Page 48 of Married to the Mafia Monster

Eventually, Alex sighs, pulling back to look at me with a serious expression. “I have to go get the thing,” he says, his tone regretful. “But I promise I’ll be back soon.”

My heart sinks a little at the thought of him leaving, but I nod, understanding the importance of his mission. “Will you take it and never speak to me again?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly with the fear of losing him.

He cups my face in his hands, his eyes intense and sincere. “No, Bella. No matter what happens, I will come back for you. I’ll explain everything when I return. It’s safer for you not to know right now, but I promise you’ll have your dream. You will own a hotel one day, and I’ll be there with you.”

I believe him. There’s a conviction in his voice that reassures me, and I know deep down that he’s telling the truth. We kiss, a sweet and lingering promise of more to come.

He pulls me into his arms again, holding me close. “I love you,” he murmurs against my hair.

“I love you too,” I reply, snuggling into his embrace.

We almost lose ourselves in the moment, his hands roaming over my body, our breaths mingling as the heat between us builds. But he pulls back reluctantly, a look of regret in his eyes. “I really have to go get it,” he says, his voice pained. “But I’ll be back soon.”

I nod, understanding the urgency. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

“Remember, don’t open the door to anyone but me,” he warns, his tone serious. “And while I’m gone… I want you to masturbate. Think of me, think of us, and take your time.”

I blush at his words, but the thought excites me. “I will,” I promise.

He kisses me one last time before standing up, adjusting his clothes. “I’ll be back soon,” he repeats, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turns to leave.

As the door closes behind him, I feel a pang of loneliness, but I know he’ll come back. I trust him. I lie back on the bed, my fingers trailing over the spots where his hands and lips had been, my body still humming with the memory of his touch.

Taking a deep breath, I let my hand slide lower, following his instructions. I close my eyes, picturing his face, his eyes filled with love and desire. My fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, teasing and exploring, just as he would.

The sensation builds, waves of pleasure washing over me as I imagine him here with me, his hands and mouth on my body, driving me wild.

I take my time, savoring each moment, each stroke, letting the pleasure build and build until I’m trembling on the edge.

With a final, shuddering gasp, I let go, my body arching as the orgasm crashes over me.

I cry out his name, my mind filled with thoughts of our future together, of the life we’ll build once he returns.

THIRTY-TWO

Bella

Hours pass, each ticking minute stretching into an eternity. I pace the room, my mind a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. The silence is deafening, and every small noise outside the door makes me jump.

I can't shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong. My phone remains stubbornly silent, and the dread gnaws at me with every passing second.

Then, a sharp knock on the door. I rush to answer it, my heart pounding in my chest. Standing there is a police officer, his expression grave. "Mrs. Pierce?”

"Yes," I reply, my voice trembling. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry to inform you," he says slowly, "but the hotel manager is dead, and we think Alex Pierce did it before shooting himself."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I stagger back, my vision blurring with tears. "No... no, that can't be true."

The officer steps inside "I know this is difficult, but I need you to come with me to identify the body."

Numbly, I nod, letting him lead me out of the room. The world feels surreal, like I'm moving through a nightmare I can't wake up from. We drive to the morgue in silence, my mind a jumble of disjointed thoughts and overwhelming grief.

When we arrive, the officer escorts me inside. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills the air, and the harsh fluorescent lights make everything feel even more surreal.

We walk down a long corridor, and as we turn a corner, I see an unfamiliar face waiting for me.

He’s almost as tall as Alex, dressed just as sharply but with a few more gray hairs. “Bella,” he says. “My name is Ricardo Rossi. We need to talk.”

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