Sweet Prison: An Age Gap Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 10)

My breakfast is ready and waiting for me, just as he promised. Just as it has been every day this week.

But Massimo isn’t.

I glance around the kitchen and then focus on the setting. The dish is an omelet. Tomatoes. Mushrooms. Shredded cheese. Prosciutto layered over eggs. The plate has been left on the breakfast table, at the seat closest to the window where the bright morning sunrays spill inside. On the right, there’s a nicely folded cloth napkin, with cutlery on top. A glass of orange juice is positioned on the left. And completing the setting, in the middle of the table, a small vase with a single sprig of jasmine.

It’s all rather sweet, if one disregards the man with a semiautomatic rifle standing in the center of the room.

“Peppe? Is something wrong?”

“Nope. Just following Massimo’s orders.”

“And those are?”

He throws a quick look at the table. “Watching the eggs.”

“Uh-huh. Are they going to attack us?”

The corner of Peppe’s lips quivers as if he’s going to smile, yet he remains serious.

“Iris went grocery shopping,” he says. “I’m not supposed to let anyone get close to your breakfast. If anyone does, I’m to off them, immediately.”

I shake my head and cross the kitchen to take my seat, feeling Peppe’s eyes on me the entire time. He must be annoyed by Massimo’s behavior, too.

“He thinks someone might try poisoning my food,” I explain as I eat the first forkful.

“I’m sure that’s what he tells himself.”

“What do you mean?”

Peppe leans on the fridge, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve known Massimo since he was fifteen. I’ve always admired the way his mind works. Unrelenting focus and determination, bordering on obsessive. When he believes something needs to be done, he’ll do it, no matter the consequences. And no matter the personal sacrifice. Achieving the ultimate goal is the only thing that matters. And if at some point, an alternate course of action is required, he finds a way to convince himself that it’s exactly what he needs to do.” He gives the plate in front of me a pointed stare. “Or not do.”

“I’m… not sure I understand what you mean.”

“He knows it’s very unlikely that someone would want to poison you, especially here, but he’s convinced himself that is a credible threat. Because it’s the perfect excuse.”

“Excuse for what?”

“To make you breakfast.” He meets my gaze. “I’ve never seen him care about anyone like he cares about you. To be honest, I didn’t think he was capable of it. Which is why he’ll do whatever is necessary to make sure you won’t end up hurt. The Family tends not to favor… relationships between stepsiblings.”

I tense. “You know?”

“I have eyes, Miss Veronese. When the two of you are in the same room, the air itself becomes so charged it would barely need a spark to explode. But maybe, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, you know? To let it detonate. If you are ready to bear the scorn of our world, that is. If you think you can handle it.”

“Believe me, I’ve had plenty of practice in my life.”

“Then brace yourself.” Peppe nods as he leaves the kitchen. “He’ll try to push you away. Might even hurt you believing it will save you from greater heartache. Don’t let him.”

I eat the rest of my meal in silence, contemplating Peppe’s words while staring at the yard beyond the window. With the grass cut and the flowerbeds cleared of weeds, it’s finally looking like a garden instead of a wild jungle.

“Is it edible?” Massimo’s voice reaches me.

I look up and find him standing in the doorway. His tailor must have delivered his bespoke suits, because the one he’s wearing fits him like a glove.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. That’s good.” He shrugs and heads over to the coffee machine. “The Council members will be arriving around seven this evening. We’ll hold the meeting in the dining room.”

So, we are obviously not going to discuss last night. Does he really believe we can just pretend like it never happened and go back to the way things were?

“Would you mind if I use the lounge area across the way to redo the dress I’m working on?” I ask in the most offhanded tone and pick up my plate to carry it to the dishwasher, which happens to be next to where the coffee machine is. “The fabric I prepared for it is completely saturated with my juices from you eating my pussy on top of it last night, and I decided I want to keep it there.”

I never imagined that a person could stay as utterly still as Massimo does when the words leave my mouth. His body becomes so rigid, it’s as if he’s carved out of stone. The only part of him that appears to still be alive is his eyes. They glare at me with fire. And hunger.

“We agreed; that subject is closed.”

I put the plate away and lean my back on the counter. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

Suddenly, he is in front of me, his body hovering over mine as he grips the edge of the countertop on each side of me. His jaw is clenched, his nostrils are flaring madly. And his eyes, those are glued to my mouth. Is he thinking about how it felt to have my lips wrapped around his cock? Because I am. I remember every second of it. What it was like to have his whole body unravel under my touch. How amazing it felt to have him at my mercy. And then, to have him eat me out on a pile of silk, shattering me into pieces and putting me back together at the same time.

After an endless moment, Massimo reaches out and brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Some things are not meant to happen, angel. We are one of those things. And we both need to accept it.”

His hand falls from my face. He turns away while my heart withers inside my chest.

***

“I don’t recall you having issues with my decisions when the value of our investments doubled!” Massimo’s roaring voice carries beyond the closed dining room door to the little lounge area on the other side of the entrance hall.

Shaking my head, I pull my attention from the sewing pattern I’ve spread out on the floor. Someone inside that room shouts back, making me tense. It sounds like Brio, but it’s hard to tell with the doors shut. Everyone, however, has been so loud that I’m certain the entire household can hear them.

The meeting seemed to proceed just fine until Massimo announced he was getting out of the strip club business and selling off our venues to the New York Family Don. Salvatore Ajello has been a thorn in everyone’s side for years, especially after he began to send men to spy on us while Nera was running things as Massimo’s proxy. Even knowing that Massimo and the infamous don had some prior dealings, it was still a surprise when he arranged a meeting between Nera and Ajello a month ago. I wondered how he managed to pull that off.

