My legs wobble, and if it weren’t for Giorgio’s arm around me, I’d tumble down the stairs, but he pulls me tighter against his side and smirks down at me.
He’s going to kill me. No amount of porn or research could’ve prepared me for what he just did to me. I didn’t know I could have a full body orgasm like that.
He was only using his finger, too. One finger. I’ll never survive the monster hanging between his legs.
The front door opens before we reach the top step. A breeze carries my mother’s cloying perfume to me. The residual glow from my orgasm fades and reality crashes onto my head.
My insufficiencies emanate from my mother’s eyes, and I become acutely aware of how horrible I must look.
Mussed hair. Unbuttoned top. Smelling of sex. Hickeys all over my neck and shoulder. Giorgio didn’t even give me a chance to freshen up.
As my mother offers him her signature smile, I realize he did it on purpose.
Gratitude, annoyance, and sadness spear through me.
“We didn’t expect you so early,” my mother says to me after greeting Giorgio.
When she reaches for my shoulders to give me the stereotypical kiss on each cheek Italian mothers usually give their children, Giorgio shifts me away, putting his body between us.
“Forgive me, Madona. I’m not quite ready to let go of her just yet. Maybe after a cup of coffee?”
Oh. My. God.
The nerve of this man.
“Of course! You’re always welcome to visit. Horatio is currently in a meeting, but he should be out soon,” my mother says.
She gestures for us to follow her into the house. Giorgio pulls me along beside him, giving me no option to balk.
I wouldn’t dare, anyway. He stole the strength from my legs when he wrenched that orgasm from my body.
My mother leads us into the sitting room and requests some coffee and snacks from the nearest staff. He rushes to comply.
Before Giorgio can pull me down onto the loveseat beside him, my father’s voice echoes down the hall. A group of six or seven men walk past the doorway as he ushers them to the foyer.
Ice slides down my spine as I recognize my father’s consigliere’s voice. It’s cowardly, but I lean into my future husband and grab the back of his shirt. He flicks unreadable dark brown eyes down at me, but returns his attention to my mother, maintaining his show for my sake.
We remain standing until my father steps into the room.
“Giorgio! What a pleasant surprise,” he says.
Otello Tempe, my father’s right-hand man and closest confidant, saunters in with the smooth walk of a man who believes he can do no wrong. My skin crawls. The air turns frigid as hatred and lies fill the room.
I twist my fingers in Giorgio’s shirt before I regain control of myself and force myself to relax.
My mother ensures I don’t see Otello very often, so even though he lives on the third floor, we rarely see each other face-to-face.
It’s been at least six months since I was in the same room with him, but he looks the same, except for the cut of his suit and the color of his tie.
“I’m sure you’ve met before, but it may have been a few years, so let me introduce you again. Giorgio Vivaldi, meet Otello Tempe, my brother and consigliere.”
The ice infecting my bones spreads outward until my skin turns clammy.
I hate when my father introduces him as a blood relative. He’s not. The man single-handed tore my family apart behind my father’s back. The worst part is my father remains completely clueless.
I abhor him, but I can’t choose who my father works with. Or fucks.
They don’t keep it a secret within these walls, but outside of the house, they seem no closer than the brothers my father proclaims them to be.
I silently thank Giorgio as he pulls the same stunt with my so-called uncle as he did with my mother, keeping his body between mine and the new arrival’s.
As my partner in crime navigates the conversation with eerie ease, I act as though I don’t even exist, completely fine with fading into the background.
Until Otello pulls me into the discussion.
“I knew you two would get along, but it’s still a relief to see things going so well,” he says.
“Ah, well, who wouldn’t get along with Aurora? She’s an angel.”
My heart skips a beat at Giorgio’s unexpected praise and thinly veiled threat. While I appreciate him staking a claim over me, the less said about us in our current company, the better.
I feign happiness as best I can but hope he reads my reluctance to continue the conversation in the tightness of my smile.
“She wasn’t always so well behaved, or so low maintenance, so it’s nice your union is off to a great start.”
All the blood drains from my face. My head spins. Giorgio’s fingers flex into my side.
“I’m sorry you had doubts.” His flat tone sends a shiver down my spine. “I can’t stay long, so you’ll have to excuse me.” He turns to my mother and gives a slight dip of his chin. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”
He pulls me into the hall without another word or backward glance. My legs tingle with numbness, but I force one in front of the other, eager to put more distance between myself and all three of the people in my parents’ sitting room.
“Which one is your room?” Giorgio asks, snapping me out of my spiral.
I take a deep breath and blink until my surroundings come into focus.
