Page 89 of Mafia Kingdom

"Marco," she whispers breathily, her voice low and throaty.

I respond by pressing my lips hungrily to her throat, tasting her skin, warm and slightly salty from the steam. My tongue traces delicate patterns along her pulse, feeling its rapid beat quicken beneath my caress. She moans softly, the sound vibrating through me, igniting a primal need. One hand slips slowly downward, skimming the gentle curve of her abdomen,fingertips trailing lower still until they brush against the silky folds between her parted thighs.

Her thighs widen instinctively, inviting me closer as water sloshes around us. My fingers explore the slick heat of her entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh, circling her swollen clit with agonizing patience. Sasha’s hips shift urgently, seeking more direct contact, craving deeper pleasure.

"Please," she gasps, her voice desperate, raw with need. She tilts her head further back, exposing more of her delicate neck, a silent plea for my lips.

"Tell me exactly what you want," I murmur, my voice thick with lust as I nip at her earlobe, savoring the small shudder that ripples through her.

"I want you inside me," she pleads breathlessly, her voice quivering with desire, making every nerve in my body flare with heat.

I grip her hips firmly, guiding her upward and positioning her above my aching length. The head of my cock nudges against her slick entrance, teasing her. Sasha, impatient with need, pushes down slowly, enveloping me inch by torturous inch in her tight pussy. A deep groan rumbles in my chest as she fully takes me, encasing me in the perfect warmth of her body.

We move slowly at first, savoring each deep thrust, the rhythm leisurely yet incredibly intense. The water enhances each sensation, slicking our bodies and amplifying every subtle shift. My hands roam freely over her curves, gripping, squeezing, exploring, memorizing every inch of her beautiful form as she rides me with increasing urgency. Her breath comes in quick, uneven pants, mingling with the sound of the gently splashing water, echoing around the tiled room.

Water spills over the edge of the tub as Sasha’s hips rock faster, grinding her body desperately against mine, her inner walls tightening deliciously around me with each frantic motion.I bury my face in her shoulder, my teeth grazing her skin, barely holding onto control as her cries grow louder and more frantic.

"Marco, I'm close," she cries, her voice tight with pleasure, fingers gripping my thighs, nails biting into my skin.

I swiftly move my hand back to her clit, pressing and circling insistently, matching the rhythm of her movements. Her body stiffens suddenly, every muscle tightening as her climax crashes over her in waves. She cries out sharply, her muscles spasming around me, pulling me over the edge with her. My thrusts deepen, desperate and uncontrolled as I spill inside her with a guttural groan, my body trembling from the overwhelming force of my release.

We remain entwined in silence for several long moments, bodies pressed tightly together, chests heaving. Soft kisses trail lazily along her shoulder and neck as I hold her close.

"You could have died last night," she says suddenly.

"But I didn't," I remind her, covering her hands with mine. "We survived, Sasha. All of us."

She tilts her head back so I can see her. “They won't just give up."

"No," I agree, seeing no point in false reassurances. "They won't, which is why we need to be proactive rather than reactive. Take the fight to them before they can regroup."

She nods, lying against me, and I take this brief moment to have time with her before I have to go again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Marco

I STAND BEFORE the mirror, transformed—freshly shaven, hair neatly combed, dressed in a clean suit that projects authority and control despite the bandages hidden beneath. The man looking back at me bears little resemblance to the blood-soaked fighter who battled through the night. This is Marco Walsh, head of the family, leader of men—the image my followers need to see right now.

Sasha steps into view behind me, her own appearance similarly refreshed. "Much better," she approves.

"Do you want me at the meeting?" she asks, surprising me with the question.

I consider it carefully, weighing the implications. Having Sasha present would send a clear message about her status within our organization—a statement that might be premature, might create complications we're not yet ready to address. Yet, excluding her feels wrong, especially after all she's risked alongside us.

"Yes," I decide. "But observe, don't participate. There will be questions about my father, about Gerald—sensitive matters that need delicate handling."

She accepts this with a nod. "I'll follow your lead."

We make our way to the dining room together, her presence at my side a statement in itself. The space has been hastily converted to accommodate the meeting—tables pushed aside, chairs arranged to face the head of the room where I'll stand. Already, my men are filing in, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion, wariness, and determination. Some bear visible wounds from the night's fighting. All carry the invisible scars of betrayal.

Tony approaches as we enter, offering a quick status update: "Everyone's here except the essential security details. Medical team's standing by for anyone who needs attention after the meeting."

I nod, scanning the assembled faces—about forty men in total, representing the core of our operation. Many have served the Walsh family for decades. Some were closer to my father than to me. Everyone is now watching, waiting to see how I'll handle this unprecedented crisis.

"Stay close to Sasha," I instruct Tony quietly. "If anyone shows signs of agitation during the meeting, remove them immediately."

He nods, understanding my concern. In the aftermath of betrayal, paranoia spreads easily. Until we know exactly who was involved in my father's conspiracy, everyone remains a potential threat.

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