Prologue #2
I elbow Sandro in the side, but it’s too late. “Like what?” The question dangles like low-hanging fruit just waiting for her to snatch hold of it.
And she does, brilliantly.
“If I were you two, I’d start with, ‘The Road Not Taken.’”
Sandro stares at her, probably wondering if this annoying girl, every inch resembling the thirteen-year-old she is, with her chin cocked high and fire breathing from her nostrils, recognizes the innuendo.
But any illusions of innocence and misunderstood sexual dynamics—especially the kind involving lovely Maria—Elia Seraphina Lombardi shatters as she hammers out a final double-fisted blow.
“My advice, boys, is to stop drooling over Maria.” She spins to walk away, but not before firing a parting shot.
“Take the road less traveled. One your father hasn’t been down about an hour and a half ago.”
Five years ago
The bedroom’s a goddamn mess.
Evidence of her struggle is everywhere; tangled sheets, a broken lamp on the floor, the slackened ropes that bind her ankles. A shard of glass rests beside her on the mattress, and I can tell she used it to pick away at the shibari rope binding her wrists.
I’ve got Elia Seraphina Lombardi trussed up like a flamingo ready for the fire pit.
I close the bedroom door behind me. “Miss me?”
She glares daggers. Because she can’t reply; I’ve gagged her with a silk tie.
It’d be easy to say the devil made me do it because I never claim responsibility for anything, my motto being if the fools in my life believe they can outwit me, fuck ’em while they figure shit out.
In this case, I claim full responsibility.
There are consequences to actions, so my father likes to remind my twin and me.
This girl needed a Beneventi-worthy wakeup call.
I get that I’m memorable, and she clearly hasn’t forgotten me. In the years between luncheons, she’s only gotten sharper, hungrier for my presence, and twice as relentless.
Spying on me turned into a game of dodge and evade once she caught me staring earlier. Did I use it to break up the monotony of my day? You bet I did. Teaching her a lesson became my afternoon entertainment.
I escaped to the kitchen, and seconds later, she came in for a glass of water.
I took a piss, and she lurked outside the door, waiting for me to exit.
When I ducked into the library, though, she was already there, seated on the sofa and pretending to read.
I gave her points for that. It wasn’t until she followed me upstairs like a lovestruck pup and into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, where no one could hear her scream, that I sprung my trap.
Did she struggle while I subdued her? Fuck yeah—I’ve scratches on my arm and chest to prove it. Cursed me to hell and back, too, not knowing I’ve been there a time or two. But to her credit, not a scream or even a whimper escaped her lips.
She’s on her side now, same place I left her when I escaped downstairs to mingle, her pink feathered cocktail dress riding up over her hips.
I pause and admire my work. The rope is an intricate masterpiece, winding between her thighs, cinching her waist, parting her perfect breasts before splitting over her shoulders where it then intertwines with the other end and around the wrists behind her back.
It’s my first attempt at shibari. The art form’s meant to be visually appealing. But the way the rope pulls her shoulders back and showcases her big fucking breasts is so erotic, my dick notices.
Sixteen, and a stunner.
How did I miss it?
She glares at me over a shoulder, and I remind myself she’s in this predicament to learn a lesson. Nothing more, but especially not because I’m designating her as my latest distraction.
I sit on the mattress beside her. “Bet you regret following me around like a desperate virgin.”
Her green eyes narrow.
“Watching my every move. Stalking me.” I pluck a feather from her dress. “A little bitch in heat, aren’t you?” Goose bumps prickle her skin as I trace the feather across her bare arm. She’s prettier now that I’m really looking at her. Curvier, with a flat stomach and legs that go on for miles.
They’re bent now, wrapped up like a gift.
Good thing I don’t do teen virgin.
She squirms, and the colorful ropes draw tighter.
“So tell me.” I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Am I your crush or your ruin?”
She jerks her head sideways in an attempt to headbutt me.
I laugh, loving the fight in her. “Looks like you traded in your puppy dog vibe to be my little fucking pony girl. Is that what you were hoping? To be my little plaything, to be bridled and ridden?”
Her emerald eyes flash with … interest …
No way.
A curious fucking hellion.
“You’re a virgin, right?” I demand. Not sure why I ask or why it’s important. It just is, because rumors are circulating.
The Twelve are in Rhode Island for a pissing contest disguised as a luncheon.
Every capo is puckered up with big guns drawn, hoping to gain favor with Don Lucchese.
