Page 105 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“I am. Your daddy is the drugs and narcotics expert,” I say deliberately, drawing out the word ‘daddy’.

Addy still hasn’t asked me anything about Orlando since I dropped that bomb. Instead, she’s drawn closer to me. Which tells me she’s still reeling. The more overwhelmed Addy is, the more she seeks physical outlets for her confusion.

Not that I’m complaining about how Addy is dealing with her trauma. I’m loving it. I’m also determined to give her the emotional space she needs to process this.

She’ll ask me about Orlando when she’s good and ready.

“The Outfit is a diverse group of companies and businesses,” I tell her. “Some are illegal, but we’re working on phasing them out.”

Addy nods slowly, her fingers tracing over the muscles of my back. “But the violence . . . that’s not going away, is it?”

I sigh, wishing I could lie to her and shield her from this reality. But I can’t do it. So I meet her searching gaze head-on. “No, it’s not. Until the end of time, we will always be a target. Defending the people we love is the hallmark of the Mafia, tesoro.”

“The people you love,” she repeats, her voice a low murmur.

“Person I love. You.”

“You love me?”

“What do you think?”

She drops her face to my neck and resumes her slow torture, biting and licking until, unable to take more, I reach between us and line my cock against her entrance. I cover her mouth with my hand and slam home, swallowing her soft cry. I don’t let up until she’s convulsing around me.

As she comes down from her orgasm, I sense a residual tension in her, and I know there’s more on her mind. But I can’t talk to her while she’s driving me insane, so I reach behind me to take her legs from around my waist, and I pull out of her, but she holds fast.

“Dante. I’m . . . not done yet,” she protests.

I smile. She likes it hard. “I’ll give you what you want after you tell me what’s on your mind.”

She looks up at me, worrying her lower lip. “Oh, I just want to ask you something. I dunno what you’ll think of it.”

I tense. “If it’s about Benjamin O’Shea—”

She shakes her head, her damp curls bouncing. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“What is it then?”

“Dante,” she says, her voice steady, “could you teach me to defend myself?”

My cock jumps with excitement, easily giving away how I feel on the subject. But I tell myself what I’m thinking can’t be what Addy means.

“You were taught martial arts, weren’t you?” I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.

She shrugs. “I tried to learn. Jiu-Jitsu and Krav Maga. But there was only so much I could do. I’m not that strong, not as fast, my hip—”

“Baby.” I put my finger against her lips. With my other hand, I start to trace arcs across the sensitive scar on her hip. “You’re as strong as you need to be.”

She shivers in response but presses on. “Anyway, those skills are useless where it really counts.”

“Where does it really count?” I prompt, waiting for her to explain what she means, although the dark part of me already knows where she’s heading and is leaping for joy.

“Dante, most threats don’t look like me. They look like . . .” She trails off.

“Me. Big, armed, dangerous,” I finish for her.

“Exactly. I can’t take down someone like you.”

“Not naturally, no,” I affirm. “But you don’t need to know how to kick my ass, Addy. You only need to know how to kill me.”

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