Page 141 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“Stay still, De Luca.”

I love the way he’s been calling me by my surname the last couple of weeks. Every single time he does it, it feels like another anchor holding me firm in my identity.

“Dante. We have . . . company.”

“This old lot? You think they’ll stop me from making you come?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I challenge.

His response is to move the crotch of my panties aside, and I instantly feel the cool air hit my wet folds.

“Dante,” I warn, maintaining the smile on my face for everyone while my heart starts to race.

“Wrong word.” His palm rests against my straining clit, not moving, not stroking—just there, driving me insane with every second that passes.

My hand tightens on my fork. ‘Red Wine’, and everything stops. But do I use the safe word? Of course not. The need to orgasm right here, in front of all these people, claws at me.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I find this so fucking hot?

Still, he waits, finger poised at my entrance.

I glance around the table to see if anyone has any idea what’s happening. What’s about to happen. Nico sits at the head of the table, eating one-handed and somewhat clumsily with his right hand because his dominant hand is at the back of Sophie’s neck, subtly massaging. She’s almost eight months along, and the twins could make an appearance any time now.

Vito sits at the foot of the table with Antonella and Kira flanking him. They’re still arguing over something, most likely her refusal to move back to Chicago. It’s been a sore spot, with Vito wanting Kira closer to home for her safety, and Kira insisting on maintaining her anonymity and distance from the family.

Although Aydin has been fired and banned from the mansion, she and Kira are grateful. At first, I thought that was harsh, but after Dante explained the usual consequences of what she’d done, I realized how generous they’d been.

The memory of that conversation floods back to me, momentarily distracting me from Dante’s teasing touch. “Sangue dentro, sangue fuori, tesoro,” he’d said. “The blood vows we take are irrevocable. You’re trusted without question, but the price of betrayal is blood. Aydin was sworn to protect, with her life if necessary, and she broke those vows because she didn’t trust that we’d have her back and save her daughter.”

I’d been shocked by his vehemence but also endeared by the steely determination behind his words. If ever there was a moral code among criminals. “I thought only fighting men could take such vows?”

Dante had only smiled. “What would be the fun in that?”

“Does that mean I could be required to do it too at some point?”

“You’ve already taken those vows.” He’d then placed my hand on his heart while his rested on my lower belly, and something had clenched deep inside me. I realized he was telling the truth. Something had shifted in the last two months since the night Pietro died, and I knew I’d lay down my life—and take others’—to protect not just Dante but Nico, Sophie, Vito, and Antonella. My family.

Dante’s wicked finger teases my entrance, bringing me back to the table. “What do you say?” he asks lazily.

I steal a glance at him, sucking my lower lip between my teeth. Taking a steadying breath, I spread my legs wider then grab my glass, ready to hide my reactions behind it.

“Do it,” I whisper, then take a casual sip of my water.

And promptly choke on it the moment Dante plunges a long finger inside me, drawing a concerned glance from Nico and Sophie.

“I’m okay,” I sputter, nodding repeatedly like a marionette on strings.

Dante curves his finger inside me, his palm sliding against my clit, and I bite my lip to suppress a moan. He carries on conversing with Nico and Sophie while my vision grows more and more blurry. Every second, every stroke feels like I’m being inched closer to the edge of a cliff.

He’s not even jostling the tablecloth, he’s fingering me that slowly. But perhaps because he’s that good at it, or because of how wrong it is, I’m so close to coming, he might as well have me bent over the table and pounding me into a screaming mess.

Dante presses firmly against my G-spot and I go rigid, feeling my pleasure start to crest.

Oh, fuck. I choke back a moan as my legs start to tremble. This was such a bad idea. I’ll never live this engagement dinner orgasm down. I shove a forkful of creamed broccoli into my mouth and moan loudly around it. “Ah, it tastes . . . Oh my God . . . it’s so fucking good.”

“I know, right?” Sophie gushes, while Nico only snorts. I suspect he already knows, not that I have any more working brain neurons to care at this point.

Just as my fist connects with the table and the first ripples of orgasm gather into a riptide, I hear the crunch of gravel outside, saving me from needing to explain my meltdown.

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