Cruel Tyrant Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
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“Yeah? You do?” Her pretty lips part and her tongue presses against her teeth. “God, this is so stupid. We’re married, right? It shouldn’t be like this.”

“Why not? I feels good, doing this whole courtship dance.”

She rolls her eyes. “Courtship? Like you’re a prince?”

“Exactly. Why not have a little courtly romance in our lives? I like you, dolcezza, and I like where our relationship has been going. I want to keep exploring it with you. I want to keep being with you.”

She chews her lip and nods slowly. “I want that too.”

“Good.” I kiss her again and this time she’s not trying to call me unseemly names.

Giorgia finds us a while later. She sits down on the stoop and the three of us share more wine. I tell them about Chicago and ask Giorgia about her family. Stefania even tells a few funny stories about her brothers, mostly focusing on Carlo and his antics.

When it gets late, Giorgia excuses herself. “I’m going to skip getting blackout drunk again tonight, guys,” she says, laughing lightly as she skips back inside. “You two be good!”

I walk with my wife back to our house. We’re holding hands, and I feel good, completely at peace, like there’s an ease I haven’t felt before. At the door to our home, I kiss my wife and linger there with her.

“I wonder what it would have been like if we had met under other circumstances,” I whisper, hands on her hips. I’m already undressing her in my mind, and I’m doing it very slowly. Good thing I’m a patient man and can wait until we’re in the privacy of our home, because there are guards nearby, and I would have to kill them if they caught a glimpse of my wife’s body.

“I think we would’ve had a better start. You know, less hating each other?”

“We probably wouldn’t have had wild, angry sex though.”

“Okay, solid point. Are you suggesting you’re going to fuck me like I’ve been bad when we get inside, dear husband?”

I grip her hair, heart racing. “Darling wife, you have been bad. Dropping a houseguest on me out of nowhere?” I tsk at her, shaking my head. “You deserve a punishment.”

“You’re right, I really do.” She gets on her toes and kisses me. “A really bad punishment.” Her eyes light up. “A painful one even.”

“You filthy, filthy girl.” I growl and kiss her hungrily, possessively, and I’m pushing open the door when my phone rings.

Fucking technology. I’m too goddamn available. But this is my private line, and only important people have it, which means I can’t ignore it when it rings, even if all I want to do is strip my wife down and spank her ass pink before fucking her into a sweaty, messy bliss.

“Go upstairs,” I command, squeezing her ass hard. “I want you undressed. I want you on all fours. I want you touching yourself. I want you nice and wet when I arrive. Do you understand?”

“I’m already nice and wet,” she says, licking her lips. “But I’m happy to oblige.”

“Good girl.” I slap her ass. “Go now.”

She hurries away as I lift the phone to my ear.

“Yes?” I grunt, annoyed at the delay.

“Hello, nephew. It’s been a long time.”

I go very still. I can’t move. I feel heat all around me. Fire licks at the bars of my cage, and my skin is melting and burning. Agony washes over me, and my hair’s singed and stinking. Everything hurts and I’m scared, so fucking scared.

“Uncle Luciano,” I say.

Chapter 29

Davide

I sit silently in my father’s study as my brother paces back and forth across the room. His footsteps squeak a loose floorboard every lap and the sound is like the metronome for the anxiety coursing through the room.

“We have options,” Father says. He’s sitting behind his desk like a king before his court. I’ll hand it to the old man, he’s got the regal thing down pat, and he’s good at keeping his outward expression calm.

But I know him better than that. He keeps fidgeting with a scrap of paper and occasionally clicks his pen without ever writing anything down. His hands can’t stay still, not with the amount of nerves rolling along his skin right about now.

Santoro throws everyone off. Nobody wants to admit it, but the scars of what he did all those years ago still linger, nowhere more obvious than on my own damn skin.

“No, we don’t,” Simon says and pauses to pour himself a drink. It’s only the three of us for now and nobody else in the Famiglia knows about this call just yet. “We can’t let Santoro do this to us again. There’s only one response, and that’s to hunt him down and kill him as soon as fucking possible. We don’t negotiate with cocksuckers.”

“We both know that’s rash,” Father says, his voice a frustrated rumble, because I know he’d want nothing more than to put a bullet in his former best friend’s head. “We’re not ready for a war, and going after him right now will all but guarantee blood in the streets.”


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