Because with the new succession rules come new opportunities.
My godfather will nominate two men for the Twelve’s vote to succeed him after his death.
My father, a top earner and ruthless enforcer, will be one name, I’m damn sure of it.
It’s been predictably boring watching the other capos compete.
Rumors are circulating that Don Lombardi will be announcing during the birthday toasts the deal he made with Carlo Accardo.
His daughter’s hand in marriage for gold.
Actual fucking gold bars. Everyone knows Don Lombardi is a gambling addict drowning in debt.
Still, Don Lucchese will welcome the marriage, seeing it as an acknowledgment of the fragile peace he struck with the traitor Accardo, a former famiglie affiliate and Chicago power player, whose brother’s loose lips nearly got his entire family slaughtered years ago.
My father put Pascale down.
Fast-forward to the present, where Don Lucchese has forgiven them. No doubt the wise man stacked his gold bars neatly on top of that peace.
Though rumors haven’t stopped Elia Seraphina Lombardi from being up our asses. Specifically my ass—Sandro’s just an innocent bystander.
Sixteen, and still a hellion.
She nods, flushed, as she struggles against the ropes.
My gaze rakes over her body. The mafiosi downstairs would be flattered by her attention. Some might take advantage of her vulnerability. If they opened their eyes and saw her like I do now, melon-size breasts, flat abs, perfectly groomed pussy hidden by the tiniest purple triangle patch …
A picture of her forms, her in a lifeguard’s swimsuit and running across a California beach. Gorgeous breasts bouncing and midnight black hair billowing in the ocean breeze.
I shake my head, regretting my horny teen years and the nights spent jacking off to old Baywatch reruns. Still, discovering a bombshell like Elia Seraphina Lombardi hidden beneath that horrid pink dress might be the biggest surprise of the day.
I’ve two choices; spring her free or peel the offensive material off her for a closer look.
No choice, jackass.
The game we’ve been playing was entertaining while it lasted, but it’s time to cut her free. Lombardi will demand her presence for his big announcement and send men to locate her. Still, I go for cutthroat, because kindness isn’t a winning strategy when dealing with a stubborn, lovesick girl.
“I’m not interested. Period. No more butting into private conversations.
No trailing after me like a teenager does her first crush.
No antagonizing my brother or spying on men who murder for a living.
And, as a general warning, stop involving yourself in everyone else’s business.
The consequences will be more severe than being bound and gagged for an afternoon.
” She doesn’t even flinch, her expression impassive.
“Stick with the children, understand? Leave me the fuck alone. Or you won’t find yourself in a comfy bed next time but in the Beneventi dungeon. ”
We lock eyes, and I curse beneath my breath.
Is that fucking defiance I see?
I ignore the warning bells. Clasping her arms below the elbows, I help her onto her knees. She sways, and my fingers swipe across her skin. Warm breast greets me like an electric bolt to the balls.
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. From my touch? Or the situation she’s found herself in, in general?
“Enough,” I grind out. “I’ll ungag you, but think twice about screaming because as much trouble as this will cause me, I’ll be double for you. Nod if you understand.”
Her head bobs.
I can’t untie the silk tie quick enough.
Her tongue darts out and swipes across her lips.
Fuck. That’s hot.
I shift on the mattress, distancing myself.
“Why shibari?” I hear her croak.
I freeze. “What?”
“Why tie me up in such an erotic way?”
Bound and gagged for hours, and this is her first comment? No demands to be untied or worse, banshee screams. Instead, she questions my bondage technique? Do I pat myself on the back, or run?
Her eyes flash, and my lips draw tight.
I’m right about her. She’s fucking curious, and that interests me.
“Listen, Elia,” I warn her.
“It’s Fina.”
Well fuck me blind. “You’re lucky, Fina, that I didn’t anchor the tail end of the rope to the ceiling.”
She looks up at the hook directly over the bed. Yeah, my father likes keeping his guests entertained. What sixteen-year-old virgin’s into kink? What kind of fucking poetry is this hellhound reading?
Drawing on my inner Sandro, I face her. “Curiosity gets you killed in the Life.”
She answers with poetry. “Entombed by whom, for what offence. If Home or Foreign born. Had I the curiosity. ‘Twere not appeased of men.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“No, Emily Dickinson.”
She’s lost her damn mind.
Her head cocks. “You blow with the wind yet remain alive and thriving.”
“Barely alive,” I mutter, “and hardly thriving.”