“Will you spank me if I say no?”
A breath of amusement left him. “I’d make you come until you saidyes.”
“Hm… In that case, I think I still need a little convincing…”
He smiled against my lips before moving lower and lower… My back arched off the counter when he pulled my panties to the side.
Having my body worshipped like this every morning before work…
I could get used to this.
I could get used tohim.
Chapter 23
Present
Lower Manhattan, New York City
THE DOORS OF ST. PATRICK’S Old Cathedral groaned shut behind me, the cold from Mulberry Street dragging in with me like a stubborn ghost. Outside, February hung in the air – wet stone, gray sky, slush freezing at the edges of the sidewalk. Inside, everything softened. Candlelight trembled against vaulted stone arches. Dust motes drifted through the shafts of pale sunlight cutting across the pews.
It was quiet. Heavy. The kind of quiet that carried secrets.
My heels clicked against the old tile floor as I walked down the aisle. Half the cathedral was empty – just a few elderly parishioners praying, burning wax, and stained-glass saints watching from above. Faded sunlight painted the altar in muted blues and wine-red shards of color.
I spotted my father instantly. He never blended anywhere. He sat rigid in the pew toward the front – broad shoulders in a dark overcoat, back straight, hand resting on his cane like it was made for him instead of the other way around. Gìovanni sat next to him, posture militant, jaw tight. Tony was in the row behind them, scrolling through his phone.
I slid into the aisle seat beside my father, and the scent of old frankincense and rain-damp wool settled into my lungs.
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “You’re late.”
“It’s Tuesday, Papà,” I murmured. “No mass. What are we doing here?”
Gìovanni picked up the conversation. “The families want a sit-down. Another one. They think the attack wasn’t random.”
Everyone still remembered the Five Families’ Christmas Gala – glittering chandeliers, champagne, the hum of old money and old grudges woven together. That gunfire splitting the ballroom open like the first crack in an empire.
My father’s jaw flexed. “Of course it wasn’t random.”
I exhaled with relief. “Good thing Tony was there.”
The Morettis got hit last time. And Tony kept Kimberley Moretti alive. He jumped in front of her. Took bullets meant for her.
“It was brave.” My father turned just enough to look over his shoulder at him. His mouth tightened. “But stupid.”
Tony waved it off. “I barely felt a thing.”
I turned to look at him. He didn’t look like someone who had been shot three times in the side. If anything, he looked better than before. Color in his skin, eyes sharper. He looked more awake, more locked in.
I wondered if he was still partying.
I raised an eyebrow. “Most people look worse after getting shot.”
He gave a shrug that strained his black leather jacket at the shoulders. “I’m not most people.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Gìovanni leaned forward on the back of the pew. “The Morettis want to pay respect to the family for what Tony did – ”
