Page 59 of Texting My Mafia Boss

I turn and retreat into the shadows. Mark leans in and whispers something in my ear. He tells me he’s just been on the phonewith our contact in the police department. He tells me there’s evidence of… bad shit the pregnant woman went through. She wasn’t just a hostage. It’s a miracle she hasn’t lost her baby.

Turning, I slip my hand into my pocket and grip my knuckle duster.

Something in my demeanor must’ve changed. Ugo’s eyes have gone wide and now he’s staring up at me like I’m a demon in human form. Barely human, at this point.

“Ruggero found out after.” Ugo gasps. “He was cleaning up his nephew’s mess. Bastian just wanted…” Ugo wheezes, sucking in panicked breaths, this monster who’d use an innocent pregnant woman for his own twisted ends. “Bastian wants an alliance. It’s good for everyone. You and Vera—that was good, Mr. Bellandi. Bastian just wants you, or your little girl…”

“He wants my little girl?” I snarl.

“She’s almost a woman.”

He says this with complete sincerity, with no inkling that anything is wrong with it. Mark’s whispered information signed his death warrant. This just made it painful.

I go about my work, blood splattering, hand pulsing, metal grip biting into my hand. With each punch, I see beautiful scenes from my other world. My daughter spinning through the garden. Livia watching with a smile on her face. Mara knitting, looking up, with that twinkle in her eye. All while I beat a man to death.

Showered and changed, I sit at my desk, drumming my fingers against it. When my assistant announces that Mara is here, I almost tell her to turn her away. I’ve got that shadow hanging over me. Ruggero and Bastian want my kid. They’ve practically declared war. I need to discover a way to finish this… or should I hope the idiots have learned their lesson?

Mara pushes into the office, sassy and devastatingly beautiful. Her hair is down, straightened with careful effort. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s wearing one of those lightly flirty summer dresses that settles on her curvy features like a fine mist.

I walk around the desk and gently take her shoulders in my hands. She pushes against me, pressing against my chest. Suddenly it’s like the rage inside me becomes a different kind of heat.

The ugly images melt away, and it’s just us in this office at the top of the world, where nobody can see us because of the one-way glass. People might think I’m paranoid, but I’ve never doubted my enemies would go so far as to use a sniper.

She looks adorably shocked when I lean in for a kiss. Her scowl turns into a smile automatically. I crush her with my lips, pulling her tightly against me. The relief is instant, like I’ve been aching since the recital, since before, trying to keep my distance.

Moans escape through the fusion of our lips. My hands glide to her waist, and I lift her up. When she wraps her legs around me, her dress hikes up and I feel her bare thighs, the soft perfection of her body.

She kisses me harder, faster, like she’s trying to drown in me so she doesn’t have to think about the reason she came here. I carry her to my desk, the kissing never stopping. We’re both unhinged.I feel it in us both, this need to let go, to just stop thinking, stop hesitating.

She leans back, pouting beautifully at me.

“I didn’t come here for this,” she whimpers.

“I’ve had this office for ten years. People here don’t know what I do… but they’re not ignorant either. They know not to interrupt me here. And they never have. See those windows?” I nod at the windows overlooking the city. “No one can see in here. They dim the light, give me privacy… make it harder for people to hit me.”

She swallows. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to know,” I snarl, truly lost now. I’ve gone wild and I don’t give a fuck. I kiss down her neck, then over her cleavage. “No one is interrupting us.”

“Ettore,” she sighs.

I fall to my knees in front of my desk. My manhood is pushing against my pants, my tip leaking and throbbing. She grabs my wrists when I grip her thighs and looks down at me with that same ball-aching pout.

“Tell me to stop,” I snarl. “But do it now before I taste your perfect pussy. From the first moment I saw you, I wanted to know what you tasted like. Wanted to know the shape of your clit. Wanted to feel you vibrate against my face when I fucking consume you. So, do it. Tell me to stop.Now.”

She’s shaking lightly. “I’m not some crazy sex addict,” she whimpers.

“I haven’t been with a woman in years,” I snarl. “But you’re different. Now, make your decision.”

“Ohmyfuckinggod…”

It all comes out as one word as she gives herself to me, letting her hands fall aside. I grip her underwear and pull it down, staring in awe at her. Keeping one hand on her leg, I brush my thumb over her clit, registering the way her legs tremble at the contact.

Her moan has a shocked quality, like she can’t believe how good it feels. There’s something so hot about that.

As I gently strum her clit, I kiss up her thigh. Hersmell—fuck. It’s breaking me. The pure primality of it. Her tangy, tempting scent. It fills me up. By the time I’ve kissed my way to her core, I can’t be civilized anymore.

I slide my finger to her entrance and push inside. Oh, and she’s wet already, not dripping for me, not yet. But wet enough for me to know she’s aching for this as badly as I am.