Page 95 of Beauty and the Mafia Boss

His words only confirm the certainty that the Saint's gaze gave me a long time ago: in her hands, I could either surrender my own pain and violence or borrow hers, if I wanted. Precisely the reason I've never had the courage to touch them, no matter how much closer I get to doing so each day.

The domestic scene of Vittorio and I taking a bath together is just one of many that have been messing with my head over the past three weeks. Vittorio doesn't let me sleep in my own room and takes over my body in every free moment of his day as if this were his favorite hobby, which I don't complain about, because it's certainly mine.

The problem is that, just as he said he would, I find myself being consumed, breath after breath, by the Don. My pleasure, my thoughts, my desires and even plans, which I had never had before, are now all over each corner of my mind and Vittorio is scrawled on each one of them like the signature of acareless artist who cares about nothing other than certifying his ownership.

The way he looks at me makes my heart freeze, completely undecided whether to speed up or stop beating every time. The way he touches me when he's not inside me makes the already familiar feeling of stopping to breathe when I'm in his presence even more intense.

The way Vittorio lets me explore his body, kiss his mouth, and immerse myself in his presence makes me believe that I belong completely to him even though I know, deep down, that this is a lie. I'm just being useful, that's all. The hand that was on my cheek goes up to my temple and smoothes the cut there, no longer bandaged.

“Does it hurt?” Vittorio asks and I shake my head, denying it. The wound has already scabbed, but the way he looks at my forehead is unknown to me.

“Are we going out in the next few days?” I ask.

After theVendemmia, we went out in public again. More dinners, events, and night walks. This week, however, we went nowhere. The Don gives me one more enigmatic look before tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Where would you like to go?” he answers my question with another, and I blink my eyes, surprised, because this is the first time he's asked me.

“Can I choose any place?” Vittorio nods, and I suck on my bottom lip. The movement makes a whistling sound before I release it.

“I’ve always wondered what it's like to be in one of those huge boats when we go to the seaside.” It's a silly request, I know it is.

But Vittorio didn't specify any conditions, he confirmed that it could be anywhere and, since I lost the complete terror of being in the water, I have wanted two things: the first is to go to the beach and enter the sea, and the second is to be in of a boat on the high seas.

The beach seems too far from something Vittorio would agree to do. Although his swimming lessons were also a complete surprise, I really can't imagine him in his swim trunks on a beach. It's probably too much to ask and I don't want to risk losing the opportunity.

“A yacht?” It's my turn to respond with a nod. “And I suppose you want to do this during the day? To enjoy the sun?”

“I would very much like it.” My tone comes out too excited, but it's not something I can control. Vittorio laughs, slides his thumb down to my lower lip and brushes it there.

“Alright, Bellamia, I'll arrange your ride.” In an automatic movement, I bring our bodies together and, soon after, my lips stretched in a huge smile looking for his in an unrestrained gratitude.

Vittorio, however, doesn't accept the quick kiss I intended to give him and turns the meeting of our mouths into something obscene enough to make the member, nestled between my legs, harden. I moan, loving the easy glide on my clit from the water and the grip of the Don's fingers, now on my waist, becoming firmer.

When his lips go down my chin and kiss every inch of my skin until he captures one of my nipples, I sigh, feeling my entire body being taken over by a sensation that still cannot be called familiar, but that, every day, becomes less strange: happiness.

***

“What is that?” I ask, feeling the cold material against my neck.

Vittorio's silent arrivals continue to surprise me, but they no longer scare me. I feel the touch of his fingers against the back of my neck for a few seconds before he takes a step back and I turn my face towards him as I reach up and touch the thin strap now wrapped around my throat.

Sitting on one of the lounge chairs at the edge of the pool, I waited for him while reading a new book. I started doing this a week after we started our swimming lessons.

They don't happen every day, but when Vittorio confirms them in the middle of the day by text, it's impossible to stop the anxiety about the time arriving soon from taking over me, because swimming is never the only thing I learn when we come down here. The simple fact of knowing that he wants me completely naked leaves me on edge during all the hours leading up to his arrival.

I alternate my gaze between the Don's face and the little black velvet box next to me where the butt plug that Vittorio gave me just over a week ago waits for 9 pm. Just imagining the feeling that overcomes me every night, when it is expertly handled by the Don's hands, makes my thighs clench. His husky laugh tells me he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

“A gift, Gabriella,” he replies, still laughing, and I raise my other hand, touching the necklace with all my fingers and looking forward to seeing it as soon as I find a mirror.

My touch tells me that the rigid circumference is no more than five millimeters thick and, in the center of it, right over the throat, there is a small elevation appearing to be marked by stones.

I've never been good at guessing shapes, but the contour suggested by my fingertips, combined with the satisfied look of the man staring at my neck, makes me sure of what is now hanging around my neck: a rose, his rose. I stand up and tilt my head back, looking at him.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling my heart speed up and my pussy throb. My nipples suddenly feel sensitive under the towel and my skin tingles, needing to be touched.

It's not the first gift Vittorio has given me, but it's impossible to stop my body from repeating the same reaction every time the Don marks me. Especially when I hear his next words.

“Never take it off,Bella mia.” His hand reaches up and, in a gesture that has become common since the accident in the stables last week, touches the healing cut on my temple.

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