Page 43 of Mafia Darling

“Like you watched me when I was at the beach?”

I didn’t care for the comparison. “It’s hardly the same,” I snapped.

“It’s exactly the same.” She gave a small shake of her head. “He’s heartbroken. Fausto, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. He’ll never forgive you.”

I looked out the window again, not answering. Of course she would think there was another way. But I knew this life better than she ever could, and there was no alternative. I would not justify it, either. My hand trembled as I shoved it into my trouser pocket. Violence lurked in the pit of my stomach, the darkness that resurfaced more and more lately, seemingly never satisfied. Even Marco had winced at some of the creative ways I’d hurt Enzo.

What happened when I could not shove the darkness away?

Francesca slipped between me and the window, her beautiful face looking up at me. Cristo, I wanted her so badly. But my feelings were too raw, too brutal. I needed to be alone.

I scowled down at her. “You should go.”

“No, I won’t leave you until . . .” Her palm came up to caress my jaw, her expression both understanding and resolved. “Do not purposely hurt your son like this. There are some things you can’t fix once you break them.”

She’d said this to me before. I hated the reminder of how I hurt her, how I ruined everything between us. “Like you?”

“This is a line you cannot cross. Giulio will find out and this will ruin any relationship you have with him. You’re his father. I know you love him. Deep down, you don’t want to hurt him.”

“I care a great deal for you, amore. More than almost anything else.” I brushed her hair off her face, loving the way the soft strands felt against my skin. “But don’t ask this of me.”

“I am asking—and I’ll ask again and again until you listen to me. This is a mistake.”

“I’ve already decided. I cannot change my mind.”

“That’s bullshit. You can change anything you like. You are the one with all the power over us, paparino.”

The use of the word us was not lost on me, nor the nickname. I swallowed hard, stepped back, and went to pour another drink. “You should leave.”

“No, I won’t. I have to know what you’re going to do. We’re having a child together. I don’t want to think you’re capable of such cruelty when it comes to your own flesh and blood.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I snapped. “And unless you are finally ready to let me fuck you, you are wasting your breath.”

“Is that what it would take to clear your head? Will fucking me calm you down enough to see reason?”

“No. It will only make me want to fuck you more.”

“What if we make a deal?”

I paused, whiskey glass halfway to my mouth. Was she serious? “Are you trading your pussy for Paulo’s life?”

“Would it work?”

I let my gaze travel the length of her body, my cock very much liking the idea. “I don’t know.”

“Then perhaps we should try it and see.”

There was no hint of hesitation in her expression, but this wasn’t enough. I didn’t want her to ride my dick as part of a negotiation for some stronzo’s life. I wanted her compliance and her full participation. I wanted her to crave what only I could give her, as I did with her.

We were both stubborn. Maybe she needed this as an excuse to fuck me again? She’d fingered herself earlier while watching me in the shower, her cunt so wet she had to wipe her fingers off to even continue masturbating. Desire was never a problem between us. So did she need a way to rationalize it?

Her breath quickened and I weakened, my resolve crumbling as my dick lengthened. If this was how I had to have her, then so be it. I was too desperate to refuse.

The words tumbled from my mouth. “Take off your clothes.”

She reached for the hem of her t-shirt. The cloth fell to the ground, revealing red lace—and all the air left my lungs in a rush.

Madre di Dio. The red bodysuit.

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