“Oh, you sure about that?” Another round of Massimo’s snarling reaches me. His voice is even louder than before. “How about I set up a meeting for you with the Guadalajara Cartel, and you can inform El Jefe personally that we’ll have to cut the next order by half since Tiziano’s girls are tying up a large portion of our cash? You can take Primo with you, I’m certain the two of you will have an amazing time in Mexico.”

Everyone starts yelling all at once, insults and threats flying in a cacophonous exchange. I can’t even decipher who’s saying what. The noise is deafening. It sounds like they are moments away from killing each other. Shit.

I swipe Massimo’s phone from where he left it on the side table and dash toward the dining room. In a sea of bad ideas, interrupting a Council meeting where the topic on the table is succession is probably the worst, but Massimo needs to snap out of his rampage or this conclave will head downhill, fast. I don’t even have a clue what I’ll say when I get inside, I just grab the knob and open the door.

As I step into the room, I’m faced with complete madness. The shouting continues without anyone realizing I’m here. Massimo is on his feet at the head of the long black table, his palms braced on the smooth wooden surface. He’s leaning forward and shouting at Brio at the top of his voice. Brio—seated to Massimo’s left—is sniveling his protests. His face is getting redder and redder with every word, and he’s waving his arms and shaking his head like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum.

Next to Brio, Tiziano is slamming his fist on the leather ledger splayed out before him while exchanging obscenities with Adriano across the table. Adriano is the Family’s biggest investor and could probably buy out half of the people gathered in this room. He’s always had an air of aristocracy about him, and could easily be the sort of man who sits on his ass and lets others work for him. Instead, Adriano has always been heavily involved, personally overseeing his logistics company’s transport of Cosa Nostra drugs across the country. I’ve never seen Adriano so much as raise his voice at anyone before. Now, however, his normally impeccable appearance is distorted by hand-messed hair and a tie that sits slightly askew.

Primo, who’s sitting on Brio’s left, is blabbering and pointing between Donatello and Patricio, two other investors in the Family businesses. Salvo is the only person who is silent. He’s relaxed back in his chair on Massimo’s right, quietly observing the unfolding catastrophe.

“What are you doing here, girl?” Brio’s angry voice unexpectedly carries over the yelling.

The shouts suddenly die down, and then everyone is staring at me.

“Um… I just—”

Massimo moves like a predator. In an instant, he’s fisting Brio’s shirtfront and tie and lifting the older man out of his seat, the twisted material jammed up under the capo’s chin. All Brio can do is claw at Massimo’s arm while he struggles to breathe.

“Don’t you fucking dare speak to her with that tone,” Massimo says through gritted teeth right into Brio’s shocked face. “Apologize.”

Brio’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, yet no sound escapes. Massimo tosses him back into his seat like a ragdoll.

“I’m sorry,” Brio mumbles as he tries to straighten out his tie.

“I’m sorry… what?”

“I’m sorry for my tone, Zara.”

Like a flash, Massimo strikes again—grabbing Brio by the hair and slamming him face-first against the table. He follows that by pressing his elbow to the side of the capo’s head, pinning down the now bleeding man. Brio’s blood, streaming from his nose, mixes with water from an overturned glass, and the blended liquid soaks the documents spread across the wooden surface and flows toward Brio’s mouth and eye.

“She’s not ‘Zara’ to you. Try again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Veronese.”

“That’s much better.” Massimo finally releases the battered capo and looks up at me. “What do you need, Zahara?”

Eight pairs of eyes stare back at me. The room feels supercharged, even though no one is shouting anymore.

“I…” I drop my gaze, focusing on the phone I’m holding. “Your phone rang. It was… it was your lawyer, and it sounded urgent.” I swallow, then look up, right into Massimo’s eyes. “He might be losing control of some things that need to be handled with finesse. So, I thought you should be made aware.”

For a few heartbeats, as his gaze stays locked on mine, his face remains the same angry mask he’d directed at Brio. But then, I notice his facial muscles relax. Slowly, he lowers onto the leather chair and interlocks his fingers atop the table. His entire posture changes, becoming completely at ease.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone calm. “I’ll make sure to give him a call as soon as I’m done here.”

“Okay. Well… I guess, that’s all. I’ll be going now.”

I turn, reaching for the door handle, just as Massimo growls behind me, “Get your ass in that empty chair at the end.”

My whole body tenses. He never uses that tone with me. Shit. I shouldn’t have interrupted their meeting.

“Now, Brio,” Massimo continues. “Zahara, please have a seat beside me.”

A ball lodges in my throat. And I seem to have lost control of my limbs because I can’t move. My gaze remains fixed on the door in front of me. He can’t be serious. This isn’t done. Only capos and appointed members can attend Council meetings.

The dragging of a chair across floorboards breaks the silence. The silence that hangs over the room like a dense shroud. The tension is nearly palpable.

“This is outrageous.” Someone’s irate mumble reaches me. “The rules—”

“Shut your trap, Tiziano. When you get to be the head of the Family, then you can enforce the rules. But right now, I’ll choose which rules I’ll honor, and which I won’t.”

Paralyzed by indecision, I remain rooted in place, staring at a dried paint bubble on the door in front of me.

“Zahara, please.” A much softer voice reaches me.

I slowly turn and face the grim expressions in the room. Brio has taken a seat to Primo’s left and is glaring at me most vehemently. I bite the inside of my cheek as my eyes glide down the long table, briefly connecting with the judgmental gaze of every seated man until they land on Massimo. He is standing, having pulled out the chair on his left-hand side that was vacated by Brio.

My hands tremble as I take the first step forward, but I refuse to look at the floor as I would have in the past, even with all these powerful men staring at me. All they’ve ever done is look down on me. Yet, despite the acute pressure of their eyes, the so-familiar urge to hide doesn’t hit me.

