Page 67 of Mafia King of Lies

The orgasm rips through us, consuming every inch of our bodies. We ride them out together until we are left in the thick of the fog that we have created.

Matteo pulls out of me, and my body slumps down onto the mattress completely and utterly spent. I can still feel the remnants of our sex in the tingles in my legs.

I turn and stare at the ceiling. Matteo stands overhead, watching me intently. His cheeks are flushed and little beads of sweat shine on his forehead.

“That was…” I try to look for the right word.

“…perfect,” he finishes for me. He takes me into his arms and moves me up the bed and places the sheets over my body. For a second, I think he’s about to leave, but he gets in with me.

The little lust bubble that we have enclosed ourselves in begins to dwindle, and the outside world threatens to penetrate in.

I know I am meant to pretend that this doesn’t mean more to me than just simple sex, but it does, and that is what scares the shit out of me. I try not to let those thoughts be the one thing that permeates through my mind, but I can’t help it.

“Come here.” Matteo opens his arms out to me, and without pause, I move into his embrace and rest my head against his hard chest. “Rest.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head and pulls me in closer. The action alone makes my heart lurch, and I find myself blurring the lines of the physical and the emotional.

“Goodnight, Maria,” he mutters over the roar of the thunder outside.

“Goodnight, Matteo.” I listen to the gentle beating of his heart—a stark contrast to my own.

I close my eyes and let sleep come. Ironically, it comes easily to me in his arms. For the first time in weeks, I don’t see thehaunting eyes of my brother or the coffin that we lowered into the ground months ago.

Instead, I find myself dreaming of warm chocolate eyes that give me hope for a future that I know reality may not offer.

I think… I know. I’m falling in love with my husband.

20

MATTEO

When morning breaks, I don’t want to leave her. She looks so peaceful, and for just a moment, I want to get lost in her softness. Her softness is a contrast to everything I am. My hands don’t deserve her. And yet, if I ever tried to let her go, I think I’d rip myself apart. I fought these feelings from the very first day I saw her. She had me, but she didn’t belong to me—until now.

She is my wife.

But the guilt of what I did never leaves me. It lingers in the back of my mind, somehow always reminding me of the penance I still owe. After a few minutes of watching my sleeping wife, I find the strength to leave the bed. But unlike last time, I make sure to leave her a little note.

Left for work. Make sure you eat and stay safe. —M

I still cannot promise her my heart, but I can at least meet her in the middle. She deserves that much from me, at the very least.

By the time I am leaving, Emily is coming in for the day.

“Good morning, Mr. Davacalli,” Emily greets me with her usual warmth, her smile never faltering despite the early hour. “Is there anything you need before you head out?”

I shake my head, my mind still lingering on Maria upstairs. “No, thank you, Emily. Just… keep an eye on her today, will you? I’ve noticed she has been looking a little pale. Is she sick?”

Emily shakes her head. “Not that I know of, but I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

I leave the penthouse without another word. I force myself to leave her warmth behind. There’s no room for softness where I’m going. Giacomo’s growing bolder, and if I don’t act now, he’ll think he can get away with it. The war is coming, we can all feel it in the air. With Daniele now a free radical, I need to get a lid on things—fast.

By the time I get to my office, several of my men are already gathered around the conference table, Valerio at my right side. They all know what we are up against and want to avenge the soldiers we lost just as much as I do.

“War is coming.” I settle into my seat and look at everyone’s face individually. “We are under siege.”

The realization settles over the room like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. The air is heavy with the scent of cigars and espresso, the usual vices of men who know their days are numbered.

Valerio leans forward, arms braced on the table, his sharp gaze scanning the faces of our gathered soldiers. “Giacomo’s making his move,” he says, his voice steady but edged with warning. “The ambush on our warehouse wasn’t just an attack—it was a statement. He’s testing us, waiting to see if we’ll strike back or sit on our hands like the other families.”

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