A little over a month after our wedding, Emma and I had to attend our first social event in Minneapolis: my mother’s fifty-first birthday party.
Emma looked stunning in a terracotta evening dress that accentuated her narrow waist. The neckline was low, giving me a tantalizing look at the swell of her breasts. Jealousy reared its head when I considered the view many men would get.
As usual, my mother had to invite the families of every Captain. Sofia had flown in for one night too, but without Danilo because he was busy with business. Dante and his family were there too, minus my cousin Anna who was in Paris. Dante’s presence meant Dad and I could talk to him and Leonas later.
I greeted most people with a brief nod and shook the occasional hand. Most of the guests had been at our wedding as well. I could tell Emma felt uncomfortable under the force of everyone’s attention. Eventually, when we settled a little to the side in the living room with glasses of champagne, I told her, “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m used to it,” Emma insisted. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. I keep hoping people will start ignoring me.”
“You’re the wife of the next Underboss. Nobody is ever going to ignore you. You married the wrong man for that kind of life. Will you be okay with it?”
Emma pursed her lips, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t have a choice, right?”
I shook my head. She didn’t. She’d have to attend even more social functions than me in the future to schmooze the wives of the Captains and certain politicians.
“I just wish people would stop giving me that look.”
I let my gaze wander over the gathered guests, but people were careful to keep their faces neutral when they felt my eyes on them. Still, I caught the occasional look of doubt.
“What look?”
“Like I’m a liability,” Emma muttered, her eyes full of indignation.
I emptied my champagne. “They’re ignorant. Eventually, they’ll realize they were wrong.”
When people looked at us, they pinpointed Emma as the weakness in our relationship because what people perceived as her flaw was apparent to the naked eye. My flaws were well hidden.
One of my great-aunts, who was only invited because honor dictated it and not because my parents liked her, approached us with a benevolent smile. She stopped in front of us and supported her weight on her walking stick. She was probably around ninety. “Samuel and his wife,” she said with a too bright smile, but her eyes were like those of a hawk. “When can we expect offspring?”
My mouth set in a tight line. Emma took a sip from her champagne, her expression pinching.
“That’s a very private question, Aunt,” Dante said as he came up behind her. She clucked her tongue but excused herself with a tight smile. Valentina and Leonas joined us a moment later.
Dante gave Emma a small smile before he turned to me. “How about we discuss Leonas’s stay now?”
“Business talk at your sister’s birthday?” Valentina asked with a frown.
Emma shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“It’s not a milestone birthday,” I said. Mom had celebrated her fiftieth birthday with a huge party last year.
“Excuse us,” I told Emma and Valentina. I knew Valentina would keep Emma entertained until my mother could evade the chatty wives she was stuck with.
Leonas gave me a bored look. “Samuel.”
“Leonas,” I deadpanned.
Dante and I walked ahead toward Dad’s office. I didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he was already waiting for us. Leonas trailed us a few steps, letting his cool gaze scan the crowd, but nothing caught his interest. Knowing him, he preferred a very different kind of celebration, with pot, booze, and girls.
As suspected, Dad was in his office, probably already tired of socializing. He greeted us with a new bottle of bourbon and handed glasses to Dante and me.
Leonas scoffed. “Come on, Uncle Pietro. I’m a Made Man. I fuck girls, I kill, I torture, and you refuse to give me a drink like I’m a little kid?”
Pietro looked at Dante, who had the last word on the matter.
I didn’t remember the first time I’d had a drink. Maybe after my first time when I was fourteen.
“As with almost everything, it’s a matter of moderation,” Dante drawled with a hard look at Leonas.
“Why would I want to fuck in moderation?”
“You won’t ever talk like that in front of your mother.”
“She knows I’m not a virgin anymore. There are no virgins in the mafia.” I could tell he was riling up his father on purpose. I remembered times when I was like that too.
“One drink,” Dante clipped.