Another step. And then another. I keep my chin up, gaze connected with Massimo’s as I cross the room. I can’t believe he invited me to join the meeting. That’s unprecedented. He’s basically proclaimed me an equal to every man here. Equal to Tiziano, who, a few years ago, asked me to fetch him another drink, taking me for one of the serving staff in my own house. And Primo, whom I overheard telling his wife that, if my father offered their son my hand in marriage, they’d need to find a way to avoid it, hoping that Dad would relent and allow Nera to marry “the darling Ruggero” instead. And to Brio, who once outright asked my dad if I had a speech impediment because I preferred to stay quiet at social gatherings instead of yapping nonstop like other girls my age. They all must be fuming on the inside, and I couldn’t be more delighted by that fact.

As I take my seat, Massimo helps slide my chair in and then resumes his place with a slight incline of his head in my direction.

“Now, where were we?” he asks casually, cutting his eyes to Brio.

“You’re selling our strip clubs to Ajello,” Brio says through his teeth.

“Yes. And in exchange, he is giving us an in with his construction project in Manhattan. We’re investing in a premium residential complex fifty-fifty, and splitting the profits in the same way.”

Absolute silence descends over the room again while the men stare at Massimo with expressions vacillating between shock and wonder. Salvatore Ajello is known for killing any Cosa Nostra member from outside of his own Family who dares to set foot in his territory. He usually mails the body parts back to their respective don in a bag. Or several. The fact that he agreed to a joint project in New York with another crime family, borders on science fiction or fantasy.

“What’s the expected profit?” Adriano asks, seemingly back to his perfectly composed self.

“After the construction is complete and the condos hit the market, he projects sixty-seven point five million in earnings for each side, after tax. Clean, legitimate income we can easily reinvest as we see fit.”

“That sounds too good to be true,” Brio throws in. “Who will vouch that Ajello will keep his end of the deal?”

Massimo turns toward Brio, his face a mask of barely subdued rage. His jaw is tightly clenched, and the vein on his forehead is pulsing, a sure sign that he’s moments from losing his temper.

“Are you suggesting that I’ve been acting against the Family’s best interest?” Massimo’s voice is eerily low. He appears ready to kill Brio on the spot. Shit.

“I’m just saying that I don’t see how this benefits Ajello. Why would he want to let us in? Unless you’ve made another—private—deal with him that you don’t want to share with the rest of us.”

Oh God. Brio just insinuated that Massimo has been working toward his own concerns and contrary to the Family’s. I chance a look at Massimo just as he’s reaching behind his back. He always carries a gun.

Under the table, I lay my palm on Massimo’s thigh and give it a squeeze. He doesn’t seem to notice. Shit. I squeeze it again, so hard that my nails almost poke through the fabric of his pants. His body tenses, and for a fleeting moment, he just sits there with his hand suspended behind his back. I look down at the surface of the table and tighten my hold on his leg until my damn fingers hurt. The Council still hasn’t voted. He can’t outright kill that bastard for insubordination or impudence. Not yet anyway.

Lacking another option, I continue to draw long, even breaths until I feel a soft caress on my fingers. Massimo’s hand covers mine. Despite the roughness of his skin, his touch is feather-light. Reassuring. I lift my gaze and find Massimo relaxing back in his chair, his other hand on the table. No gun. Thank fuck.

“As a matter of fact…” His voice is nonchalant, the complete opposite of his demeanor from just seconds earlier. “I do have a deal with Ajello.”

All eyes are now focused on Massimo, waiting. His gaze slides over every man present and stops on Brio. “Ajello ran into a few obstacles obtaining building permits for a project he has planned in Chinatown. As it happens, the Triad owed me a favor, so Mr. Wang will be happy to assist our new partner in obtaining them.”

“I don’t remember the Family doing any favors for the Triad,” Tiziano grunts.

“Because it didn’t. I did,” Massimo smirks. “And their debt was significant enough to spark Ajello’s interest. Which is why I’m sitting here six months earlier than expected, after he fixed things for me,” he says and pins Tiziano with his unrelenting stare. Then, he turns to Primo. “Starting next month, Primo, you’ll be laundering Ajello’s dirty money.”

Outraged cries explode anew, with the men practically losing their shit en masse, but Massimo just continues to chill in his chair, observing this latest flare-up with a serene smile. The entire time, he keeps my hand in his under the table.

“And what are we going to do with our own dirty money?” I whisper.

“The New York Family will take care of it for us, of course.”

The yelling suddenly stops, and all heads turn to Massimo.

“Even with numerous shell companies, the businesses we use to launder our money lead back to us. If someone digs deep enough, they’ll make the connection,” Massimo says. “That risk practically disappears with Ajello in the picture. His infrastructure will add at least three levels of protection, so tracing the source of our cash will be twice as hard. Between the mortgage loans and the interest payments, the inflated prices will be a wash. Throw full concierge services on top, and all the complementary vendors they depend on, and this complex becomes a goddamned license to print money. So, we help Ajello, he helps us. Problem solved.”

For almost a minute, no one says a word. They just stare at Massimo.

“You think it will work?” This from Adriano, always the shrewd businessman.

“Like a Swiss watch,” Massimo declares. “And if needed, we can always have the Bulgarians ‘clean’ our extra funds through their chain of car washes. I just need to boot Camorra out of their scheme first.”

“And how are you planning to do that?” Brio again.

“By kicking Efisio and his lot out of our territory. That idiot cousin of his, Alvino, dared to kidnap the don’s daughter. It gives us grounds for retaliation. I want Camorra out of Boston. If they don’t choose to leave, I’ll pick them off, one at a time, until our streets are cleansed of their filth.”

“That was more than three years ago, Massimo,” Brio throws in. “We can’t act on it now.”

Massimo cocks his head to the side and smirks. “Well, I was out of town for a while and I just found out about that little detail. For me, it’s as if it happened last Friday.”

“We don’t need any skirmishes with outsiders. It’s bad for business.”

