He raises a brow, his smirk widening as he continues, “You might think my territory and title are my inheritance, but deep down, no matter how pathetic or gutless you are, you know how much these things suit me. Even without Don Fernando, this jungle would’ve still been mine. The reason I don’t want you here isn’t fear, Tony. It’s hatred. Pure hatred for your existence, your very name.”
I stare straight into his eyes, fighting the urge to draw my gun on him. I know he’s hoping I’ll make the mistake, just so he can crush my neck with those bulging muscles straining against his tight T-shirt.
“Come on, Tony. Go home. Carmen’s waiting alone,” Giuseppe says, trying to ease the situation.
Without saying a word, I turn on my heel. Right then, the decision locks in. One day, I’ll make Carlo crawl so low he won’t dare show his face again.
***
When I step into the room, Lucia is still downstairs with her grandmother.
Impatient and fuming, I yank off my jacket and throw it on a chair. My tie comes next. I loosen it from my neck and fling it into a corner.
I’m seething.
Pacing the room, I try to shake off the frustration clawing at my chest. The fact that I can’t smash Carlo’s jaw, that I have to admit I’m no match for him on his own turf, it drives me fucking insane.
I keep walking, my mind churning through the plans I’ve been crafting, the moves I need to make.
The door finally opens, and Lucia steps in. She’s wearing a simple white dress with yellow lilies. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Before she can even close the door, I’m on her—two long strides, hands on her face, mouth crashing down on hers. I push her backward, closing the door with the force of her body.
Nothing exists in my head except the need for her. My entire being aches to feel her skin under my hands.
She plants her palms on my chest and tries to push me away. I break the kiss, panting, and look at her. Her blue eyes blaze with anger.
Doesn’t matter.
I lean in and kiss her harder. I don’t give a fuck if she doesn’t want it or kiss me back. There’s no going back now. Not for either of us. My lips trail down to her neck, and I grab her breast through the fabric of her dress.
Now that her mouth is free, she starts talking while still fighting me. “Let me go, Tony. We need to talk. Just let me talk.”
I tilt my head back up, pressing her body against the door with the weight of mine. My lips claim hers with heated urgency.
“Talk,” I pant between kisses. “I’m listening.”
She shakes her head, trying to pull away, but I don’t stop. My mouth moves over every inch of her—ear, cheek, jaw—kissing, licking, claiming. She’s mine. She belongs to me.
“Tony, please. Let’s just talk.”
I slide my hand under her dress and cup her pussy through the thin lace. A soft moan slips out of her, her body tensing under my hand. I know exactly what pushes a woman over the edge. I know how to make them lose control.
But she doesn’t give in. “Please.”
Frustrated, I let out a heavy breath. One hand braces against the door as I put a little distance between our bodies, though my other hand still cups her through the thin fabric of her panties. My face is so close to hers that our noses brush with every breath.
“Say it,” I mutter, still panting.
“Not like this. Let’s sit down...”
I cut her off. “You’re about ten seconds from getting fucked. Just spit it out. What is it?”
“What if I don’t want to?”
My finger slips under her panties, sliding through her wet folds. She lets out a soft moan. She’s soaking wet.
“See? You do want it. Now talk.”
