Page 8 of Wicked Sinner
I have to be, anyway.
I’m never going to see or hear from Caesar Genovese ever again.
4
CAESAR
Iwake up in the morning with my head throbbing like I’m hungover and my cock as sore as if I fucked all night, the morning light thankfully blacked out by the heavy curtains over the window.
Slowly, I sit up, rubbing my hands over my face. The events of last night come back to me in a rush—the joyride, the light on the dash, the mechanic shop,Bridget. I’m rock-hard, my morning wood tenting the blanket in front of me, and my cock throbs at the memory of her.
The last thing I’d ever expected was the best fuck of my life from a rural mechanic out in the middle of nowhere. ButGod, she was fucking perfection. All of her. Her body, her mouth, her goddamnpussy.
“Fuck,” I breathe, falling back onto the pillows and throwing the blanket back, my hand wrapping around my cock as the memory of last night fills my head. The look on her face when she saw it, the way she played with me, the way shetasted. She was so fucking sweet, like fucking honey on my tongue. The way she came for me. And the way she begged meharderwhile Ifucked her, like she could take everything I had to give her and still want more.
My cock spasms in my fist, a groan spilling from my lips as my orgasm ripples through me, cum spurting into my hand as I grab a couple of tissues and palm the head of my cock.I should have taken her panties home with me,I think, and moan as the thought sends another spasm through me, more cum jetting into my palm as I buck my hips upward.
The orgasm is almost disappointing after last night. Coming with her felt like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, which makes no fucking sense, considering I’ve fucked women with way more experience than Bridget had. It was clear she hadn’t been around much, but it didn’t matter. She was perfect.
So perfect I drank three whiskeys last night, straight, just to keep myself from driving back out there and fucking her again.
Groaning, I roll out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Three ibuprofen and a shower later, I get dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, complete with a tie, and head downstairs. Not my preferred attire, but I have my meeting with Konstantin and Tristan in an hour, and I need to look my best.
I take the Ferrari, watching for the light to come back on, but it doesn’t. Ishouldtake it back to the dealership, but I don’t want to. I feel a strange attachment to it after last night. Hell, just looking at it when I came down to the garage made me hard all over again, remembering Bridget sprawled out over the hood as I licked her pussy, bent over it as I fucked her within an inch of her life.
If I’m not careful, I’m going to have a hard-on every time I get in the car.As it is, I have to focus on the meeting ahead of me to get my erection to ease.
I hand the keys to a valet when I arrive at Konstantin’s mansion. I’m escorted inside by two of his men, walked down a hall to an office at the end of it overlooking the water. It feelsuncomfortable, being marched there by his security, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I walk in.
Konstantin Abramov is sitting behind his long mahogany desk, blond hair styled back, ice-blue eyes cold and hard. In the right chair in front of it is a tall, lanky man with copper hair and green eyes—Tristan O’Malley, I assume. He looks at me with an unreadable expression, and both men finally stand as I walk in, looking at me as if I’m an intruder.
“Tristan O’Malley,” the copper-haired man introduces himself, putting out a hand for me to shake. I take it, giving it a quick, firm shake, and do the same for Konstantin.
“We know each other already,” Konstantin says, sitting back down. “We grew up together. At least for a while. But you didn’t stay long.”
There’s judgment in his voice. I suppose, deep down, I can understand it—the judgment of a man who has always done his duty and is looking at one who ran away from his.
“We didn’t really run in the same circles,” I say smoothly. “But I remember seeing you from time to time.”
“No, we didn’t.” Konstantin chuckles. “You were in with a bad crowd for a while, weren’t you? Street racers.”
“I think one could argue the mafia is a bad crowd.” I chuckle, but the other two don’t seem amused by my joke. “Sure. I didn’t really run with the other mafia kids when I was a teenager. But we’re well past that time now. Surely you’re not going to hold that against me?”
I’m trying for levity, but I don’t think Konstantin is going to allow it. His expression doesn’t shift in the slightest.
“No,” he says finally. “But there’s plenty more we can hold against you, Caesar. Beginning with how and why you left, and everything after that.”
“My father is dead.” It’s my turn for my voice to be cool. “He left his estates, his possessions, his accounts—all of it—to me.His position in Miami comes with that. He had no other heir, no other children. I’ve come home to take what’s mine.”
“Is it yours?” Tristan speaks up, and I glance at Konstantin to see his reaction, if he’s angered by this other man—who I don’t know—speaking. His expression doesn’t change. So they’re allies, then. “From what I hear, Don Genovese disinherited you.”
“I don’t know if it was official.” I force myself to remain still, resisting the urge to shift in my seat. “He told me not to come home, that’s true. But he left everything to me. Why would he do that if he didn’t plan for me to take over in his stead?” I look at Konstantin evenly; I’m uninterested in Tristan’s opinion. Konstantin is who will decide my fate. “He would have willed it all to the one he wanted to take over, I think, if that was his intention.”
“We rarely deal with intentions in the Bratva.” Konstantin’s smile is cold. “Intentions will get you nowhere. Actions do. And your actions, Caesar, are not those of a man who is poised to inherit a mafia empire.”
“And if I don’t?” I lean back in my chair, pretending to be unaffected by all of this. “Who will it go to, then?”
Konstantin doesn’t answer right away. I see Tristan shift next to me, though, and I turn to look at him, then back at Konstantin.