“Let me tell you what’s bad for business,” Massimo barks and leans forward. “Our competitors thinking they can pull shit like that and get away with it because Cosa Nostra is weak. That era is done. From this point on, every single person in this city will know that no one fucks with our Family. We’ll be what we once were—the embodiment of fear and respect. People will tremble when they hear the Cosa Nostra name. And if I need to paint the Boston streets with Camorra blood to make that happen, so be it.”

Nods of affirmation from all around the table. Even Brio.

“I’m glad you agree. Then, let’s do what we have gathered here to do, shall we?”

I swallow. It’s time for the Council to cast their votes. The voting ritual, the oath, and the subsequent swearing of allegiance to the new don is sacred. Massimo’s invitation for me to be present at this meeting means the world to me—something he may never realize—but I don’t want him breaking any more rules on my account.

Giving his leg another light squeeze, I rise and head toward the door before he can stop me.

“Refreshments await you in the lounge when you’re done,” I toss over my shoulder and hightail it out of the dining room.

The door closes behind Zahara with a soft click. With her exit, the animosity rises within me once again. Ten minutes ago, I almost ruined everything I’ve been working over two decades of my life for. If she hadn’t grabbed my leg and snapped me out of the blind rage that threatened to consume me, I would have probably killed Brio where he sat.

Adriano takes off his black-rimmed glasses and pins me with his discerning gaze. He might be the most unruffled and affable man in the room, yet his word carries a lot of weight. “Old money” talks, as they say. As a majority shareholder in his family-run logistics company, his personal net worth is around ten billion, and more than half of it is invested in Cosa Nostra businesses. Over the years, he’s been offered the rank of capo more than once. But he has always declined. If it wasn’t for that little fact, I would have bet that he was the one trying to off me so he could become Boston’s don. He has the means, for some reason, however, he’s never been interested in an official position within the Family hierarchy.

“It’s incredibly impressive, and a little mind-boggling, that you were able to steer this Family’s investment portfolio and look after business matters from behind bars all these years. And not only did you keep everything afloat, your actions resulted in significant financial gains,” Adriano says. “As such, I’m inclined to believe that you’ll do an even better job going forward, now that you can be openly involved. You have my vote, Spada.”

I accept his decision with a nod.

Donatello and Patricio are next, and neither of them would ever contradict Adriano. They both nod to indicate their support. I turn toward the other side of the table, leveling my eyes on the capos.

“You have my vote,” both Primo and Tiziano say in unison.

Brio remains silent, his gaze focused on his clasped hands on the table. His face is grim, still showing traces of now-dried blood. He really doesn’t want me leading the Family—it’s plainly obvious—but with the rest of the Council in agreement, he must feel like he has no other option. With his teeth clenched, Brio nods too.

“Salvo?” I turn toward my underboss, still struggling not to punch him in the head every time I look at him. Days later, and I can’t seem to shake my ire toward him after he had the gall to ask for Zahara’s hand. My friend has been unusually silent for the entire meeting and for reasons I can’t explain, it’s rubbing me the wrong way. It’s just not typical for him to stay out of a discussion. If there’s one thing I could always count on, it was Salvo making his opinion known.

“Of course you have my vote, Massimo. I’m glad to see you finally assume your rightful place.” He rises out of his seat and comes to stand before me. “My loyalty and my life are yours, Don Spada.”

With his eyes downcast, he bends forward and kisses my hand. It’s an old tradition. A show of adulation and fidelity to the seat of power, but also, recognition of the protection that will be received from that merciful authority. I was never a fan of it, because it reminds me of a cult. I don’t need them to worship me like a fucking saint. It’s the last thing I am. And with the changes I have planned, changes that many of them won’t like in the slightest, I have no doubts they won’t like me in the least. Italians though, and especially mafiosi, do love their ceremonies. So, I patiently sit through the whole ordeal until every man pays his respects.

“Let’s move over to the lounge for some drinks, and to discuss how we should approach the issue of disposing of Camorra,” I say.

“Now?” Primo asks. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes, now.” I let my gaze slice to them. “The vacation is over, gentlemen.”

***

It’s almost two in the morning when the last man leaves. Even with Peppe’s guys patrolling the grounds and watching the house, I still do a detailed sweep of the upper and lower levels before I climb the stairs to the second floor.

The door to Zahara’s room is shut. I press my hand to the wooden surface as if it will help bring me closer to her. It doesn’t. I know she’s there, right on the other side of this barrier, but the oak beneath my palm has become a literal representation of the obstacles that stand between us.

My whole being is vibrating with the urge to go inside, to simply be near her. The anxiety that has plagued me for the past five hours, ever since the moment she walked out of the meeting room, has twisted me up to the point I can barely breathe. I don’t know how to stifle this maniacal need I have for Zahara. My self-control has been stretched razor-thin.

And it’s not because of sexual attraction. That would be much easier to resist. Zahara is beautiful, so beautiful that just setting my eyes on her makes my traitorous dick twitch. Yet it’s not only her beauty that makes me crave her. It’s her. Just… her.

Her spirit.

The fierce fire inside her.

Her boundless compassion and understanding.

She’s the only person who makes me feel like myself. With whom I can speak about things I would never voice in another’s presence. When she is near me, I feel like the man I once was. The one I want to be again. She’s the cure for my madness, abolishing it with her touch and her smile. Just as she did earlier tonight.

And the night before. And the one prior. For days I’ve been losing my temper with almost everyone who crossed my path. The renovation workers. The household staff. People in public places. With her touch though, a quiet word, a glance, my lunatic self retreats into the ether. Zahara grounds me, like nothing else can. Without her near me, I fear neither the world nor I may survive.

She is the missing piece to my soul. My salvation.

I want her. Want her in every possible sense. As a friend. And a lover. But most of all, as simply… mine.

Leaning my forehead on the door, I grit my teeth.

She’s not mine.

Can never be.

And that knowledge casts me into utter despair.

Closing my eyes, I bang my forehead on the wooden surface.