Leonas winked at me. Dad handed him a tumbler, and we finally clinked glasses.
“Whoo,” Leonas exclaimed, letting out a hiss after downing the drink in one gulp.
I could tell he would be a handful to keep in check. His teenage antics would undoubtedly drive me up the wall.
He and I stayed in the office when Dad and Dante left a little later.
Leonas lifted his glass. I rolled my eyes and poured him a small sip.
“When you take over from your father, will you change how things are handled?” he asked, suddenly dead serious and not sounding like a teenager at all.
I cocked an eyebrow. “In what regard?”
“The Outfit has shown a lot of restraint over the years when we should have sought revenge, when we should have sent a bloody message.”
I didn’t say anything. “Some things aren’t for me to decide, even once I’m Underboss. That’s the job of a Capo.”
“When I’m Capo, our enemies will regret they ever underestimated us.” I didn’t think they underestimated us. They knew Dante had a more controlled approach to many things. Leonas’s green eyes met mine. “I definitely won’t stop you from getting revenge on the crazy fuckers in Las Vegas.”
My smile became hard. “We killed one of their Underbosses.”
Leonas shook his head. “That’s not enough. Don’t tell me it’s enough for what Remo Falcone and his brothers did.”
It wasn’t, but unless we did what he had done, I didn’t see how it could ever be enough. “You are young. Until you’re Capo, your perspective will change.”
Leonas smirked.
I wasn’t looking forward to August. Another wedding to attend with Renato and Giorgia’s last-minute nuptials, becoming Leonas’s babysitter, and worst of all, the anniversary of Arlo’s, Enea’s, and Domenico’s death.
Emma must have felt my darkening mood because she often regarded me in worry. I knew she wanted to help, but I didn’t see how she could. I was taking over more and more tasks from my father every day to make the switch to me becoming Underboss go as smoothly as possible, but that also meant the focus shifted more and more toward me, and, as a result, also on Emma. Our life would remain in the spotlight for a while, especially with people wondering when, how, and if we’d ever have children. I wasn’t too keen on becoming a father yet, not with the tasks ahead in the next couple of years. Emma and I had never discussed the matter of children or the prevention thereof. I hadn’t ever used protection, so I couldn’t help but wonder if Emma could conceive. We had only been married for six weeks, so it wasn’t as if it was unusual, even without protection, that she wasn’t pregnant.
Still, I was reluctant to approach the subject of children with Emma. I didn’t want to rip open certain wounds, but I also despised relying on the tasteless rumors making the rounds to build my knowledge.
After dinner, I had gone to my office to check the documents our accountant had sent us for the dummy corporations we upheld to launder our drug money, but now I went in search of Emma to finally broach the subject with her. I found her in the living room, huddled into a corner of the sofa with a book. Emma looked up from her book, her brows pulling together as she scanned my face.
I gave her a tight smile and sank down on the sofa beside her. She watched me curiously. “Is something the matter?”
“As you know, we’re expected to have children,” I said carefully. I was tired of the subtle and not-so-subtle comments from friends, soldiers, and distant relatives—my parents rarely bugged me with this—regarding our nonexistent chances of having children. I wanted certainty.
She put her book aside and leaned back, pursing her lips. “You want to discuss it now?”
I couldn’t determine the emotion in her voice, but she was not happy about the topic. “I think we should do it sooner rather than later. You never mentioned if the accident caused any injuries that would affect us having children and whether we might need help becoming parents.”
She tilted her head, regarding me with a quiet intensity that almost made me squirm. “Of course, it’s always good to be prepared, but what makes you think we need help?”
The way she emphasized help made it clear she didn’t like my choice of words. To be honest, I had never researched the matter and didn’t know what exactly needed to be done in our case. “Emma,” I said firmly. Despite the short time we were married, I knew she didn’t like to be reduced to her wheelchair, but we needed to face the reality of the situation. I didn’t have any detailed knowledge about the extent of her injuries from the accident, and I didn’t trust Danilo or my mother-in-law to be honest with me. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do,” she said with a small sigh. “You think I’m infertile because I’m in a wheelchair like so many rumors are suggesting, which is another reason I was labeled damaged goods. You could have asked me instead of believing the rumors.”
