1. Matteo #2
I’ll give credit where credit is due. He is a true connoisseur of pain. I’ve seen the hardest of criminals piss their pants at the first slice of my blade. They’d never survive an amputation without shedding a tear.
It earns Don Adami my respect. Not a lot, but enough to stop my knife from lowering his smirk two inches.
“Once you’ve cleaned up, bring your sons…” My words trail off when something behind the don’s whitening face catches my eye. A flicker of light, soft and bright against the dark woodgrain of the hallway paneling, enters the office from the other end.
I turn my head as the drumming of revenge in my ears dims to a hum.
A woman dressed in a flowing white chiffon gown glides across the room like mist over a frozen pond.
Her dark hair flows over her shoulders in waves too perfect to be real, and an intricate headpiece weaves through the loose side braids keeping her thick hair off her face.
Her age can’t be much more than early twenties, and she carries herself in a way that shows she’s learned to survive in places that don’t deserve her.
I don’t get distracted, nor do I lose focus. I’m a man who notices everything but reacts to nothing, yet she steals my attention without even giving me a sideways glance.
Her outfit and the precious gems in her headpiece echo the chandelier’s sparkle, making her appear ethereal.
If she’s fallen from a higher place, why the fuck is she wasting her light shining it on the ruins of the Adami compound? It isn’t worthy of her. It falsely portrays wealth and prestigiousness, but beneath the sparkle is a core so rotten it’s weeks from imploding.
The tightness in my jaw worsens when I realize who is accompanying the unnamed beauty. Giovanni has met this woman on multiple occasions over the past month. She’s the wedding planner for the who’s who of Sicily.
The bride-to-be’s expression is composed, almost serene, until the don snaps an order in her direction. “Leave. NOW!”
I expect her to flinch. Most people wilt under the fury of Don Adami’s wrath. But she steps forward with quiet grace, shifting the tension in the room from filled with anguish to sparked with interest.
The air feels different when she moves with a delicacy no man in this room deserves to witness. She stops beside Don Adami before lowering her head to the angle Adami etiquette demands.
Don Adami won’t let his subordinates enter or leave his presence without first paying respect to his family’s most treasured heirloom.
Kissing the jewel-encrusted ring on his pinkie finger will be difficult for the brunette to do with his finger and ring in my pocket.
I’ve seen dozens of women do this submissive gesture, but this woman’s resigned mechanicalism is something else entirely. Even while obeying, she can’t conceal her pride. It has me conjuring ways to squeeze my rapidly thickening dick into the minute circumference of a pinkie ring.
I’m not seeking anything permanent, but even a monk would consider breaking celibacy for this unnamed beauty.
Her features are too perfect for this hellhole.
The gentle slope of her nose, the fine line of her jaw, and the way her lashes cast faint shadows across her hued cheeks announce she belongs between the pages of glossy magazines, not in a compound built on arrogance and decay.
She’s an angel amid ruins, and the contrast makes my body react in a way I dislike.
My cock hasn’t hardened this fast in years. Usually, it takes minutes of salacious persuasion to get him fully engrossed in the occasion, but all this brunette did was breathe and he stood to attention.
I hate that no amount of self-implied reputation slandering immediately forces him back down, but I’m also fascinated.
When the raven-haired woman takes in Don Adami’s bloodstained nub, fire erupts in her eyes. She doesn’t balk or stammer back in disgust at the horrors of the underworld. She stares at Don Adami’s mangled hand as a ghostlike grin hikes one side of her plump lips high.
The fuck?
Her smirk only flatlines when Don Adami retaliates with violence that guarantees I’ll remove his entire fucking hand next time. He backhands the unnamed beauty hard enough for her gorgeous face to ricochet out of view, and for Nico to pluck my gun from its holster before I can.
Our orders are simple. Avenge Lucia’s almost gang rape, then leave. But I’d be lying if I said it isn’t taking everything I have not to pop a bullet between Don Adami’s bushy brows here and now.
I know why he hit her. He lost a ton of respect this afternoon, and he isn’t willing to lose any more, but real men go against the force bringing them to heel. They don’t take it out on an innocent woman.
He’s a fucking coward, and it instantly loses him the respect his earlier stance earned.
The fierce glare the brunette directs at Don Adami’s back as she wipes at the droplet of blood under her delicate nose shifts my thoughts from murderous to intrigued.
She’s got a lot of gall rarely seen around these parts.
It doubles my interest to learn why she’s here and how I can use her visit as leverage against the Adamis.
Her steely glare vanishes when Don Adami’s eyes meet hers, replaced with an innocent gleam so convincing it could fool Satan into thinking he’s a saint.
After a brief dip of her head and a quick flick of gratitude directed my way, she leaves the room. I follow her stalk until she slips into the hallway, the chiffon of her gown trailing behind her in silent promise of the best lay of my life for the meager privilege of defending her.
Desperate to regain control of the room, Don Adami clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him.
“My sons are good boys, Matteo, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to show good faith to the Carusos.
Anything you want, you may have.” The desperation in his eyes reveals he’s close to falling to his knees and begging.
“But please, signor, do not order me to send my sons to their deaths.” He gestures vaguely toward the outer rooms of his office.
“My youngest daughter is almost of age and already has great breeding hips.” His chest puffs out with pride as though he’s offering us a prized horse and not his flesh and blood.
“She’ll make an honorable Cosa Nostra bride. ”
The disgust that rolls through me is immediate and visceral. Nico calls him a pedophile under his breath, and Elio grabs the edge of the table between us, seconds away from flipping it.
Before either Nico or Elio can start a war I’m not ready to participate in just yet, I speak on behalf of my cock before I can tell it to sit the fuck down.
“I’ll take her.”
The don balks, thrown off by my unusual show of leniency.
“Which one?” He gestures for a man at the side to gather someone. “I have many daughters.”
I stray my eyes toward where the woman in white disappeared, smirking when I realize the aftershow is starting earlier than expected.