I need her. And I don’t know how to make that need go away.

Bang.

I want to make her mine. Ignore the fucking scandal. I never gave a shit what people think about me anyway. I’d put up with their contempt and disdain. I would. But in doing so, I’d open her up to stigma for the rest of her life. The Family is ruthless where these types of things are concerned, and Zahara is too pure to deserve their scorn.

Bang.

I need her!

Knowing it’s wrong. Knowing she is worthy of better. Doesn’t change that I fucking need her! It was easier to resist her before I tasted the forbidden fruit. Now, I can’t hold back no matter how hard I try. It’s like a beautiful madness has gripped my mind. Tightening its hold on me without mercy. She is all I can think about. My hands on her. My lips on her glorious pussy. I can’t get those images out of my mind. I want to, but can’t!

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The door swings open, revealing my angel, bathed in soft light from the floor lamp near the door. So radiant. Dazzling. Gleaming bright. As are the specks of reddish-gold among her luscious strands that have fallen over her lace-covered shoulders and arms. Her hair is the same shade as her knee-length nightie, and the silk clings to her delicious curves. Other than last night, I’ve only ever seen her in pants and full-sleeved tops.

“What’s going on?” she asks, sleepily, and rubs her eyes with her hands. Such an innocent, simple gesture. Jesus fuck, she’s so damn young.

“Nothing,” I grunt.

“You’ve been knocking like a maniac, as if the house is on fire, and you say it’s ‘nothing’?”

Yeah… I wouldn’t call that knocking. “Sorry I woke you. I’ll go now.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is that blood?”

I press my fingers to my brow, just at the edge of my temple. They come away wet and red. I must have split my skin while “knocking.”

“It’s nothing. Head back inside. And lock the door.”

“Why?”

“You know why. Please, angel. I won’t be able to walk away until you do.”

“Then don’t.”

My mind blanks. I can feel the tethers of my restraint snap, shredding like an age-worn thread. I grab at the doorframe, squeezing as if it will help anchor me to my spot. Keep me from stepping into her room.

If I do, I won’t have the strength to leave.

“Zahara,” I whisper. “Shut the door.”

“Why?”

The wood cracks under the pressure of my grip. “Because if you don’t, I’m coming inside.”

Zahara

Not even a full step. That’s the distance between us. A wild storm rages inside me as I take in Massimo standing just outside my door. His whole body is tense, leaning forward with his hands braced on the jamb. I have a feeling that’s the only thing keeping him in place at the moment. Every single line of his face is drawn taut as if etched in stone, yet he’s staring back at me with eyes that reflect the same tumult I’m feeling.

“You didn’t have a problem coming in last night,” I say. “But after, you seemed afraid for my mortal soul and acted like what happened between us was a huge mistake. Well, you’re not prone to making mistakes, Massimo, and God forbid you should ever repeat one. So no, I’m not closing this door. You’ll have to turn around and leave on your own.”

Massimo’s nostrils flare and he takes several deep breaths through his nose. “Salvo asked me for your hand in marriage.”

I stare at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

“He did. I’ll be letting him know tomorrow that I’m… in agreement.”

I reel back as if I’ve physically been punched in the gut. He’s giving me away? To Salvo? Like I’m some fucking object he no longer needs? What the actual fuck? Peppe was right; he said Massimo would do anything to keep me from himself. I just never expected this. Not this… this betrayal. That’s the only word for it. How could he do it? Hurt me like this?

Unless…

I tilt my chin and meet his gaze. His eyes are practically glowing—anger is burning in them. And anguish. Jealousy.

“Fine. If that’s your decision, who am I to contradict the don? Good night, Don Spada.” With shaking fingers, I push the door closed, shutting it right in his face.

I am halfway across the room, barely keeping it together, when a loud bang shakes the walls around me. Nearly jumping out of my skin, I spin around, taking stock of the kicked-open door and the massive man filling the threshold. Massimo’s eyes seem crazed and boring into mine.

“Do you like Salvo?” His voice is low, dripping with venom.

I knew it. That lying bastard. He was bluffing and never would have followed through on that garbage he just spit out. The last thing he wants is for me to marry Salvo. I can see his lack of conviction written all over his furious face. This is nothing but an attempt to push me away.

“Does it matter?” I choke out.

Massimo takes a step forward, coming inside the room. His hands are fisted at his sides so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, and the vein on his forehead is pulsing.

“Do you”—another step—“like Salvo?”

The nerve of this man. Not only has he just put a hole in my heart, he’s now tearing the battered remains to pieces.

I clench my teeth and close the space between us.

“Yes, I like Salvo,” I bite out. “I think the wedding should be held next month. We might as well take advantage of the nice weather. I assume he’s asked you to be the best man?”

Massimo doesn’t say a word, just stares at me with his blazing eyes, so I continue.

“I’m sure he’ll make a good husband. After all, you’ve chosen him for me. Perhaps we’ll name our first child in your honor.”

“The hell you will,” Massimo growls and wraps his arm around my waist.

I knew he was fast, but I’m still shocked when in the blink of an eye I find myself sitting on the desk, with Massimo’s palms pressed to the window and gripping the curtain at my back. His face is right in front of mine, his hot breath fanning over my cheeks. If his eyes looked crazed before, they are positively unhinged now. He doesn’t even blink as he leans forward and just glares at me. With the lights down low, his irises seem to have merged with his pupils.

“You should have closed that door sooner, Zahara.”

In a heartbeat, his mouth slams into mine.

Earthshaking. That’s what being kissed by Massimo Spada feels like. Lips—firm and unrelenting—capture mine. Taking. Giving. Consuming.

Our first kiss.

A moment I’ve dreamed of for years. And it doesn’t even compare. My fantasies have nothing on this.

A strange sensation grips my chest. As if a million colors suddenly come to life, eager to burst free. Warmth spreads through my body, lighting me up like the aurora borealis.

