He shrugs. “Not really. My brother did most of the decorating. I’m sure you know a lot of the art is for money laundering, right?”
“I figured. You told me you were still close to your other brothers… I remember, those eight years ago, when I first found out you’d once lived on the streets, I couldn’t imagine what it was like. Having to shower at the gym, steal food to eat, sleep in dark alleyways.”
He frowns. “Yes, well, by the time I met you, my brothers and I had already saved up enough to rent a place. You’d be surprised at the resourcefulness of brothers when backed into a corner. It only took about two months of picking pockets for us to get good, and to work out a strategy. After that, we were able to steal enough to pay rent. And then some. Of course, we ran into problems as we started figuring out the best corners to ply our trade. You know, those spots with high volume and a lot of tourists. Like the metro.” That would be the Palermo metropolitan railway service, or subway.
“We had to pay racket money to some of the other mafia families for permission to pick pockets in their neighborhoods,” he continues. “Our primer in mafia politics came when my brother Roberto got the shit kicked out of him by a rival family because he decided he wasn’t going to pay to pick pockets. We always looked out for one another, and worked the streets in pairs, for safety reasons. Matteo was with Roberto that day, and only left him alone for a moment; when he got back, Roberto was a bruised and bloody mess. He had a note pinned to his chest: ‘You pick their pockets, you pick our pockets.’
“We found out which family was in charge of that neighborhood and got our revenge. We put our own note on the victim. ‘You touch a Moretti, you touch us all.’ After that, we began branching out, starting protection rackets of our own, dealing drugs, fixing races, you name it. We spent time in prison, which only furthered our knowledge of the different illicit businesses out there, and helped us broaden our network of contacts and associates. We kept expanding, making more and more money, which we poured into purchasing vineyards and villas here. We chose Ustica mostly because land was cheaper than in Palermo, and we thought we could eventually retire here. But we decided to expand here instead, and make this our hub. We succeeded.”
Angela nods. “The Moretti family empire.”
“I wouldn’t call it an empire. But we’re doing well enough. Doesn’t help that in recent years other Palermo families have started buying up vineyards here and encroaching on our territory.”
From the way his face darkens I think he means my father.
I can’t help but find myself fascinated by him as he talks. And I’m really starting to like him. Still, I don’t know if it’s possible to have any sort of real bond, not after everything he’s done. I mean, he shot men to capture me, men who were important to me, and who are probably dead. He’s a murderer, a thief, and… and…
He’s also Massimo.
Where are those dang groceries? I wanted to do something nice for him. But if I can’t cook him lunch, maybe I can do something else…
“Sorry, I zoned out there,” he says.
I shake my head, snapping myself out of my own distant thoughts. “It’s okay. I didn’t even notice.”
Hunger flashes in his eyes. “Oh really. Why not? Distracted by something?”
I purse my lips. “Maybe. Though, if you uncrossed your legs, I’d probably be distracted a whole lot more.”
He arches an eyebrow, then grins. He unfolds his legs so that I can stare at his crotch once more. Yup, I can see the bulge there, and it’s growing bigger by the moment, straining against the tight confines of his jeans.
I get up and sit beside him, pressing my side against his body. I giggle, and then kiss him experimentally on the lips. He takes my kiss, but doesn’t press it further. I lick him, running my tongue from the cleft of his chin to his upper lip, and kiss him again more passionately.
I start stroking his cock above his jeans, keeping my gaze locked with his to gauge his reaction. His blue eyes light up with the flames of desire.
“You know,” I tell him breathily. “You never did let me reward you for eating my pussy raw.”
“What kind of reward did you have in mind?” he rasps.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I continue to rub his hard cock above his jeans. “I was thinking of sucking you dry.”
He loses it. He slams his lips against mine and frantically kisses me.
I return his kiss just as desperately. My nipples press rock hard against my shirt. My panties drip.
“Oh Massimo,” I say from the corners of my mouth.
He only grunts in reply.
While we continue kissing fervently, I unzip his pants and rip them open. I slide his underwear down over his cock and I feel it leap out. The top hem of his underwear catches beneath his cock, but Massimo doesn’t seem to notice or care. I wrap my fingers around his searing shaft.
I switch hands, so that I have one hand gripping his cock at all times, and lift my other hand toward my face. I try to pull away from Massimo so I can lick my hand, but he won’t let go. He clamps a hand behind my head, pressing me tightly against his lips.
I return his kiss for a moment, then manage to turn my head to the side enough to lick my fingers. I spit on my palm, then drop it to his cock, taking over from my other hand. Meanwhile I angle my face back towards him to continue our kiss.
I squeeze his thick, hot shaft with my lubricated fingers and then begin rubbing my hand up and down. Massimo’s eyes roll up in his head, and he pulls away from the kiss to groan.
“Fuuuuck,” he says.
