Page 72 of Marrying the Mobster
“Good,” I answer, taking the hand he extends to me. “Jaime’s a great teacher.”
Diego uses his grip on my hand to pull me into him. Our bodies collide, and our lips meet. His hands grip my ass, pressing me against his swelling cock, and he moans when our tongues meet and the kiss goes from sweet and searching, to heated and ravenous.
“You look good,gatita,” he murmurs, giving my ass another squeeze and sending liquid heat through my core. “I saw you when I was walking up … your form is tight and you’re quick.”
“That’s right,” I tease. “So you’d better think twice about fucking with me.”
He emits a low growl from his throat, tightening his hold on my ass. “You can fight, but I think we both know you’ll submit in the end. You always do.”
“You want submission?” I fire back. “Make me.”
He gives me a swat, the heat of his palm against my left ass cheek making my pussy clench with longing. Fuck, he’s as irresistible as ever, making me want to fall to my knees right here and beg him to make good on his promise to make me submit. He’s been so careful with me and I love him for it. I might have needed that before, but I’m feeling more like my old self again, and my old self wants to be tied up, spanked, and pounded into oblivion.
“Enough,” Diego says, giving me one final smack before pulling away. “That’ll have to wait until later. For now, I have a surprise for you.”
My eyebrows draw together as he starts leading me back to the house. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see. I’ve been saving it until I thought you were ready. I think you’ve waited long enough.”
I want to ask Diego what he’s up to, but I can’t think of a single gift I might have wanted before or after my abduction. So, I simply wrap an arm around his waist and let him guide me through the gate to the backyard. We skirt the pool and patio, heading toward one of the side doors. The house is quiet with Marcella attending class and Jovan in training with the other men. Something else I’ve learned about the cartel—the men work hard to stay in peak shape and hone their skills, always ready to go to war at the slightest provocation. For now, things are relatively quiet along the East coast. We haven’t heard another peep out of the Armir Brotherhood, but Oleg has made our alliance with the Yezhovs official, doubling our ranks and making us more capable of countering any attacks. What I’ve learned of the Armenians leads me to believe that they’re ruthless, cunning, and without honor. A war is brewing, but the Pérez Family couldn’t be more ready to head into battle.
Before long, I realize that Diego is leading me to a part of the house I’ve spent very little time in. It’s in the southwest corner of the first floor—where our live-in soldiers call home. The air is different here—colder and thinner, sending a chill down my spine. It seems darker, too, which doesn’t make any sense because it’s the middle of the day and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Still, something inside me twists and trembles at the idea of being here, as if it knows this part of the house has seen endless violence and agony.
“My room was in this part of the house when I was a little boy,” Diego says, his voice low and heavy with meaning. It’s like he wants me to know that this feeling coming over me is real and not imagined. “My parents thought it best for me to be immersed in the world ofLa Familia… to be among the soldiers who would one day bow down to me. Nowadays, only a handful of my men live over here, but we reserve the other rooms for … mafia business.”
The way he refers to ‘mafia business’ tells me that this part of the house isn’t for parties or meetings or politics. This is where the dirty work happens, where the reality of being a mobster is manifested.
Diego stops in front of a door, pulling a single key from around his neck. “Before we go inside, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t afraid anymore. Don’t lie to me,gatita… I’ll know it if you lie. I need you to understand that together we are untouchable. The Viktors of the world can’t touch you … because you’re a fucking tigress with teeth and claws of her own. And if anyone thinks they can hurt you, they’ll have me to contend with as well.”
Our gazes meet and Diego waits silently for my answer. I can’t deny that revulsion floods me at the mention of Viktor’s name, but once that’s gone I’m left only with determination.
“I’m not afraid,” I tell him. “Not anymore.”
He nods, then twists the key in the lock before pushing the door open. “Then come and claim what’s yours.”
The room is dark, with only the light of a few lamps casting a muted, yellow glow. I wrinkle my nose at the stench of blood, piss, and unwashed male, but manage to keep my breakfast down as I look around. The walls are lined with implements of torture, each one likely holding the story of someone’s suffering, phantom drops of their blood worked into the metal and wood.
A surgical-style table takes up the middle of the room with rust-colored stains left in the metal, straps and buckles hanging down the sides. It’s a torture chamber, pure and simple—a place to punish traitors and enemies, and extract answers from prisoners of war.
The old Elena would have gagged at the evidence of someone’s torture, turned away and avoided taking in the truth of what belonging to this world means. But the woman I am now—the mafia queen whose edges have been sharpened and honed to razor-like points takes it all in. This is where I want to be, where the real work happens. This is where our enemies are brought to take their final breaths.
Diego closes the door behind us, and I turn to find that we aren’t alone. On the far side of the room is a chair with more of the buckles and straps attached to it. They’re holding a man captive, his hair turned strawberry-colored from blood, his face a mass of mottled bruising. His clothing has been stripped away, and his body is a tapestry of black, purple, and red wounds … of the violence my husband and his men have inflicted.
“Wake up,pendejo,” Diego bellows, startling him an out of his stupor.
He raises his head and I catch sight of his face, revulsion and hatred welling up in me so fast I almost choke on it. His face is nearly unrecognizable—his nose broken and twisted, his lips puffy, his left cheek marked with a furious burn—the image of a charred, black cross entwined with barbed wire seared into his skin. But it’s his eyes that remain the same—narrow blue slits that burn into me with derision and lust. He grunts around a dirty gag splitting his lips, and I know he would call me every foul name in the book if he could.
“Viktor,” I hiss from between my teeth. “You told me he was dead.”
“No,” Diego replies, his hands falling onto my shoulders from behind. “I told you he was taken care of … and he has been. My first instinct was to beat him to death with my bare hands. My men wanted to extract his teeth one by one and cut off his balls before feeding them to him. None of us was willing to let him get away with what he did to you without paying for it with his life. But then I realized … his life doesn’t belong to me,gatita. He might have betrayed me and killed some of my men, but he violated you. He took you from your home and subjected you to unspeakable abuse. It’s the reason he’s still alive … because it’s only right that you be the one to make him really pay.”
Diego’s words hypnotize me out of my anger and into a new place I’ve recently discovered. A place where my dark side comes out to play. My blood rushes and my skin tingles at the thought of having Viktor at my mercy, helpless to defend himself against my twisted impulses.
“You marked him,” I say, indicating the cross branded into his cheek. “That’s the mark of shame … everyone who looks at him will know that he betrayedLa Familia. That means you intend to leave him alive.”
“Yes, only because men like this need to be made an example of. Executing someone who offends us is a handy way to ensure they won’t do it again … but turning them into the shame of the mafia world is the best way to make sure others think twice before crossing us.”
I nod slowly, understanding his philosophy even if part of me rebels at the idea of leaving Viktor alive. But then, Diego never said he has to be left in one piece.
