Page 16 of Broken Mafia Prince
There’s another reason why Father’s study is my least favorite room in the house, I think to myself as I stare at the couple entwined in the middle of the room.
The sight of my father thrusting into one of our maids is nothing new, and unlike the first few times I witnessed it, this time I don’t flinch or stagger away in shock. Instead, I take in the maid silently.
Her hair is the color of bleached gold, and her nose is a little too big for her face. I compare her to Mother and find her lacking in every way.
“Cazzo… You feel so good!” Father groans from behind her, his hand gripping her hair tightly.
Her head falls backward, her throat bared. The maid’s eyes are squeezed shut, mouth gaping open. She’s bent over Father’s desk, while he stands behind her, his other hand gripping her generous behind.
“Harder! Faster!” she gasps.
“Play with yourself for me, angel,” he grunts, and she complies immediately, hands going up to squeeze and pinch at her breasts and nipples, face twisting in rapture.
They must have been in too much of a hurry to take off all their clothes, because the maid’s dress has merely been pushed down to her hips, and Father is still in his half-buttoned shirt.
“It feels so good, Edoardo,” the woman gasps.
“Are you close? Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he grits out. “You feel like silk, angel.”
The term of endearment, more than anything, turns my stomach, and I’m glad Mother is away. Once upon a time, when Father still cared about public appearance, he used to call Mother his angel. To use that term on thiscagnafeels like a slap in Mother’s face, more insulting than all the whores he’s ever brought back here and fucked in that study.
Mother tried to protect me from it in the beginning, covering my eyes and ushering me away, but the bolder Father got, the more resigned and impervious to it she became. Now, she walks past it like pretending they’re not right in front of her will make them disappear.
“You feel so good inside me.” The bitch lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Father continues to drive into her. “You’re so big, Edoardo. I can feel it everywhere. Don’t stop! Oh god, please don’t stop.”
Father raises his hand and brings it down on her behind, and she lets out a squeak, giggling. It’s at that moment that her eyes fly open and she catches sight of me. A look of surprise flashes across her face only for a second before a sly, challenging smile replaces it.
I don’t walk away now that she’s noticed me, though. If they had wanted to keep things private, they should have taken a second to lock the doors before stripping and pawing at each other like dogs in heat.
“Argh, yes! There!” The woman cries even louder, her eyes fixed on mine all the while. I have the feeling she’s playing up her pleasure for my benefit now.
“You’re dripping for me, angel,” Father growls, reaching down between the woman’s legs. Her eyes fly wide open at whatever he’s doing between her legs, and she begins to tremble, squeezing at her breasts harder and more frantically.
“I’m coming. I’m coming. Oh god, yes!” Lines strain her neck as she throws her head back, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She begins to convulse, a scream ripping out of her throat.
Father wraps a hand around her throat, and his lips peel back into a snarl. An animalistic grunt slips out from his clenched teeth, and his hips finally go still.
I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for the maid to leave so I can do what I came here for. I hope he’s in a good mood after his little diversion and will be more inclined to give me what I want.
The maid stretches lazily to her feet, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She takes her time fixing her clothes, while Father simply pulls his pants back up, a relaxed look settling on his face. I can’t remember the last time he looked that way around Mother or me.
“Any requests for dinner?” she asks with a smile.
Father slouches back in his chair and picks out a cigar from his custom box. “Surprise me, angel.”
Giggling, the blonde turns and heads for the door.
When she reaches me, she pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “Enjoy the show?”
I let a smile curve my lips and step aside for her. Like the others before her, she probably thinks she’ll eventually replace Mother. It’s funny—Mother would rather be anywhere but here, while a hundred women would gladly take her place.
The maid scoffs and walks away.
I glance back into the study and find Father’s cold blue eyes locked on mine. All traces of pleasure he had gotten from his afternoon sport have evaporated from his face, replaced with the icy, indifferent gaze of a man used to getting what he wants.
“May I come in?” I ask, my tone polite, though I know it’s anything but welcome.
Those cold blue eyes flicker with distaste, and he nods curtly. I step into the room, the weight of the space settling on my shoulders. When Father’s gone and I take over, I’ll replace the dark, heavy furniture in this room with something brighter. Maybe I’ll even open the windows to face the garden, letting in more light. Or perhaps I’ll just seal off the room entirely.
