Page 20 of Mafia Ties
We’ve been here since Henry’s luxury yacht dropped us off a little over three months ago. The first two weeks of our trip was nowhere near as glamorous as the final two on Henry’s chartered yacht.
In case you were wondering, shipping containers aren’t solely used to transport stock. People smuggling has been a part of the cartel as long as drug manufacturing and gun distribution. When you need to move between countries unaware, it makes sense to jump onboard one of the massive cargo ships men in my industry use on a monthly basis.
I complain like we slept on cots in damp, wet boxes. That wasn’t close to facilities we had at our disposal, but nothing compares to a top-of-the-line yacht, and don’t get me started on the sprawling mansion Roxanne and I purchased with cash our first week here. It has everything our family could ever need. Coastal views, numerous bedrooms I plan to fill with heirs, and a one-of-a-kind surveillance system that keeps me up to date on all things happening in Hopeton.
Our flee from the country we were born in doesn’t mean we’ve permanently cut ties with it. We’re just taking a breather for a couple of months, letting the dust settle, so to speak, then we will return to our realm bigger, better, and badder than ever.
I had initially planned to run operations from Cefalù until my second son is born in a couple of months’ time, but a delivery earlier this week has had me reconsidering my objectives. It wasn’t a threat, ransom, or any of those fucked-up things I faced my first two years of parenthood. It was an invitation to a wedding—an invitation from the last person Ieveranticipated receiving an invitation from.
Nikolai and hisAhrensurvived their takeover bid. It wasn’t pretty, and it took Nikolai a couple of months to lick his wounds, but once his scars scabbed over and his woman’s wounds healed, he took a step back and looked at the whole picture.
Because of Roxanne’s somewhat infuriating nosy-parkering, that picture included me.
We’re not anywhere near being civil. We have too much baggage from our past to ever truly let bygones be bygones, but I will admit, inviting me to his wedding lowered my guard by a smidge. Was it enough for me to decline his offer for my conglomerate to have full prostitution distribution rights on both the east and west coast? No, it was not. But it did have me contemplating a change-up I thought would be years away.
I knew from the moment my eyes landed on Roxanne that she was a badass. She dressed how she pleased, cried in the middle of the street like no one was looking, and held a gun to a law enforcement officer’s head just to ensure I wouldn’t miss seeing our children grow into adults. She has more than proved she has what it takes to be the wife of a cartel leader, and I’m about ready to shout it from the rooftops.
While raking my fingers through Roxanne’s glossy locks, a now favorite hobby of mine, I ask like it’s no big deal, “Do you want to get your dress here or risk a Black Friday stampede in Vegas when we land?”
Strands of red hair peel off my chest when Roxanne props herself onto her elbows. As our unborn son makes it known with my thigh he isn’t happy about being squashed against it, Roxanne’s eyes bounce between mine. “You’re accepting Nikolai’s invitation?” She’s hardly gotten out her first question when a much more direr one stumbles out of her mouth. “And I’m going with you?”
The ghost-like smile she forever wears when taking my dick between her lips would have you convinced our children aren’t on the sandy shore mere feet from us, building a sandcastle. It has me hard in an instant and fighting like hell not to take her where she lays.
I’d get inventive beneath the beach towels if she didn’t jump up to her feet like she doesn’t have six months’ worth of baby growing strapped to her front.
“Where are you going?” I ask when she races for the French doors of the master suite. My tone leaves no doubt as to how I had planned for her to pay for my unusual bend of the rules. I want her cunt filled by me anyway I can get it. My fingers. My tongue. My cock. I don’t care what she chooses, I just need her to get her ass back here so I can do one of the many wicked thoughts in my head.
The odds of Nikolai and me patching things up fly out the window when Roxanne replies directly to the source demanding her attention. “There’s no time for that,” she says while staring at my cock. “I need to book flights, pack, and advise Smith that we will need the kids’ passports by the end of the week.” I’m not surprised she automatically included our children in her plans. If we go, they go. No fear. “Then I have to organize a pet sitter for the animals. Should someone come here, or should we put them in a kennel?”
Since she isn’t speaking to me, I don’t answer her. It’s for the best. If I had replied, I may have missed her mouthing for me to meet her in the bathroom in five minutes. My wife saw her mother in many compromising positions when she was a child but that doesn’t mean she wants to subject her to the same thing.
Sailor has worked hard the past four months to show Roxanne she’s a changed woman, and I give her another shot to prove her worth by straying my eyes to her instead of the children’s nanny to request permission to thoroughly fuck my wife until supper.
We could sneak away for a quickie, but where’s the fun in that?
My wife wants to be ravished by a merciless, coldhearted bastard, and I need more than an hour to slip into character.
