Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

Massimo

Getting home at four on a weeknight is extremely unusual for me.

Usually, I’m either at D’Agostinos or the club. But after my encounter with Riccardo earlier, I couldn’t focus on being at either.

At the club, I can chill, but that usually involves fucking. At D’Agostinos, I’d be handling some type of paperwork that I can’t afford to mess with in my unfocused mind, so I got Andreas to fill in for me.

I’m home. Deep down I know why I’m here. I just don’t want to accept it yet.

Fucking Riccardo. That motherfucking dog always knows how to get under my skin. Always.

Always knows what to say to rub me the wrong way, even when I have the upper hand. His fucking words about Emelia stuck in my head.

All damn day, I tried to rid the insults from my mind. But I can’t shake them. I never knew the bastard saw me looking at Emelia at the ball. I never even knew he would have given two fucks about me at an event like that.

That was my fault. My mistake. I dropped my guard and allowed a moment of weakness, oblivious to the fact that my enemy could see me.

But why should it matter?

Why should I care?Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

Emelia belongs to me now, no matter what.

She’s mine. Nothing can change those signatures on the contract.

So, why do I feel like this? Like it does matter.

Like I want her to want me.

Do I?

Fuck… since when do I try to lie to myself?

Cards on the table. I fucking know I want her to want me. I have since that damn ball. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ve been avoiding her.

The marriage was my idea, but I was being a ruthless bastard when I thought of it.

I do want her to want me, but I shouldn’t. The second that takes precedence in my mind, I’ll start to care, then I risk this opportunity to screw with her father.

There are essentially two parts left to fulfill in this plan. Marry Emelia, then watch the Syndicate sling his ass out the door. He’ll be nothing without them.

I slump down on my bed in exasperation and gaze through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sea pulling in and out of the shoreline.

The bright sunlight hits the water, sparkling across the surface like diamonds being scattered over it. Then, like a fantasy, Emelia emerges from the water, making me bolt upright.

My wife-to-be rises with the waves and makes her way to the shore.

Wearing a turquoise bikini, that body of hers is on full display, reminding me how much I want to dirty the virgin up and get nasty with her.

We must be a good thirty feet apart, but I can see her golden skin glistening. Radiant against the sunlight.

I watch her. And I want her. I want to touch her and taste her. Consume and devour her. Lust is overriding my ability to think straight or control myself. I don’t want to resist. I want to give in and feel that attraction and chemistry that sparks when I’m with her.

Pushing to my feet, I loosen my tie and make my way out onto the terrace, going after what I want-her.

Fury fills me when I see Manni walk up to her with a little bag and she hands him something she carried from the sea. Rage consumes me when he says something, and she laughs. I’ve never heard her laugh before, and I certainly never expected to hear the sound being elicited by another man.

To add insult to injury, his fucking eyes are all over her body, lingering on her ass when she bends down to pick something up she dropped. While I’ve known Manni for close to ten years, I feel like ending him right where he stands. He knows better than to be gawking at a woman who’s mine. Lusting after her. What the fuck is he even doing with her?

I make my way to them, not caring that I look like a jealous bastard who’s ready to kill. What I hate more is that Emelia seems fascinated by him. It’s only when my shoes crunch against the sand nearby that they turn and see me.

Manni looks like he’s ready to shit himself, while Emelia gives me a hardened stare. The same one she gave me after she saw me out here with Gabriella.

“Boss,” Manni says, dipping his head for a reverent nod.

“What are you doing out here?” The indignation in my tone tells him his answer better be good.

“I was just keeping Miss Emelia company. She can’t swim very well, and we thought it would be a good idea for me to be out here just in case something happened,” he explains.

Fucker. He’s telling the truth, but he must know I saw the way he looked at her. Knowing the only punishment I dole out is death, his eyes plead with me not to kill his ass. The length of time he’s worked for me and the fact that I’ve been able to trust him more than most will not make him immune to my wrath.

“Get out of my sight. Next time, if Miss Emelia wants to swim and needs someone to watch her ass, I’ll do it,” I answer, much to Emelia’s embarrassment.

Manni knows what I’m talking about, though, and that I’m not mouthing off about shit.

“Yes, sir,” he answers.

“Give me that,” I order, beckoning for him to give me the little bag. He does and practically flees.

I glance into the bag and see that it’s full of seashells. I then look at Emelia and see how upset she is. Because she has her arms crossed under her breasts, though, all I see is the massive swell of her tits and the depth of her cleavage.

“What is the matter with you?” she snaps. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Do not question my actions. You did not see the way he looked at you.”

