond, he put a finger under my chin and tilted my face. The fire in his eyes nearly scorched me. “How badly should I make him suffer, dolcezza?” he asked quietly. “Tell me. What retribution will make it easier for you to sleep at night?”

I swallowed. He was serious. Whatever I said would be carried out by this man without question, without mercy. Power surged through me, a feeling I’d been without for so long that it almost seemed strange. Enzo’s fate rested in my hands. I thought of the trunk, the pistol in my mouth. How Enzo called me puttanella at every turn.

You, on your knees, so obedient. Did he like this, as well? I bet he did.

I hated Enzo for that. But Fausto and I were not a team. This was not a partnership. There was no equality here, and I wouldn’t pretend otherwise. “Since when are you taking my wishes into consideration?”

The smile fell from his face. “Do not worry. I will see that he suffers greatly for everything he has done to you.”

Without another word, he walked out of the room, his heavy boots thudding on the carpet. When the door closed behind him, I put a hand to my chest, my heart racing. Would I ever be immune to him? This was unbearable, sitting here with tight nipples and a throbbing between my legs. Well, screw Fausto. I didn’t need him to take care of this, not anymore. I didn’t need any man ever again.

Without thinking, I slid my fingers under the blanket, into my shorts and panties to find my swollen clit. Oh, God. That felt so good. Better than I remembered. Thank you, pregnancy hormones.

My other hand cupped a heavy breast as my fingers worked between my legs. Sparks shimmered in my veins, a weightlessness that carried my brain off to the place where only pleasure remained. I was drowning in lust, my sex drive back with a vengeance. It wouldn’t take long to come, not with Fausto’s words in my ears and his scent in my nose. It was like sensory overload.

The door suddenly flew open—and I jerked my hand out of my panties and off my chest. Shit!

Of course it was Fausto. He blinked at me, surprised, but only for a split second. Then he relaxed and gave a soft chuckle. Ugh. I filled my tone with all the venom I could muster. “What is it?”

“I forgot my mobile,” he said and pointed to where his phone rested on the dresser.

I said nothing, my skin burning in humiliation and anger at myself. I should’ve waited a few more minutes before trying to ease this ache. Worse, I shouldn’t be attracted to him.

Standing, I made my way to his bathroom, ready to shower and put this entire experience behind me.

As I locked the door, I heard him call out, “The shower head is removable and has both a high and low setting.”

I gave the finger to the closed door.

Fausto

I descended the dungeon steps, a familiar calmness washing over me as I went below ground. Perhaps it was more like detachment rather than calm, but I relished it all the same. Down here, there was no need to hold back. Instead of fighting the demons of my past, I could let them rise up and take over.

Enzo D’Agostino was about to witness that transformation first hand.

I was almost ten years older than Enzo. He hadn’t seen me at my worst, when they started calling me il Diavolo. He would learn, though, starting tonight.

Marco, Giulio, and several guards were leaning against the stone. Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Giulio watched me carefully, his face tired and gaunt. When had he started smoking? I didn’t like it. Addictions made men weak.

I couldn’t stop to mother him now, however. Besides, I’d already asked him to give up enough. Perhaps I should ignore the cigarettes. A tentative truce had been called between us while planning to retrieve Francesca, and I hated to see that broken.

Looking at Marco, I asked, “Any problems?”

“None. The men at the beach house were dealt with and the family returned home. They were scared out of their minds, but seemed all right.”

“If we need them again, we know where to find them. Sicilians leave?”

“They could hardly wait. I offered to get them rooms tonight, but they declined. How is she? Forgive you yet?”

I thought of her, one hand down her panties, the other squeezing her tit. Dio, that sight. My dick twitched just picturing it. One thing for certain, Francesca’s anger would not last much longer. Soon I would coax her back into riding my cock. “David says she’s fine. Enzo give you any trouble?”

“He’s been quiet. I don’t think he’s grasped the severity of the situation yet.”

“Good. I like to be the bearer of bad news.” I continued toward the last cell, the largest, where Enzo was strapped to a chair.

Grinning, I pulled over another chair and sat facing him. They hadn’t gagged him yet. That would come later, when we tired of his screams. “Welcome to my home, D’Agostino. A shame you’ll only ever see this one part.”

“La Provencia won’t let you get away with this. Whatever you think you are going to do to me, it’s a bad idea.”

I shook my head. “Your computer schemes don’t bring in a fraction of what I do. I control the ’Ndrangheta’s money, Enzo. And when you control the money, you control the people dependent on it. No one will dare say a word to me about this, because if they do I will burn it all down.”

“The puttanella means that much to you?”

He wanted to make me angry, to hurry this along. It’s what I would have done in his situation. A swift death was always preferable. But I intended to draw this out as long as possible. Months, if I was lucky.

“She is mine, which means she is off limits. You took her to blackmail me, to force my hand into giving you something you do not deserve. And you will suffer for it.”

He sneered at me. “I bet you love her big tits. I certainly loved watching them jiggle as she and Mariella played on the beach. I even got to feel them when I tied her up with that rope—”

I didn’t think, just lunged. My fist swung out and I popped him in the mouth. The chair rocked from the force of the impact, so I righted it with my foot. Both Enzo’s lips were split open and blood coated the satisfied smile he gave me. “The great Fausto Ravazzani, pussy-whipped over a piece of Canadian trash.”

Trying to get a handle on my temper, I exhaled and retook my seat. “I heard Mariella didn’t make it.” I pursed my lips and made the sign of the cross. “Such a tragedy.”

He snarled and struggled then, trying to get at me. Yes, this was much better.

“Figlio di puttana! I asked your men to let her go, as well as my wife and children. What kind of man are you?”

“Your puttanella helped kidnap Francesca. Did you honestly think I would let her live after that?”

“I will kill you for this,” he panted, his hair hanging down in his face. “Whatever it takes, I will kill you. I never hurt Frankie. I never intended to. She was treated respectfully while at my home.”

“Except for your wandering hands,” I remarked. “Giulio!”

“Yes, Papà?” My son was by my side in a blink.

“Bring me a cleaver and a small wooden table.”

He walked to where the weapons were stored as I stared at Enzo. We said nothing, merely watched one another. I hadn’t intended to start so brutally, but the idea of this man’s hands on Francesca made me crazy.

Giulio arrived and handed me the items I’d asked for. “His right hand,” I instructed. “Untie it.”

Enzo jerked as Giulio freed his right hand, his jaw locked tight. Giulio tipped his chin to another soldier, who came forward to place the wooden table in front of Enzo. Then the two of them held Enzo’s hand flat, fingers extended, on the wood.

I tested the cleaver blade while the boys worked. Sharp. When Enzo was in place, I stood and glared down at D’Agostino. “You restrained her and put her in a trunk. Then you tied her up and forced a gun in her mouth. You thought to use her against me, but it failed. You shouldn’t have touched her.”