Page 61 of The Mafia Heir's Obsession

Most pussies are tight, that’s the point of them. But no, it was something else. Chemistry, the heat of her… I don’t fucking know, but I need more. And after I have her again, I’m positive that need for more will only keep growing.

My chest quakes, breaths short and sharp. I jog The High Line in Chelsea and head home. Slowing down to round the corner of my street, I stare at the morning sun just starting to peek over the horizon. I mop the sweat from my face with my t-shirt and start to open the gate when a soft whine stops me.

“Hey, Arnold,” I say to the skinny German shepherd as he peeks at me from one side of the tree.

He whines again, then growls, which is not like him. I look closer and see why.

There’s blood on his fur, and as he comes to me, trembling, his right paw only grazes the ground.

Anger grips me. If I can find the bastard who left him out here to be attacked like this, I’ll return the favor tenfold. Only that person won’t be limping anywhere.

They won’t be fucking breathing.

“Hungry? Come in.”

The dog limps to the gate, growling and trembling, but he refuses to come in. So I take a gamble. I have bowls, a water bottle, and the kibble by the front door, in a duffel bag. I leave the door open and grab them before coming back out.

At first, I don’t see Arnold, but then I do. He’s huddled in the shadows in the corner of the yard. I set everything down and fill the bowls, one with water, the other with kibble.

He’s starving, and he tentatively comes up, butts my hand, then bends and chows down. In seconds, he laps the bowl dry. I pour some more water in.

I want to stroke him but he’s hurt, and I don’t want him to associate food with pain, so I leave him be.

When he’s done, he wobbles a little, and I pet him. When I get to the blood, he growls, but I don’t feel a giant wound, andany attempt to take his leg is met with a snarl and snap of teeth. A warning.

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

I close the gate, hoping I can get the leash and the collar to get him inside, even if it’s only into the backyard. I put more kibble in his bowl.

“Wait here.”

The house is quiet when I walk inside. My useless brothers are no doubt sleeping. Torin might not be, unless he was up late working.

I have things to do today. We need to meet with de Rosa, but I want to try and locate that fuck, O’Sullivan. And I have a late afternoon meeting with a dangerous drug cartel.

Drugs aren’t my thing. But they are money. And in Manhattan, purity of certain recreational drugs is big money. I want in. With the right person. And I think this cartel is perfect to carve a small relationship with. I’m not selling. I don’t want that, but there are paths and doors I can open with the relationship. That’s worth gold.

And cartels, like me, respect loyalty. Respect someone’s word if it’s kept. I understand all that, more than most. Because when you come up from nothing, earning respect is currency, and your word keeps you alive.

The scent of coffee hits me, and I get the leash and collar and follow it, thinking maybe I can steal some of the ground beef Declan bought for a spaghetti dinner.

Fucking kid. He wants to cook.

For my bride.

If he wasn’t my brother, I’d kill him.

But she’s right, they’re similar ages, and I’ll allow a friendship. He knows enough not to touch her, to keep any stray thoughts hidden deep.

“Thinking of the devil…” I mutter.

There she is, in jeans and a pretty floral top. I drink in the length of her body for a long minute.

“Are you staring?” she asks, blushing, a coffee cup in hand.

“Yes.”

“W-why?”

---