The earth keeps quaking. So I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life because it feels as if I’m shattering, surfing on the seismic waves while he ravages my mouth.

Nothing about us happened in order. His shadowed secrets became mine long prior to our first meeting in the bright light of day. I fell in love with the man long before I saw his face. And I relished the flavor of his cock before I tasted the essence of his lips.

Lips that are devouring me in earnest.

Lips flavored with sweet agony and defeat.

Perfect, perfect lips.

With his hands still clutching the drapes, I miss their strength around me. I let go of his neck, sliding my palms down his arms, tracing the corded muscles. Taut, taut muscles. I try nudging him to wrap his arms around me, but pulling on his biceps does me no good. His limbs are like steel beams, anchored to that curtain. It’s as if he’s using the gravitational force to keep his hands off me. He doesn’t budge, just continues to rain his sweet torment upon my mouth.

A frustrated moan leaves me. I pull Massimo’s lower lip between my teeth and bite it, hard, then pull on his arms again. I’m overcome with the need to have him touch me.

“Fuck,” he growls. Then, the hesitant weight of his palm spans the small of my back.

Gingerly, his hand slides along the length of my thigh, dragging up the hem of my nightgown until the tips of his fingers trail the edge of my panties. It’s a feathery touch, yet it sends a shockwave up my spine. Goose bumps break out across my skin. I keep kissing him deeply while moving my hands across his shoulders, then down his neck to the collar of his dress shirt. To the first button. My fingers tremble as I clumsily undo the tiny fastener.

Across my hip, rounding to the back, Massimo keeps stroking my skin. Light, tentative movements. They are such a contradiction to the hungry, unyielding way he’s devouring my lips. My head is spinning. Is it a lack of oxygen from his kiss or trepidation over what I’m doing? Somehow, I will my hands to slide down to the second button. And then the next. When his shirt is halfway undone, I press my shaking palms to the exposed skin of his chest.

A violent shudder racks Massimo’s body. He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move away. Under my palms, his chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares directly into my eyes.

“Zahara.” His voice is rough, and I can practically feel the vibration roll over my skin.

No one ever says my name the way he does. Like there’s so much more behind that word than a simple combination of syllables. And now is no different.

There’s a question in his intonation, the same one I can see in his dark, sultry gaze. He won’t voice it though, because he knows it’s wrong to ask, even though it’s obviously tearing him apart. I can clearly see the signs. The tick in his jaw. The stiffness of his body. His furrowed brow. And his fast, shallow breaths.

“I want you to be my first,” I whisper, letting him hear in my tone everything I never dared to admit.

Massimo’s eyes widen. Elation and anguish war in their inky depths. The conflicting emotions contort his face, but slowly, I see hope win out.

He’s on the brink of giving in. Surrendering to this undeniable pull between us.

My nightgown rides higher on my hips as I wrap my legs around his waist and slide my ass forward. Teetering on the edge of the desk, I let his hardness touch my core. He’s aroused. Because of me.

Tightening my hold, I draw his cock more firmly against me. Wetness pools between my legs the instant I do.

“Is it really that wrong?” I ask while gliding my hand over the stubble on his chin.

“Fuck, angel,” he rasps. His touch leaves my body, hand returning to its twin at the curtain behind my back. “You know it is.”

“No one has to know.”

“I won’t let you be my dirty little secret, Zahara.” Growled words. “You deserve better than that.”

“What I deserve is to make my own choice.” I tilt my face up, bringing our lips into contact. “Please, don’t make me beg.”

Massimo

Every man has a limit to how much he can bear. The line where sensible thought finally snaps, sending him into absolute delirium. Apparently, mine is Zahara saying please.

There’s a tearing sound when the drape in my fist rips off its track and plunges to the floor. I slide my hand over her hip again, then once more along the border of her panties, gliding my palm toward Zahara’s heat. She sucks in a gulp of air and tightens her arms around my neck, panting. I move to press my fingers to her sweet spot.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I whisper, rubbing the soft scrap of fabric between her thighs. She’s drenched. “What you’ve been doing to me ever since you walked out of that visitors’ room. Almost four years later and I can still hear the sound of that damn door. It shut in your wake with such finality that I felt as if the prison bars slammed around me all over again. But it wasn’t just my body that got locked up in that moment. My fucking heart was caged, as well.”

I push aside the wet part of her panties and stroke her silky folds. The way she clutches my shoulders, holding herself right at the edge of the desk to give me greater access, is driving me directly out of my mind. Unable to resist, my lips graze the sensitive area under her ear. “I devoured every letter you sent. They were my lifeline, but also, the source of my greatest fear. I was terrified for you, baby. And I’ll forever hate myself for putting you in that position. For sending my angel into the depths of the wolves’ den. I will never forgive myself for that.”

“It was my decision.” Her core quivers under my touch, however, her voice remains steady. Determined. “My choice. Don’t you dare diminish it by assuming responsibility for actions that were strictly my own. You can’t take that away from me, Massimo.”

“So fierce. A lamb who turned out to be lupine.” I seize her lower lip with my teeth and bite it. “Do you understand how incredibly remarkable you are, my gutsy little she-wolf?”

She smiles against my mouth. “I learned from the best.”

Giving her pussy another light swipe, I break the kiss and meet her gaze. Her honey-colored orbs watch me intently, inviting me to drown in their depths. They sparkle as if thousands of micro-stars are clustered within, their warmth radiating through me.

“I want to make love with you, Zahara. Want to know your body just as well as I’ve gotten to know your mind. I’m aching, angel. Starving for you, and it would be my honor and my greatest wish to be your first.”

And your only, the deviant voice inside my head growls. You’re mine! No one else can touch what’s mine!

I shove the intruding bastard away and cup Zahara’s face in my hands.