Emma calling herself damaged goods made my blood boil. Nobody had dared to call her that in my presence, or they would have suffered a similar fate as the useless recruit.
She was right. My assumption was based solely on the information that had been making the rounds in our circles and that even my parents had shared, which neither Emma nor her parents had ever contradicted. “I assumed the injury to your spinal cord resulted in infertility issues.”
Fuck, I wasn’t a doctor, and like many men in our circles, I really didn’t like to think or talk about women’s issues.
“It can cause certain issues to keep a pregnancy or become pregnant at all, but in my case, it doesn’t. Of course, other issues having nothing to do with the accident might lead to the same infertility issues every woman might be affected by. I’m as fertile as a woman with working legs can be. I can get pregnant, and I can bear children, and my doctor assured me that I don’t have a higher risk of a miscarriage than any other woman does.”
“All right,” I said slowly, feeling relieved. “If that’s the case, then why didn’t you or your parents say something to dissuade the rumors?”
She smiled bitterly. “Because,” she said, “my fertility isn’t anyone’s business. You make it sound as if I should have defended myself. My value isn’t based on my reproductive organs, Samuel. I’m telling you now because you asked and because, as my husband, you deserve to know, but anyone else can just assume whatever they want.”
When she was angry like that, with her skin flushed and her hair a little messy from her agitation, she was even more gorgeous. She was always lovely, not just when she was angry, but then in particular.
“It would have killed the rumors.”
“People would have found new things to gossip about,” she said with a small shrug, but I could see that it bothered her.
“They always do,” I agreed. “I assume you want children?”
I had to admit I was relieved we wouldn’t have to use additional help. The idea of having to shoot my load into a little cup so doctors could get Emma pregnant just made me uncomfortable. It was ridiculous, but I simply wanted to get her pregnant the natural way.
Her expression softened. “I do.”
I nodded, glad we’d discussed the matter. “I never use protection, and we have sex a lot.” I couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on my face.
Emma nodded. “I’m taking the pill.”
I narrowed my eyes in thought. “Shouldn’t you have told me?”
“Up until now, you didn’t seem to be concerned about contraception. I assumed you didn’t care.”
“Why are you taking the pill? Do you feel too young to become a mother?”
“Maybe, to a small degree, but mainly, I don’t think we’re ready for kids yet.”
We still barely knew each other. Things were getting easier by the day, but I was definitely still emotionally detached. I wasn’t sure when and if that would change. “Our marriage is still young, but many couples in our world don’t let that stop them.”
Emma bit her lip. “Do you even want children now?”
I didn’t have a deeply buried longing for children. I wanted them at some point. “I’m more curious why you don’t want them now.”
Something in her expression set my alarms off. She leaned forward and touched my hand. “Samuel, I’m not stupid, nor am I blind. Before we should consider having children, I think you need to work on your problem.”
I narrowed my eyes and pulled my hand away. “What problem?”
She sighed. “Your drinking.”
EMMA
Samuel jerked to his feet, his expression turning ice cold. Samuel wasn’t a man who raged or shouted, and while it was something I appreciated, his quiet anger and broodiness could be difficult as well. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he clipped. “Most Made Men have a drink after a shitty day. If you saw what we do, you’d have a drink too, trust me.”
I’d expected this reaction and also his explanation.
“You drink more than one glass or two, and when you work from home, you drink throughout the day.”
“Have you ever seen me drunk, Emma?” he growled. “Except for that one time I went out with Renato. One fucking time.”
“You’re right. That was the only time I saw you drunk,” I said softly. “And that’s what really worries me, considering how many bottles of whiskey are in our trash every week.”