“Tristan’s room.” I point to the first room on the left. “My room.” The second on the left. “My mother’s suite.” The last door on the right. “My father’s suite.” The first door on the right.
Giorgio’s alertness surpasses the level he showed when we visited his lawyer’s office. He scans the ceiling for cameras and studies the paintings and fixtures for abnormalities. His eyes pause on both mine and my brother’s doorhandles.
A wave of uncertainty grips me as I realize the sexiest, most ruthless man I’ve ever met is about to see my room. He’ll be the first male to step foot in my personal domain in six years. That’s counting Tristan’s last visit. My father rarely haunts the hall, electing to sleep either in his study or on the third floor.
Otello never steps foot beyond the second-floor landing.
Deciding to act before I lose my courage, I pull away from Giorgio, surprised when he lets me, and grab his hand. After weaving my fingers within his, I pull him toward my room and fling open the door.
Like a character in a comic book, I rush headlong through the doorway only to screech to a halt halfway across the room. After taking a few calming breaths, I turn to see his reaction.
It’s shocking how expressive the man can be. Without a single word, he eases all my fears. Even though the menace never leaves his aura, the upward tilt of his lips and the interest shining in his eyes assures me he likes my room.
Shit. My prescription sits on the top shelf.
I tug him into the bathroom and pray he didn’t see it.
“Can you give me a minute? I’ll open the door when I’m done.”
He quirks a brow.
“Don’t women usually hide in the bathroom when they need a minute?”
“Look, you can go through the cabinets in here while you wait, if you want. Just let me tidy up in the bedroom a little.”
He encloses me in his arms and cups the back of my head in his massive hand.
“If you’re trying to hide naughty toys, don’t bother. They’ll just become tools in my arsenal, anyway. I’ll learn how to use your favorites and watch you writhe on my cock as I torture and tease you.”
“You don’t need any help.” His eyes flash with masculine pride as I stroke his ego with my words and throaty response. “I don’t have toys, but…” I take a deep breath and reveal my insecurities. “I’ve never had a guy in my room before. Never had anyone in my room besides my mother. I just want to tidy it up a bit. Please?”
He groans and takes my mouth in a searing, desperate kiss. When he pulls away, we both gasp for breath.
“What are you doing to me, topolina?” he murmurs with his forehead pressed against mine.
I don’t have an answer for him, so I say nothing.
“Fine, but I’m opening the door in two minutes if you haven’t already.”
“Thank you,” I say before pecking his cheek and closing the door between us.
Despite the urge to grab my medicine first, I open my bedside table and drop the jar of odds and ends—including my bobby pins—into the back of the drawer. I take my medicine from the top shelf and slip it into my purse, moving carefully so the pills don’t clatter, and zip it closed before rushing to my desk and moving things around.
The bathroom door opens not even thirty seconds later.
He catches me before I can rush into my walk-in closet.
“Is this where your mother locks you in?” he asks, but he already knows the answer before I shake my head, since there’s no lock on the door. Not even the bathroom has a lock.
“But she locks your bedroom door?”
I nod.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
I shrug.
He stalks to the door and studies the old-fashioned handle. His face hardens as he realizes there’s no way to lock or unlock it—from either side—without the key.
Without a word, he moves on to my vanity. Then my bookshelf. Then my desk.
My heart pounds against my sternum as he squats to look under and behind my workspace.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“I thought you’d have a much more elaborate setup,” he says.
“My computer?” I clarify.
He nods. I scoff and cross my arms over my chest, but stop myself before I say something stupid or revealing.
“This is more than enough,” I compromise.
He doesn’t need to know I could hack into the FBI database from a burner phone. The feds would kick in my door less than thirty seconds later without the protection of an IP mask, but I’d still have the classified information he wanted.
He retraces his steps to my bookshelf.
“What are you studying in college?”
I hesitate too long. He swings narrowed eyes my way.
“Can we talk about this later?”
I shift my gaze to the door. He relents and turns to face my bed.
Heat flames in my cheeks as I realize looking at the door and reminding him of my parents’ proximity won’t stop him from laying me out on my comforter and continuing where we left off in the car. Lust shimmers in my veins.
His wicked smile fans the flames of my desire. An inferno burns in my core.
He stalks toward me, grabs me by the throat, and pulls me against him.
“If I were a nicer man, I’d leave without touching you, but I need you to think of me every time you walk into this room. Every time you sit at this desk. Every time you lie in your bed,” he growls against my temple.
Shivers wrack my spine.
“I need to be the center of your world.” He nips my sensitive ear. “Because you’re already the center of mine.”
My heart melts. I can’t deny him, even though the thought of losing my virginity in this room curdles my stomach.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he snarls.
Every cell in my body turns to mush. I comply without a thought.