“I’ll lick and I’ll bite each inch of your skin if you’ll allow it. With every caress and every kiss, I’ll brand you as mine. There’s nothing else in this world I want more, but I need to know that you’re ready to do this with me.”

I’m well aware of her self-consciousness about her skin. She’s never so much as breathed a word of it to me, still, I know the worries that circle her mind on the subject. And I, perhaps, can understand better than most that, sometimes, reason flees when faced with fear. I can tell her she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen until I’m blue in the face, yet she wouldn’t believe a word of it. So what I need to do is show her. Through actions, I’ll make her understand just how beautiful she is, how every inch of her is fucking perfection.

Zahara’s lower lip quivers. “I… I’ve never taken my clothes off in front of a man, Massimo. Or anyone, for that matter, in a very long time. I’m not sure I can do it.”

“That’s okay, baby.” I nuzzle her nose with mine. “I’ll just kiss you over your nightie.”

Her eyes are glued to my hands as I reach for the buttons of my shirt she abandoned. Unfastening the next in line, I wait. Gauging her reaction. Even though she started this, I don’t want to assume. “Should I go on?”

“Yes.” A trembling… eager reply.

I nod and finish unbuttoning my shirt. Shrugging it off to let it fall to the floor. Next, I bring my hand to the waistband of my pants. Waiting.

“Everything. Please,” she rasps, biting her lower lip as her eyes roam over my upper body.

A piece at a time, I continue undressing. Once the last shred of my clothing is off, I stand before her and let her look her fill. Her eyes flash with hunger. She resembles a ravenous huntress, eyeing her prey.

That turns me so fucking on.

Minutes pass, yet she just keeps looking. Taking me in. One endless breath at a time.

“You don’t have a problem being naked in front of me?” she finally asks. “Letting me shamelessly ogle you?”

“No. My problem is revealing what hides inside. Even before, it was hard for me to trust people. In my mind, everyone is a potential threat.” With my thumb under her chin, I tilt her face up. “Never with you, though. I trust you completely. Without a single reservation. I trust you more than I trust myself. So, please, feel free to ogle. I’m all yours anyway. Body. Soul. All yours, Zahara.”

“Why?” she whispers. “How can you trust me but no one else?”

“Because… I love you, baby. With everything in me—good or bad—I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Goose bumps explode all over my body, spreading from my limbs to chase the shivers rushing down my spine. As Massimo’s admission washes over me, I suck it in. Each individual sound and syllable. My hand shakes when I reach out and press my palm to his bare chest. Hot skin. Taut muscle. And the wild beating of his heart. I feel him.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, I’m not even certain when it happened, Massimo.” My voice nearly breaks as I whisper the words. “Is… is this a dream?”

A gentle smile tugs his lips. Without breaking our eye contact, he lifts my hand toward himself.

“Maybe.” His mouth drifts over the inside of my wrist. “Only one way to find out.”

Tongue. Warm and wet, licking my pulse point. A graze of his teeth as he sucks on my skin. And then, a lightning-fast sharp sting—there one moment and gone just as quickly. But long enough to assure me I’m awake.

Not a dream.

His lips on my wrist, peppering it with kisses. Soothing the ache and exploring as far as they can go. Only up to the fringe of my lace sleeve. Massimo does not rush, does not try to push up the fabric. Languid, tender, he savors me as I am.

Suddenly, I can’t stand it. The fabric that’s shielding the rest of me from his kiss.

I always sleep in long-sleeved pajamas because I’m more comfortable that way, but in this moment… now… I need my nightie off. I don’t want any barriers between us. I want to feel the softness of his lips. His open-mouthed kisses, his licks, and the nibbling of his teeth. I want to feel it all. Everywhere.

“Tear it off,” I croak. “The nightgown.”

“Angel…”

“Now, Massimo.”

He glances up from my wrist, and his gaze collides with mine. His teeth close over the cuff of my sleeve. I suck in a breath just as he jerks his head, and the unmistakable sound of tearing lace echoes throughout the room.

A heartbeat later, his lips are on my wrist again, gliding upward along the inside of my forearm. More ripping fills the silence as he continues to demolish the fabric, section by section. Each destructive tear is followed by more kisses, lazily feathered over the newly exposed skin. He doesn’t stop until he reaches my shoulder. And then, he switches to my other arm.

A touch of lips. “So soft.” Enthusiastic tearing. “So, so damn soft.” A glide of the tongue, followed by a kiss.

My breath leaves me so fast that my lungs are struggling to keep up. My head is spinning. Is my blood crying for oxygen, or is this due to the magic of his lips?

There’s no time to contemplate the answer because Massimo moves on to the column of my neck. I stretch, giving him greater access, anything for more of the soothing pressure of his mouth on me. And then, a new wave of tremors racks me as he gently bites my collarbone. My panties are completely soaked already, but I can feel more wetness pooling between my thighs.

The next sounds are of my nightie being ripped right down the middle, followed by the ping of tiny buttons as they collide with whatever surface blocks their path after they are sent flying every which way. Cool air rushes against my overheating skin as the fine silk flutters around me like wounded wings before drifting down to land at his feet. In that split second, I come alive, soaring as high as the clouds, as if a massive weight has been lifted off my back.

Free. I feel free.

“Perfection,” Massimo utters in a strangled voice. His fingers are trailing up my arms. Slowly. Deliberately. Over my shoulders and down the valley between my breasts. Then, his palms glide over my hips toward my back.

In a swift move, he pulls me flush with his chest, and his arms wrap around me. He holds me captive in his bearlike embrace so tightly I almost can’t draw a breath. His face buried in the crook of my neck, he inhales. A long, deep sniff.

“Can’t live without you, Zahara. You’re the air in my lungs,” he mumbles against my skin. “I need you.”

My arms tremble as I cinch them around his broad back, while his words ring inside my head like crystal. I’m lightheaded as his lips find mine again. Branding. Claiming. Giving.