She smirks without humor and brings her hands up to her cheeks. “Unbelievable. Who cares how he looks at me?”

My eyes snap wide, and I have to bite down hard on my back teeth to tamp down my annoyance. It seems that my absence has loosened things up a little too much, and people, including her, have forgotten she’s mine.

“I fucking care. Besides, why are you out here dressed like that? You don’t have a one-piece bathing suit?” I realize how ridiculous I sound. She does too.

“Massimo. I’m wearing a bikini. People wear them all the time. But hey, if we’re playing this game, I should ask where you’ve been for the last four days.”

My lips part, and I gaze down at her. Barefooted, she seems so much shorter. I tower over her. The truth of my absence surfaces to my mind, but I will it away.

She mistakes my hesitation for something else, and her eyes cloud with something I don’t quite recognize.

“You were with her, weren’t you?” I instantly identify the emotion in her eyes as jealousy. And hurt.

It takes me a moment before I realize she’s referring to Gabriella. Before I can answer, though, she starts walking away, back to the house. I catch her arm.

“No,” I answer, pulling her back, “I wasn’t with Gabriella.”

“Gabriella…” she repeats thoughtfully. She didn’t have Gabriella’s name before. Maybe telling her was a mistake.

“I was working,” I continue.

“I don’t care. You can be with whoever you want,” she scuffs with disgust.

“Jealous much?” I taunt.

“Why the hell would I be jealous of her? She’s not locked up twenty-four seven and ruled under the thumb of a condescending prick.”

Prick? And a condescending one at that. Jesus. This doll certainly has balls. I can’t remember the last person to talk to me like that and live to tell the tale. Yet here she is, with her foot practically tapping against the sand, calling me a prick.

A chuckle slips from my lips. “Did you just call me a condescending prick?”

“Yes.”

I dip my head briefly then smile at her. She tries to bite back a smile but fails and looks away. I catch her face and guide her gaze back to me.

“You’re prettier when you smile.” There’s a noticeable shift in her mood when I tell her. Her gaze softens and her shoulders loosen. The defiance isn’t so strong.

“Is that you being nice?” she asks.

“I don’t do nice.”

She pouts, and my gaze drops to her lips. Those lips of hers have me thinking of how perfect they’ll look around my cock. That smart mouth of hers will do more than amuse me eventually.

My eyes flick back up to meet hers, and I find myself momentarily in that state of flux again where I’m not sure what to do. I should walk away, or send her to her room, but desire has already started to infiltrate my mind.

She sets her hands on her hips, drawing my attention to her body again, when the perfect idea comes to me about how I can reacquaint myself with my wife-to-be.

“Come and take a shower with me.” I almost laugh at the deer-in-the-headlights look she gives me.

Her back becomes rigid, and her entire body tenses. Apprehension fills her eyes. However, instead of the way she looked the other day when she was scared I’d deflower her, there’s something else that lurks beyond her gaze that I definitely don’t miss. Lust.

Invisible fingers of lust reach out to me, curious. I release her, and her cheeks flush pink.

“No,” she replies.

I give her a grin, and her beautiful whisky-colored eyes become narrowed slits.

“Princesca, I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you.” I lean closer and brush my nose aling her ear. “Stop acting like you don’t want to.”

“It’s not an act.”

“No?” I gaze down at her nipples pressing against the sheer fabric of her bikini top. They’re hard distinct points that weren’t there before.

I reach out and rub my finger over the left one, much to her shock. I run my finger over the taut peak and smile.

“Your body betrays you, Emelia. Come, have a shower with me. You just got out of the salty sea, and I just got home from work.” I yank on my tie, emphasizing on the word work so she knows I was being serious about where I was. “I haven’t played with you in four days.”

Her face turns red, and a flush creeps down her elegant neck. She knows if we’re showering together, I won’t exactly be keeping my clothes on.

Placing my hand at the small of her back, I guide her to the house and take advantage of the moment to run my fingers over her perfect ass.

I guide her to her room, deciding I’ll go back to mine later, and lock my door. She didn’t see where I came from earlier. Good. The night I decide to show her my room is the night she’ll stay there and move right into my bed.

I walk her into the bathroom and inhale the sweet scents of strawberries and vanilla. I smelled it the other day, but it’s stronger inside the bathroom.

I close the door once we’re inside. She turns to face me, hesitant. Her eyes take me in as they run over my body.

Nervously, she brings her hands together. I know that all important question hangs heavily over her head. When am I going to fuck her?

I’m surprised I haven’t done it already. I won’t say anything. It adds to the mystery. It adds to desire.