“Mio Dio, you’re perfect.”
He kisses me like a man possessed. His hands touch me everywhere, framing my face, tangling in my hair, gripping my neck, and skimming my shoulders.
He hooks his forearm under my ass and lifts me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his waist and grab his nape on reflex.
“Bad girl,” he hisses against my lips.
I squeak as he kicks my desk chair out of the way and pushes my keyboard to the side before setting me on the desk. The cool surface seeps through my skirt and panties, shocking my overheated pussy.
He drops to his knees, pushes my knees apart, and pins my calves to the front of my desk.
“What are you—?”
Fireworks burst in my skull as he seals his mouth over my entire sex. Even with my panties muffling the sensation, I gasp and mindlessly tug his hair as he licks and nips me through the fabric.
Pressure builds in my core. I whine when he pulls away.
He scoops me up and drops me onto my bed. My grunt of surprise morphs to a moan as his mouth closes over my left breast. His weight pins my lower half to the bed, otherwise I’d jackknife onto the floor when he pinches my nipple between his teeth.
It stings even with my dress and bra between us.
He lifts his head.
“Pull my hair harder, mia topolina. Make it hurt. I deserve it for what I’m about to do to you.”
I tug his hair and writhe as he frames my breasts with his gigantic hands, highlighting our size differences.
He closes his mouth over my right breast.
Mio Dio, I never knew my nipples could be so sensitive.
He disappears. I blink up at my ceiling in confusion. My entire body throbs with need. It hurts. I don’t like it.
“Stay in here until your brother comes home. I’ll text you when I get to the car. Show it to your mother if she gives you trouble. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. Capisci?”
He leaves the room without waiting for an answer. I stare blindly at the ceiling for long, unending moments, not moving even when my phone chimes in my purse, until the worst of my frustration passes.
After responding to Giorgio’s text, I drop my phone on the bed and drag myself into the shower. When I meet my eyes in the mirror, my heart lurches.
My eyes shine brighter than ever before. Faint bruises form on my neck, but Giorgio’s teeth marks still ring the dark purple bruise on my shoulder. I shiver and wipe away my tears, not even sure why I feel the need to cry, and slather on makeup.
When I step into the hall, silence drifts up the stairs, so I wait in the foyer until the SUV pulls up.
Tristan’s animated retelling of the day soothes my aching heart, but by the time I say goodnight to him, I realize my brother can’t stop the slow bleeding caused by Giorgio’s infiltration.
I take my medicine from my purse, settle at my desk, and open the college coursework my mother expects to see on my screen before staring blankly at the wall.
The door opens. My mother’s icy gaze wipes away whatever lust lingers from Giorgio’s visit. She watches me swallow my handful of pills before locking the door without a word.
I slump. Breathe in. Breathe out. Straighten my spine. Roll my neck. Crack my knuckles. Then dive in to catch up on what I missed last night.
First thing on my list: send an anonymous tip to Nico. Serenity’s tablet didn’t malfunction; someone hid malware in a look-alike app, and they would have gotten away with it if she hadn’t had automatic updates permitted. I flushed the device and added some code to increase her security and prevent the hackers from obtaining whatever information they hoped to glean.
I continue down my mental list, checking my parents’ devices, looking into the people I met and the names I learned today, completing a handful of jobs, and finishing a few assignments before sitting back in my chair and sighing.
As I start a deep dive into Giorgio’s assets, my mouth dries. All the funds I’ve stashed away over the years seem puny compared to his wealth. I don’t understand why he gave me everything in the prenuptial agreement, but I don’t want it. Even though his businesses and properties seem surprisingly clean, they’re still mafia adjacent.
None of my efforts matter if I can’t protect Tristan from my fucked up family. All those years of studying and working mean nothing if I can’t get him out of my parents’ clutches.
As I run through potential options—tossing most of them in the trash heap before they even form—I fiddle with my mouse.
When a semi-decent idea pops into the forefront of my mind, I focus my eyes only to freeze when I realize what I absently pulled up while brainstorming.
Many, many years ago, I collected DNA samples from everyone in my family and sent them for tests.
My brother’s results sit on the left side of the screen. Otello Tempe’s show on the left.
They’re a match. The 99.9 on the paternity test bores into my brain.
I exit out of both screens with shaky fingers and delete my history.
My father isn’t Tristan’s father. Otello is.
Technically, I’m the Achilles heir, but the mafia is too patriarchal. No one would accept me when Tristan is around, and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever reveal the truth and put my brother in danger.
The worst part?
I think Otello Tempe, my father’s consigliere and lover, knows he’s the one who put Tristan into my mother’s womb.
