Page 4 of Dirty Mafia Torment
It’d be easy to say the devil made me do it because I never claim responsibility for anything, my motto being if the fools in my life believe they can outwit me, fuck ’em while they figure shit out. In this case, I claim full responsibility. There are consequences to actions, somy father likes to remind my twin and me. This girl needed a Beneventi-worthy wakeup call.
I get that I’m memorable, and she clearly hasn’t forgotten me. In the years between luncheons, she’s only gotten sharper, hungrier for my presence, and twice as relentless.
Spying on me turned into a game of dodge and evade once she caught me staring earlier. Did I use it to break up the monotony of my day? You bet I did. Teaching her a lesson became my afternoon entertainment.
I escaped to the kitchen, and seconds later, she came in for a glass of water. I took a piss, and she lurked outside the door, waiting for me to exit. When I ducked into the library, though, she was already there, seated on the sofa and pretending to read. I gave her points for that. It wasn’t until she followed me upstairs like a lovestruck pup and into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, where no one could hear her scream, that I sprung my trap.
Did she struggle while I subdued her? Fuck yeah—I’ve scratches on my arm and chest to prove it. Cursed me to hell and back, too, not knowing I’ve been there a time or two. But to her credit, not a scream or even a whimper escaped her lips.
She’s on her side now, same place I left her when I escaped downstairs to mingle, her pink feathered cocktail dress riding up over her hips.
I pause and admire my work. The rope is an intricate masterpiece, winding between her thighs, cinching her waist, parting her perfect breasts before splitting over her shoulders where it then intertwines with the other end and around the wrists behind her back.
It’s my first attempt at shibari. The art form’s meant to be visually appealing. But the way the rope pulls her shoulders back and showcases her big fucking breasts is so erotic, my dick notices.
Sixteen, and a stunner.
How did I miss it?
She glares at me over a shoulder, and I remind myself she’s in thispredicament to learn a lesson. Nothing more, but especially not because I’m designating her as my latest distraction.
I sit on the mattress beside her. “Bet you regret following me around like a desperate virgin.”
Her green eyes narrow.
“Watching my every move. Stalking me.” I pluck a feather from her dress. “A little bitch in heat, aren’t you?” Goose bumps prickle her skin as I trace the feather across her bare arm. She’s prettier now that I’m really looking at her. Curvier, with a flat stomach and legs that go on for miles.
They’re bent now, wrapped up like a gift.
Good thing I don’t do teen virgin.
She squirms, and the colorful ropes draw tighter.
“So tell me.” I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Am I your crush or your ruin?”
She jerks her head sideways in an attempt to headbutt me.
I laugh, loving the fight in her. “Looks like you traded in your puppy dog vibe to be my little fucking pony girl. Is that what you were hoping? To be my little plaything, to be bridled and ridden?”
Her emerald eyes flash with … interest…
No way.
A curious fucking hellion.
“You’re a virgin, right?” I demand. Not sure why I ask or why it’s important. It just is, because rumors are circulating.
The Twelve are in Rhode Island for a pissing contest disguised as a luncheon. Every capo is puckered up with big guns drawn, hoping to gain favor with Don Lucchese. Because with the new succession rules come new opportunities. My godfather will nominate two men for the Twelve’s vote to succeed him after his death. My father, a top earner and ruthless enforcer, will be one name, I’m damn sure of it. It’s been predictably boring watching the other capos compete.
Rumors are circulating that Don Lombardi will be announcing during the birthday toasts the deal he made with Carlo Accardo. His daughter’s hand in marriage for gold.Actualfucking gold bars.Everyone knows Don Lombardi is a gambling addict drowning in debt. Still, Don Lucchese will welcome the marriage, seeing it as an acknowledgment of the fragile peace he struck with the traitor Accardo, a former famiglie affiliate and Chicago power player, whose brother’s loose lips nearly got his entire family slaughtered years ago.
My father put Pascale down.
Fast-forward to the present, where Don Lucchese has forgiven them. No doubt the wise man stacked his gold bars neatly on top of that peace.
Though rumors haven’t stopped Elia Seraphina Lombardi from being up our asses. Specifically my ass—Sandro’s just an innocent bystander.
Sixteen, and still a hellion.