Two weeks ago, I noticed it and then started checking. Maybe the history of my accident made me sensitive to alcohol problems, but everyone would have been shocked by how many empty bottles were in the trash, and those were only the drinks Samuel had at home, not when he was in Outfit establishments.
“You’re my wife, Emma, not my nanny. Not even my mother shoved her nose into my business like that. I’m a grown man and don’t need someone to tell me how much I can drink.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s getting late. I still have work to do. And maybe I’ll have another drink while I do.”
He held my gaze with a look of challenge and fury.
I didn’t say anything, feeling my throat tighten at his harsh words. He turned on his heel and left me sitting there.
I resisted the urge to follow him. I hated unfinished arguments, and this felt very much like an unfinished argument. He obviously felt attacked by my words when I was only driven by concern.
Maybe I should have approached the matter differently, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t have experience with addiction. Not that I was sure that Samuel had already crossed the line to being an addict, but he was definitely teetering on the edge. His alcohol consumption was far from moderate—that much was clear. I wished I could talk about this with someone, but I absolutely trusted only a few people—Danilo and Giorgia, but the former disliked Samuel, and the latter was busy with her last-minute wedding.
I couldn’t talk to Danilo because he would only confront Samuel in an attempt to protect me, which would only anger Samuel more. Not to mention that he’d see it as a breach of trust. Maybe I could talk to Mom. She wasn’t always easy, but maybe this was something she could help me with. She had led a happy marriage with Dad after all. But she’d only just found new happiness since Dad had died, and I didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. She’d spent too many years fretting over Dad’s and my health.
I was on my own in this. I had to follow my gut instinct and try to keep talking to Samuel and show him my support.
Samuel didn’t come to bed until the early morning hours. I had just turned off the lights because I was too agitated to sleep and had finished my book when I heard him coming up the stairs. The door opened and light spilled in, illuminating my tall, broad husband. He’d already gotten rid of his tie, and his shirt was half unbuttoned. As usual, the sight of Samuel’s toned body tightened my belly in the most torturous way. I had never felt desire this acute.
Something in Samuel’s expression told me he’d drunk again, maybe even more so than usual, maybe to prove a point. To prove that he was in control of his choices, of himself.
“You’re late,” I said into the silence. Samuel came into the dark room but left the lights in the hallway on. He unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it on the floor. Then he stalked toward the bed. I wondered if he wanted to continue our argument. His pissed expression suggested it, but instead, he bent over me, cupped the back of my head, and slammed his mouth down on mine. I gasped against his lips, and his tongue slipped in. As expected, he tasted like the expensive whiskies lining the shelves in his office. The taste was pleasant, a little smoky and sweet, but I still hated that he’d drunk to prove a point. His tongue teased mine, and soon sparks seemed to fill my body, and heat gathered between my legs.
He dragged his lips away and tugged down my nightgown before he sucked my breast into his mouth. I gasped at the unexpected sensation. His motions were less inhibited, almost wild, as he licked and sucked at my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple several times.
“Samuel,” I got out in a shaky whisper. “Are you—”
“I don’t want to talk,” he rasped. “I want to eat you and then fuck you.”
Maybe I should have stopped him. Solving our problems with sex seemed like a recipe for disaster, but I yearned for him.
He slid down my body, shoved my panties down and my legs apart, and then he sucked my clit hard. I cried out, completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. He released my clit after another slightly softer tug and pushed his tongue into me. I gasped as he slammed his tongue into me hard and fast and spread me even wider open for better access. His stubble lightly scratched my ass cheeks and inner thighs, and the friction turned me on even more. He’d never been this dominant and demanding before. I squirmed helplessly on the bed, my fingers digging into the sheets, my shock-widened eyes peering up at the shadowy ceiling as Samuel teased my opening relentlessly with his tongue. There was something animalistic about his unrestrained, barely controlled touch. I risked a glance down but could only see his blond head and hear him. He didn’t let up his penetration. I rocked my hips desperately, wanting to be touched where I throbbed fiercely. Samuel pulled back, and I whimpered. “Hold still,” he ordered in a low growl.
