He stands there, a pillar of strength. I step out of the room. He steps in behind me. I confidently stride down the corridor. Matteo, so close I can smell his cologne, spicy with a muskiness that tickles my senses and makes my mouth water. The way he looked at me for that split second that our eyes met as I opened the door makes me feel heady. I shake my shoulders out as I walk.
Now is not the time for sexual confusion over my bodyguard. Having him at my back makes me feel confident, and I really shouldn’t blur that line.
When I get to the office, Luca is waiting with Lorenzo Costa, who’s sitting in the chair opposite mine, a little rigid but clearly trying to portray an element of calm. “Leave us.”
They nod and retreat out of the door. I turn as I pass him, strategically hiding the gun at my back, and he predictably lunges for me. His hand shoots out, gripping around my throat as he slams me back towards the back of the room, thrusting me hard as I stumble, before crashing me into the back wall.
His face contorts as he closes the gap. His body crashes into mine as he pins me against the wall. His face twisted with rage and desperation. Saliva spilling out with every vindictive word as he screams in my face.
“You bitch—you fucking killed them, mutilated them, you fucking whore. I should have your head for this. I will fucking have your head. I will make it so that no one recognises you when I’m fucking finished with you, you spiteful whore.”
A grin dances across my lips, and he slams me back against the wall. The bookshelves rattle from the impact. “I should kill you right here. You disgusting piece of shit.” He snarls at me, spittle flying across my cheek. The veins in his neck and arms corded as he clenches and tightens his grip. His other hand points at my face, at what a despicable human I am. I push forward into his grip on my throat and grin at him.
I rasp out. “They had it coming.”
Before he can slam me back again, I slowly reach around and snatch the gun from behind my back and lift it, pressing it between us. He gasps, his eyes widen as pure terror spreads like a disease across his features. The anger dissipates instantly as the fear takes over. He instinctively steps back. I bring the barrel of the gun up under his chin and nod to the chair. The look of disdainspreads across his face, and his lip curls. His face contorts into a snarl.
“You didn’t need to kill them. Why the fuck did you kill them?”
“Did you give the order? Did you send them after me?”
His eyes flash with something like confusion. “What?”
I huff out a laugh as I lean forward, pushing the gun harder under his chin.
“Your fucking sons followed me. Ran me off the road and left me in a ditch. Left me for fucking dead. Then they went to the bar to celebrate my demise like it was some well-deserved victory. The thick fucks neglected to check if they’d been successful in their endeavours. You see the fucking problem, Lorenzo?”
His eyes darken. His hands grip the arms of the chair, his fingertips going white from the force of his grasp. His forearms tremble from the tension. “They should have fucking killed you. You’re an abomination. Women should know their fucking place.”
I pull back a little. “Know my place.” I huff again. “Funny how most of the Syndicate’s wives are six feet under. You want a woman to bear your children, only to then toss them aside like trash, and don’t even get me started about accidents and all that shit. You all offed them when they were no longer useful as you fucking deemed, so tell me, Lorenzo, is that where you think I belong? In the ground. Six feet under, dead and buried?” I step back and slide into the chair, leaving him panting.
“So if you didn’t give the order, then who did? Enzo De Luca? Massimo Ricci? Mateo Mancini? Tell me whichone of the Syndicate is so threatened by a woman becoming Donna that the only way you can think of to stop her is to kill her. Which one of you has such frail masculinity that you can’t see what an asset I’ll be to the organisation? You’re a bunch of outdated, misogynistic narcissists, Lorenzo, but you’ve all done me a favour because I won’t be joining the Syndicate after all.”
Grinning at me, he relaxes back into the chair, smiling at me like he’s just solved world hunger. “I knew I’d make you see sense, girly. This is no place for princesses playing at being queens. We won’t go easy on you. We won’t make allowances for you. Better for you to bow out now before you end up getting hurt or breaking a nail.” He scoffs. He folds his arms across his chest, grinning at me, and I nod, smiling at him.
“You’re right, Lorenzo. You really are. This is no place for me. I don’t belong in the Syndicate, and when I inform the others of my decision, I’ll be sure to let them know you were the one who led me to see sense. The one who steered me in the right direction, making sure I know where the boundaries lay. Where the limits are. I understand now that no matter how hard I try to fit in. It will never be enough for any of you. You’ll never accept me—not while I have a cunt between my legs.”
He smirks at me and leans forward, injecting an element of smarm into his voice. “I hear the wedding’s off with Bellino. I might be in a position to take a new wife. I need to produce a new heir.” He licks his lips. His eyes dart to my cleavage as his gaze turns predatory, hungry, devious even. I mean, the guy’s old enough to be my father.
I keep my hand on my gun, which is now lying on the table. There’s no tension in my hand. It rests lightly against the cold metal, and I smile at him. I take my index finger of my other hand and slide it down my neck, over my collarbone and down to the mound of my breast. I slide my finger under the fabric of my blouse and rub it along my skin. I breathe deeply, allowing my chest to rise and fall. His eyes glaze and flicker with debaucherous thoughts as he bites his lip.
“Take it off.” His voice comes out huskier. His pupils dilate. “Take it all off,” he rasps out, and I slide my fingers over the buttons, one-handedly flicking them open one by one. He leans forward against the desk, reaching down and palming his dick.
Men are so fucking fickle. So fucking stupid. He was here to kill me in retaliation for murdering his sons, a flash of tits, and now he’s ready to marry me and put a baby in me. I stand, leaving my one hand resting on the gun as I tug my blouse. Letting the soft fabric flutter open, leaving my stomach bare, my bra out, my breasts pert.
His chest heaves as he watches my every move, salivating at the thought he might get fucked. He is about to be, just not in the way he would like. His face reddens a little, his neck getting splotchy as he rubs the heel of his hand against his dick.
“You think I’ll make a good wife, Lorenzo?” I purr. “You wanna fuck me? Make sure I know my place, put another son in me?” I moan.
He lets out a breath. His eyes flick to mine as he rubs deeper, harder against his groin. “You want me to help you with that?”
I slide my hand back, the gun now firmly in my grasp, but he’s too busy watching every inch of flesh I have on show. He turns the chair as I come to the side of him, and I slide over him, straddling him, and he looks up at me with bewilderment in his eyes. His hands caress up my legs, over my hips, and up my body. He grunts as I flick my hips. His hands grip my breasts as he stares down at them. His rough thumbs brush over the fabric.
“I’ll make sure they all know it was you who made me realise the error of my ways.”
One hand slips back to my hips as he roughly grabs my breast. He squeezes and tugs at it as I groan and flick my hips again.
“Take it off. Take it all off,” he grunts out.