I tilt my head so my mouth is right next to his ear. “Make love to me,” I purr.

The desk legs scrape on the floor as Massimo pushes off and grabs me under my butt. Turning us around, he carries me across the room. I lock my ankles behind his back and nip his lips while he’s at my mercy, feeling his stone-hard cock brushing my pussy as he walks. The springs squeak when he climbs onto the mattress, all the while still holding me tight to his chest.

“I’ll be gentle,” he whispers as he lays me on the bed and hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties. Slowly, he pulls them down my legs. “I promise.”

Eyes as dark as a bottomless abyss never leave mine as he lowers over me, supporting himself on his elbow. His other hand drifts back to my pussy, his fingers resuming those wicked things he does. Stroking. Pinching. Then soothing.

When I finally feel the tip of his cock at my entrance, I’m half-gone with the need to have him in me. I’ve waited for this for so damn long. I want him. I want everything. Now! But he’s gone still again, and his eyes search for something in mine.

“Massimo?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” I pant. “Please, Massimo, hurry.”

He doesn’t, though. Carefully, he pushes into me a fraction of an inch at a time.

I know to expect pain during my first time, yet the stress over how much it will hurt isn’t even on my radar. All I can focus on is this maniacal urge to be with him as one. One being. One soul. Carnal and cerebral. My body hums, as sensation after sensation overwhelms me, leaving no room for common sense.

“More,” I pant.

“No.”

“Yes! Please!” I try to grab the hair on the back of his head, but the too-short fuzz just slips through my fingers. Damn it!

“Easy, angel. I’m too big, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

I lift my hips, forcing more of him to plunge inside.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Fuck, Zahara.”

A moan explodes from deep within my chest. Partly from pain, but mostly just elation. I feel so full as my body accepts him. My heartbeat shifts into overdrive, racing so fast that there might be a real danger of my heart exploding. Pure joy. Ecstasy. Rapture. Sheer happiness swells in me.

Massimo mutters almost inaudibly, cursing as he tries to hold himself back. And ultimately fails. The air catches in my lungs as he buries himself inside me to the hilt.

“Baby?” Massimo rasps, his voice sounding gravelly and strained. He braces his left hand on the headboard above our heads while cradling my face with the other.

Our breaths mix. Fast and shallow. In. Out. In. Out. His chest rises and falls in parallel resonance with my own. We are like two perfect halves, finally brought together.

“I never imagined it would feel this way,” I pant.

His thumb strokes the side of my chin. “As if we are one?”

“Yes.”

Hard lips crash against mine, claiming me once more. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, basically crushing him to me. I’m never letting him go. Never. Massimo Spada belongs to me. No one else. Not to La Famiglia. Not to the rest of this world. Only me. He’s the very reason my heart is beating. It’s his—always been, always will be.

While his mouth devours me at full force, his hips begin to move languidly. He pushes into me with measured strokes, and each slide heightens my awareness of him. He’s everywhere—inside and outside—there isn’t a part of me that’s not connected to him in some way. His cock, sinking deep into my heat. His body draped over me like the most comforting blanket. And his emotions flowing right through me. Directly to my heart. I revel in this new feeling of having him so completely. This man, with his brilliant mind, flawed personality, and indestructible spirit… he’s mine. For the first time, he’s completely mine. And every atom of me feels it.

I press my lips to his arm, just over the eye of the dragon tattooed there, then move on to his collarbone where another creature is inked on his skin. His chin is next. I pepper it with kisses, then bite it lightly while my palms glide down his back—his broad, strong back that I love to admire—before drifting to his arms again. Every inch… I need to touch and kiss every single inch of him.

My Massimo.

The corded muscles of his upper arms flex under my grip as Massimo increases his pace, plunging deeper with each driving thrust. His relentless hammering brings me closer to the edge. Closer to… something. I’m not even sure if I could name it, or what exactly it is. It’s primal, though. And epic. And I already know it will forever change me.

As I’m swept higher and higher on the crest of a rising tide, my inner walls start spasming around his cock. I moan, overcome by strange wonder and absolute bliss.

“That’s it, angel. God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, slamming into me. “Come for me, Zahara.”

As if by his command, a faint scream escapes my lips, and I shatter the very next moment. I’m nothing more than a tangle of incomprehensible sensations and numb limbs, like I don’t have a physical body anymore. All I can do is hold on to Massimo for dear life, as he keeps sliding in and out, while tremors rock my core.

Sweet kisses. On my shoulder. Collarbone. The scrape of his teeth along my chin. He’s replicating the kisses I gave him.

“I love you, Zahara.” Words whispered into my lips.

My eyes flutter open, meeting his. The warmth reflected in those dark orbs reminds me of melted chocolate. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he’s now looking at me. The way he always looks at me. Only me.

I sigh. And smile. “I love you too, Massimo.”

He holds himself over me, completely motionless, with his cock still buried deep inside my quivering pussy. Every single muscle in his body is so rigid it’s like he’s made of stone. He’s not cold, though. No, the heat from his body warms me like nothing else ever has. I’m reveling in being the focus of his smoldering stare when a deep rumble erupts from his throat.

“I thought my cage was the prison walls, Zahara. But getting beyond them didn’t break the shackles that have kept me confined,” he says while gritting teeth. His voice is strained, raw-sounding. “You, you are my salvation. And this, this has finally set me free.”

Dropping his forehead to mine, Massimo resumes his hard thrusts, leaving me gasping for breath as that unmistakable pressure quickly builds at the base of my spine again. All too soon, another orgasm rips through me, throwing my entire world world off its axis. At the same time, Massimo’s goes tight everywhere, and an animalistic roar echoes throughout the room. I feel his cock twitch and his hot cum explode inside me. Grabbing his ass, I pull him flush to me so I can feel his sweaty skin and his heart thundering next to mine. And while his body trembles in my arms, his eyes never wander from me.