32
Sebastiano
Theo”s voice crackles through the phone with urgency. ”Hey man, check the news. I think we found your missing guy. There was no head or fingers. He”s messed up pretty bad, but you mentioned a scar on his rib cage.” He shoots over a text with an image, and I recognize Diego’s scar immediately.
”Yeah, that”s him,” I reply, my stomach twisting at the confirmation.
Theo continues, his voice grim as hell. ”It”s still unknown how long he was in the water and what really happened to him, but the body is in bad shape—what”s left of it, anyways.”
As if on cue, Enzo and Dario walk into the room, their faces as dark as the news they bring. The cops swarming the docks mean trouble for us. The heavy police presence at the docks spells trouble for our whole operations. We can”t afford to get caught, especially with one of our own turning up dead.
I take control, barking orders at Enzo and Dario to team up with Greg and get the extra camera feed sent over, making damn sure nobody knows they were added—no more loose ends. It”s time to move fast, protect our asses, and stay one step ahead of the fuckerbehind this.
Enzo and Dario hustle to pull up the CCTV footage from the last few days while I”m left with a sinking feeling in my gut. It”s still a mystery where the hell Diego was tossed from, but it”s worth digging into.
Just as I”m wrapping up the call with Theo, the sound of Mia”s sobs hits me like a freight train.
Without hesitation, I leave the office, rushing upstairs towards our room. My pulse quickens with each step I take. Bursting into the room, I make a beeline for the closet, where I can hear Mia”s muffled sobs, and my eyes immediately find her huddled, half-dressed in a ball of crinkled clothes, lying on the floor.
“Piccolina, what’s wrong?” I breathe, my voice thick with concern as I drop to my knees beside her. Gently, I gather her trembling form into my arms, pulling her close to me. The sight of her vulnerability pierces through me, tearing at my cold heart.
“It doesn”t fit,” she says between sobs. ”I couldn’t get the dress to zip up.”
“I prefer undressing you, but I”ll zip your dress up. Don”t cry, Piccolina,” I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. A fragile smile tugs at the corners of her lips as I help her stand.
I feel Mia’s body tense as she turns around, allowing me access to the zipper. The air thickens with my frustration as Mia sucks in, and I attempt to move the zipper up, but it doesn”t budge, and I feel Mia”s shoulders slump forward with an audible sob escaping her lips. Abandoning the zipper, I grab both sides of the fabric and tear the dress down the seam, pulling it away from her delicate skin. The only sound that lingers is the echo of ripping fabric.
Mia gasps, her eyes widening as she takes in my impulsive action. The surprise on her face fades to warmth as she turns to face me, and our eyes meet. ”I told you I prefer undressing you,” I remark with a satisfied smile, tossing the torn remnants over my shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood with a hint of humor.
Now that the dress is no longer an option, Mia will need a new one––one that won’t fuck with la piccola ballerina’s feelings. I don”t hit women, but I could slap that plastic bitch for sending Mia a dress small enough to fit a twelve-year-old. Why do I have a feeling she did this on purpose?
Pezzo di merda.
Without taking my eyes away from Mia, I call for Marie, one of the very few I fully trust. When Marie knocks on my door a short while later, I hand her my black card, and direct her to select several dress options for Mia in various colors and sizes. Marie looks past me and notices Mia at the closet doorway, holding the shreds of the ruined dress to conceal her exposed body. They seem to have created a close bond since Mia’s been here, and if it were anyone else, I’d carve their eyes out of their fucking head for seeing her half-dressed, but Marie treats Mia like a daughter.
She walks toward Mia, asking a few quick questions about preferences before running out to salvage Mia’s wardrobe malfunction. Just before she leaves, she gently rubs my arm, a silent understanding that needs no words.
Just as Marie walks out of the room, Mia strides toward me, allowing the tattered remnants of the dress to fall to the floor. Her arms hook around my neck as I instinctively wrap mine around her waist, drawing her close.
”Thank you,” she murmurs, her warm breath grazing my neck. I hold her tighter, my hand gently moving down the small of her back.
Since Mia has put on a few much-needed pounds, there”s been a noticeable change in her demeanor. She started carrying herself with a newfound confidence, no longer afraid or timid to step into the kitchen and indulge in a meal. Nowadays, her portion sizes are anything but nonexistent. Now, she”ll even go for seconds without hesitation.
I silently hope this doesn”t cause a setback for her.
Sure, I may only know the surface-level details of her upbringing, but that doesn”t matter to me. What matters is that she doesn”t need to worry about maintaining a certain weight, not with me by her side. La piccola ballerina is sexy as hell at any weight, and I”ll gladly worship every inch of her. Besides, I’m a big guy and need a woman with a bit of meat on her bones.
And so, I wrap my arms around her tightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. ”You”re beautiful, Piccolina, and that dress didn”t suit you.”
But no matter what I say, I can tell she’s nervous about seeing her father and the Bride of Chucky today. The woman even sent a dress for Mia to wear—a knee-length dress with long sleeves in a color that makes me think of Pepto Bismol, an unappealing shade that wouldn’t flatter anyone, but I’m not telling Mia that.
It gave me great satisfaction to rip it off Mia, not just because I prefer her in less material, but because I know who sent it. I’m not too sure about the rules of parenting, but I thought you stopped dressing your kids before puberty, not in their twenties.
But what the hell do I know?
The change catches me off guard. When did I start feeling this way about her? I don’t think I can pinpoint the exact moment, but the mere thought of someone hurting Mia ignites a primal fury within me. It”s like a wildfire, raging through my veins, ready to incinerate anyone who dares to hurt her. It’s like she”s all I can think about, and I want to keep her protected.
Initially, I figured I just needed one taste, to bed her once and be done. But then I get one taste of her, and damn! Now, the only thing that can break my attention away from work is Mia herself.
Piccola ballerinais a temptress. Every time she”s around, my dick jumps to attention. She”s like a drug, one that I”m addicted to. No matter how hard I try to fight it, I know that I”ll always come crawling back for another fix.
Call it cliché, but I”m completely under her spell, and I wouldn”t have it any other way. I”ll gladly surrender to her. In fact, I”ll wear it like a badge of honor. Maybe I”ll ink it into my skin next, a declaration of my devotion to keeping her safe and protected.