Married to the Mafia

Sitting back up, Giulio slides to the side of the bed and reaches for the larger robe that was hanging right next to the one I now wear.

During our heated kiss, Richard managed to wedge himself a few feet out of the closet and toward the door.

The slow movements are made nearly impossible by the duct tape wrapped multiple times around his ankles and his arms, which are bound behind his back.

When I go over to where he is, the man freezes as I crouch down and flick the end of his nose with a nail. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, Dick,” I say, recalling the guy’s nickname from high school. An appropriate name, I do have to say. “But I’m a good friend of Ginny’s.”