I bit my lip, my nails scratching over the linen, waiting for Samuel to continue, but he waited almost a minute as if he wanted to see if I would obey him and really lie still. His fingers spread me open, and I shuddered at his touch. Then he pushed his tongue into me so very slowly, still not touching my clit. He slid back out unhurriedly. I was incredibly aroused, almost delirious with the need to come. Samuel circled my opening with his tongue, and I moaned. “Samuel, I need—”
“No,” he clipped, then fucked me slowly with his tongue again. I squeezed my eyes shut, panting.
I wasn’t sure how much more I could take of Samuel’s teasing. Maybe it was even a sort of punishment. Samuel’s tongue brushed up and down, sometimes so lightly the touch seemed almost nonexistent, sometimes demanding and hard, but it never grazed my clit where I needed his touch the most. Soon, he turned his attention back to my opening. His tongue began to circle me, teasing me again. Even though he never touched my clit, I could soon feel an insistent pounding in my sensitive nub. Maybe I would come without being touched there.
He pulled away, and I whined in protest. He chuckled low in his throat. “I love how wet you are. I can taste how much this turns you on. You are dripping on my tongue.”
Embarrassment washed over me, and I felt myself blush fiercely. Luckily, Samuel couldn’t see it, but he probably knew. I’d never been this wet, not even close, but Samuel’s touch lit my body on fire.
“You’re going to come now,” he growled.
He slammed two fingers into me and sucked my clit, and I shattered under the force of the pleasure.
I could feel my flesh pulsating against his mouth as I shoved my head into the pillow, my fingers raking over the sheets. Samuel groaned against me.
I was still reeling from my orgasm when Samuel pushed to his feet and rolled me over on my belly. I heard him open his belt, and the rustling of his clothes told me he was getting naked. My core clenched in anticipation even though I wasn’t sure how much more my body could take at this point. His weight pressed down on me, his hot breath against my shoulder as he kissed me there, then my throat. I panted against the pillow, unable to move. He rubbed his tip along my opening until I was panting for more. Holding my hips, he pushed into me.
My breathing hitched when he settled all the way inside me. I felt so full, and the angle offered a new, more intense sensation.
“You feel good, Emma,” he murmured, his lips grazing my cheek as he slowly eased out of me before he thrust back inside.
He snaked his arm under me and pressed his finger against my clit. The intense pressure of my clit and his deep thrusts soon had me moaning uncontrollably into the pillow.
Samuel always made me forget everything else in these moments when our bodies joined. The feel of him on top of me, inside me, his warm breath against my neck, his deep moans…became my sole existence until stars exploded before my eyes and the waves of pleasure coursing through my body blasted away all else.
His release spilled into me, and I shivered under a new wave of pleasure. Samuel became slack on me, his breathing still hot on my neck and his cock softening inside me.
His finger still pressed against my clit but didn’t move anymore. I wanted to stay like this forever. I didn’t want to return to being mad at each other.
Yet Samuel took a deep breath and got off me. I stayed on my belly, too exhausted to move. Samuel moved in the room and returned a moment later with a washcloth that he used to gently clean me. The caring gesture made my heart thud madly in my chest. Then he stunned me by kissing my ass cheek. “I love your ass. It’s beautiful like the rest of you. Beautiful inside and out.” His words were laced with tiredness and alcohol. Had the whisky spoken? Or had it only teased out words that he’d usually keep to himself?
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Samuel stretched out beside me and fell asleep without another word, his breathing deep and low.
I was wide awake. My pulse was still racing, and Samuel’s words kept repeating in my head. They had been tender and affectionate. I could feel myself falling for him, having already had a crush on him even before we’d married.
But should I turn a blind eye to his struggles for now? Should I allow our bond to grow before I tried again?
Would he ever even let me get close enough to admit any problems to me?
