Page 139 of Broken Mafia Prince
“Have you met the Bellucci boy?” He glances around, searching. “He was just here; he must have gone in search of you. What took you so?—”
“Bastardo!” someone cries, followed by the sound of a bottle shattering.
“You Montanari scum,” a man’s voice snaps.
I’m not the least bit surprised to see my father’s eyes light up, and he motions at the others. It takes less than a second for the two quarrelling men to be surrounded—the Gagliardis on one side and my family on the other. Raffaele’s eyes meet mine briefly, and I see his jaw clench.
“I knew it was a bad idea to have them here,” one of my cousins roars. “This son of a bitch was on a mission to take note of the blind spots on our security cameras. I caught him red-handed.”
“You fool!” The other man rolls his eyes. “I was just taking a piss. Why do I need to catch your blind spots? This entire estate is a security disaster.”
“And how would you know that if you weren’t checking our blind spots?”
“Because I’m capable of speaking the truth, unlike you brood of liars.”
At my side, one of my second cousins, whose name I can’t recall, whips out his gun and holds it to the Gagliardi’s head. “Call us liars one more time, I dare you.”
All around, guns are suddenly pulled out and cocked, making me sigh. Senator Barlowe’s brilliant plan to leave all weapons outside wasn’t that effective, after all. Who would have guessed? There was really no chance that today would end without a confrontation between the two families.
Just then, I hear the sound of bone crunching. Someone lets out a pained grunt, and chaos descends. I try to extricate myself from the mounting crowd, but my choice of dress and the five-inch heels is way too impractical for a fight scene. I’m still trying to elbow my way out when the two men blocking my path are suddenly tossed away like they weigh nothing.
“Come on, princess.” Raffaele holds out his hand for me.
Smiling, I place my smaller ones in his, and he pulls me away from the frenzy. In the heat of the moment, no one notices us slipping away toward the back of the house. And even if someone does, they don’t try to stop us.
“Where’s the rest of your dress?” Raffaele demands, spinning me around and pushing me into the wall.
I swallow, blood rushing through my head as he drags his knuckles over my exposed spine. Tingles of electricity race over my skin from the touch, and I shiver. His hand continues down and finally stops where fabric continues just above the curve of my ass.
“Answer me.” His palm cracks down on my ass, and I gasp.
“I d-don’t know,” I stammer.
“Do you know what me and a hundred other assholes out there were thinking watching you in this dress?” He bends his head, so his mouth brushes against the shell of my ear. “We were thinking of how to trail our hands over all that exposed skin. Is that what you wanted? To drive us crazy?”
“There’s only one man I wore this dress for,” I admit.
“Who?” I hear the sound of a belt buckle clanking and my pussy spasms.
“Raffaele Gagliardi.”
“Again,” he orders.
“Raffaele Gagliardi,” I say louder.
He grabs the straps of my dress, slides them down my arms, and undoes the short zipper at my back, all while I tremble with need. A few hours without him, and it feels like I’ve been starved for ages. Is this how it’s always going to be? I can’t even begin to imagine what my life felt like before he touched me and branded me.
My dress slips to the floor like a whisper, leaving me naked except for my designer heels.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Tell me you haven’t been naked under there this whole time.”
“And if I have?” I glance over my shoulder and our eyes meet, current crackling. Heat gathers in my belly, and my heart is thudding too fast. The wetness in my pussy slips down the inside of my thighs and I arch my back, drawing his attention to where I need him.
“Raffaele, please,” I pant.
As if the breathy words snap him out of his trance, he rocks forward, fingers raking into the back of my hair and tilting my head back, dragging me into a messy kiss. His other hand grabs my hips, pulling them toward him.
“You’ve been driving me fucking insane in that dress,” he growls into my mouth. “Now it’s my turn.”