“Take your clothes off,” I say, and she obeys. I like that she’s become submissive. But maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s that she wants to.

Maybe she wants to, like I want her to.

She takes off her top first. My eyes go straight to her tight nipples and the swell of her breasts, round and perfect with the little pink tips begging to be sucked.

When she bends down to push her panties down her legs, her wet hair falls over her face and her breasts bobble.

As she straightens up, that look returns to her eyes and her hands tremble when I look at her pretty cunt right there, waiting for the taking.

I step forward. She steps back but looks up at me with fear all over her face.

I smile and brush my finger over her jaw.

“I told you. I’m not that kind of monster. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

I move in, press my lips to her cheek, and linger by her ear. “Princesca, you’ll believe me because I haven’t given you any reason not to. You’ve been in my home for almost a week. If I were that kind of monster, I would have fucked your brains out the way I wanted to that first night.”

I know she’s wet. If I felt her tight little pussy now, I know she’d be wet from my dirty words. When I move back, she tries to assert that defiance again but fails. I smile to myself.

With that, I unbutton my shirt and slide it down my shoulders. I shed my pants next, along with my shoes and socks. The curious look on her face as she watches me undress is classic. She’s watching with fascination she’s trying to hide. Fascination, which becomes more evident when I get down to my boxers, push them down my legs, and my cock juts free. I’m perfectly erect and ready to fuck her.

She’s looking exactly where I want her to look, and I hope she answers the next question I have in the positive.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever seen a naked man, Emelia?” I ask. Her eyes meet mine.

“Yes…” she answers hesitantly. It sounds like music to my ears. I’m still in two minds about that best friend of hers. I don’t know much about him off paper, but I have this feeling he wanted more than friendship with her. Looking at her, I don’t know what man alive wouldn’t.

“Come here.” She moves closer. I open the door to the shower and guide her inside.

I get in next and turn the shower on a light spray to sprinkle over us. Placing my hands either side of her, I watch the water trickle down the side of her face.

“What are we doing?” she asks. “What are you doing?”

“Can’t a man bathe with his bride-to-be? Especially after a long day at work.”

“Don’t you have Gabriella for that?” she throws back.

“No. Told you I’m not a liar, so stop with the questions about her. You’re a clever girl, Emelia,” I taunt and run a hand through my wet hair. “You know who I am. You know full well if I wanted Gabriella, I wouldn’t be standing in the shower naked with you. You know full well that I’m exactly where I want to be.”

When I move back and stare at her, I get the answer I’ve wanted all fucking day. She wants me too. I wish like fuck Riccardo could be here to see his daughter look at me the way she is now. I don’t have to take anything. She wants to give it to me.

I grab the shower gel and the washcloth, squirt the gel on the cloth, and rub it over her breasts, cleaning the sand from her skin. She turns when I urge her to face the wall, and I run the cloth down her beautiful back.

“Why do you work so hard? Why when you don’t have to?” she asks.

I linger at the small of her back.

“It takes my mind off shit,” I answer, sharing a little piece of me.

“Shit like what?”

I move her hair out of the way, pushing it over her shoulder. “Shit I hope you never have to deal with.”

There’s too much to say more than that.

She glances over her shoulder and looks at me. “That tells me nothing. Is this what it will be like every day? You gone for days while I don’t know where you are because you have shit on your mind?”

Her question surprises me, so I stop and turn her to face me. She presses her back against the wall. Her gaze clings to mine.

“No, it won’t be like that.”

“What will it be like, then? I imagine being ordered around like a child and being cooped up here like an animal waiting for its master to return.”

I deserve that. Once again, she’s brought out that person in me. The person I was before I saw darkness.

“No, it won’t be like that. I’ll take you everywhere I go. Here in LA and in Italy.”

Her face brightens at the mention of Italy. “You would take me to Italy?”

“Yes. And show you off so people know you’re mine.”

“Oh… of course, the trophy wife. The thing you took from my father. You would show me off, so people know you conquered him.”

Lowering my head again, I hover inches away from her lips. “No…” I sound like an echo. “That’s not why I would show you off, Emelia. I would do it because you’re the kind of woman you show off.”

She blinks then focuses on me, surprised by my words. Her eyes become more open, less guarded the longer she stares back, and the twinkle of desire sparkles back at me.

My eyes drop to her lips again. This time, looking at the plump flesh makes me think of kissing her. Taking her first kiss, stealing it.

Or maybe… she’ll give it to me. Willingly.

When I move to her lips, the innocence in her eyes dissipates into thin air and the beauty moves toward me too.