Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Oh, god,” I groan, looking at the ceiling. “I’m not indulging your weird sex dungeon fantasies. Not in my room.”
“What about some other room? I could accept more walls if it means I get to experiment on you.”
I wish, for once in my life, that I could control my blushing, but my face and my ears are burning up at the thought of him tying me to a pole and spanking my ass then fucking my mouth with his big dick. I am a twisted little pervert.
“Finish your food,” I tell him even though there’s nothing left to eat.
He only laughs because my face feels like it’s going to spontaneously combust any minute, and the bastard can practically read my mind.
Chapter 16
Davide
I’m thinking about dinner on the drive out to the warehouse. Father’s sitting up front and I’m in the back with Simon while Bruno’s behind the wheel. Nobody’s talking—it’s late and everyone’s lost in their own thoughts and worries—and I should probably be focused on the problem at hand.
Except I keep thinking about dinner, and the way Stefania wanted to do something nice for me. She’s not the kind of girl who cooks for her husband, which makes me appreciate the effort even more. But she’s also not the spoiled mafia princess I thought she might be at first—she doesn’t spend much money and has barely asked for anything. Most days she spends in her library reading, exploring the neighborhood while always tailed by my guards, and going out with my mother and Elena. Laura still hasn’t warmed up to her but that will come in time.
We park and head inside. Father goes in first and there are already half a dozen Bianco men milling around the place. They all try to look busy now that the Don’s present.
“Worse than I thought,” Dad says and we survey the wreckage in silence. The main warehouse floor is covered in broken boxes and smashed crates, the entire place ransacked and destroyed, though it isn’t unsalvageable. They could’ve burned it all or blown the entire warehouse to splinters. Instead it looks like someone came through and made a mess, but stopped short of actually destroying everything.
“Who would do something this stupid?” Simon asks.
Dad looks back at me. “How many men have you killed lately?”
“Four, all of them connected to the ships, and all of them employed by Uncle Luciano.”
“Stop calling him that,” Dad murmurs, his eyes narrowed. “Four men dead, and this is his response? He breaks into our warehouse and makes a mess?”
“He stole a small shipment of rifles,” Simon says but he looks as mystified as I feel. Dad’s got a point—four dead men deserve a bigger reaction, but it’s like Santoro wants to avoid a war as much as we do while simultaneously trying to provoke us into a fight. If he wants blood, he’s getting blood.
“There’s something more to this,” Dad says as he begins to roll up his sleeves. “We’re going to clean up the place, and while we’re at it, we’d better figure out what the fuck Santoro wants.”
I exchange a look with Simon, but he just shrugs. That’s the sort of shit my father’s all about. The Don shouldn’t sit behind his desk getting fat and soft while his men do all the fighting and all the work. He believes in leading from the front—meaning when there’s a mess, he dives in and starts helping out.
And his sons are all expected to do their part.
I get home late. The house is dark and I make my way upstairs by feel. I don’t want to turn on lights and wake Stefania—that’s the problem with an open floorplan. You can’t sneak a damn thing.
But I don’t need to be worried. When I reach the bed and sit down to start undressing, I feel her stir behind me. I shrug off my jacket and unbutton my shirt, and I hear her coming closer, until I feel her fingers on my shoulders.
“Everything okay?” she asks as she slowly kneads my tired muscles.
Fuck, she has no clue how much I need this right now. I spent the last three hours shifting heavy crates and sweeping up glass; every inch of me is sore and beyond exhausted.
“Just a mess we had to clean up.” I roll my neck and close my eyes. “That feels good.”
“You’re tense.” She pauses and I feel something warm on my neck. It’s her lips. “I was worried.”
“Since when did you worry about me, dolcezza?” It’s a strange feeling, knowing that someone gives a shit about me. I know my family would care if I got hurt, but that’s different than having a wife back home wondering what I’m up to when I’m out working in the middle of the night.
“Since I got stuck with you.” She continues rubbing my shoulders, but now she’s moving down my arms. “And since you left me all alone, I was thinking about you, too. I couldn’t sleep.”