Chapter 21
Vin
I’m on the couch, arms slung along the back, scowling at Sophie in the kitchen. She’s naked, some of my cum still dried on her face from what I just did to her, making food for me. Smiling and humming like she could not be fucking happier.
What the actual fucking fuck?
My phone rings and Tommy’s name flashes across the screen. I slide my thumb across to answer and put it on speaker.
“Yeah.”
“Where the fuck are you? We were supposed to meet an hour ago.” Tommy’s voice is irritated, but fuck him. How many fucking hours have I waited on his ass over the past year during all his bullshit with Giovanna?
I lie easily. “Nah, I’m at the Edge. Been here all afternoon working through some of Silk’s intel.”
He’s silent and in the background, I hear Giovanna say something I can’t make out.
“Alright. Well, we need to meet. When can you—”
“I’ll call you back.” I end the call before he can protest, tossing the phone onto the couch next to me.
Sophie doesn’t look up from the cutting board where she’s slicing tomatoes with practiced precision, but her shoulders have gone rigid. It’s a small tell, but I catalog it away for later.
“Why did you lie to him?” Her voice is soft, but the question is annoying as fuck.
“Excuse me?”
She sets down the knife, pinning me with her big brown eyes. “You lied about being here. Why?”
“I don’t feel like getting into my personal life.” Irritation prickles under my skin. “You got something to say about it?”
Sophie wipes her hands on her apron, slow and deliberate. “Your brothers work for you.”
“Yes.” My jaw locks tight.
“You don’t have to lie to them.”
Who the fuck does she think she is? This is fucking ridiculous. “I don’t have to do anything. I choose to lie because it’s easier for me.”
She gives me a look that says she’s not buying it. Then, almost like she’s conceding the point, she says, “You might be right,” but she says it like she left off the rest of the sentence: “You might be right. But you’re not.”
That pisses me off more than if she’d argued.
I roll my eyes and hang my head back for a second before lifting my eyebrows at her. “You’ve never lied to an employee because it’s easier than the truth?”
She shakes her head, returning to her tomatoes with maddening calm. “I’m the boss; I don’t have to lie. And it’s not who I am.”
Not who she is? Acting like she’s some fucking saint when we both know what she’s really doing behind my back.
“So what do you tell your little fuck boy when he wants to fuck you and you come home to me instead?”
Sophie doesn’t flinch. “First, I don’t have a fuckboy.
Second, if I were in that situation, I would tell him the truth.
” She pauses, considering her next words.
“I don’t lie for any reason, but I certainly wouldn’t lie to someone I was sleeping with about other men. It removes their ability to consent.”
Consent? At what point did I consent to her and her father trying to get me killed?
“You would tell him you’re coming home to suck my dick and make me dinner?”
A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “You can be diplomatic without lying.”
“How long were you fucking Rocco?” I change tactics, looking for the crack in her armor I know is there.
She doesn’t take the bait, just wipes down the cutting board. “Why are you deflecting? Is it hard for you to hear something about yourself?”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I could give a fuck what you think of my choices, princess.”
Silence. She moves around the kitchen with that infuriating grace, her gorgeous fat ass showing since she’s only wearing an apron.
I didn’t have to tell her to do that tonight.
She remembered the rule from last night and took it upon herself to repeat it after whatever the fuck that was when she begged me to fuck her throat.
My phone rings again, Matti this time. I answer with a snarl. “What.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Christ. “Why aren’t you meeting us? We’ve got movement on Aurelio and—”
“Do you know where he is?” I interrupt.
Matti pauses. “No. But—”
“Then we don’t need to meet.” My gaze snaps to Sophie.
She’s wiping down the counter, but it’s clear that she’s listening.
I huff out a breath. She wants truth? Fine.
“Sophie’s making me dinner and then I’m going to fu—thank her with my co— FUCK.
If you have anything useful, call me. Until then, leave me alone. I’m fucking busy.”
I can practically hear Matti’s eyebrows shooting up, and I end the call before he can say anything and meet Sophie’s gaze. She’s biting back a smile, looking down at the counter. That fucking smile.
“What.”
She shakes her head, pinching her lips together. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Say it.”
“You don’t want to tell him that you’re fucking me.” She says it like we’re discussing the weather. “Why?”
Anger flares through me. “You just gave me shit about lying, and now you’re giving me shit for what? Not giving them a diary entry?”
“Just wondering why you started to tell them you’re going to ‘thank me with your cock’ after dinner and then stopped.” She glances at me, eyes sparkling like a challenge.
I’m across the apartment and behind her in the kitchen before I decide to move, crowding her against the counter, brushing her hair off her neck, setting my chin on her shoulder.
“Because it was a fucking lie, and you just asked me not to lie. If I decide to grant you a request, you don’t get to dictate how I do it.”
I bring my hand down on her bare ass hard in one sharp motion, and she gasps, her head jerking up. I grab the bottle of olive oil beside her, and pour it over the curve of her ass, watching it run down her thighs.
She squeals, trying to turn, but I fist my hand in her hair and force her to face forward.
“How’s it a lie?” Her voice is breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
I work my belt open with one hand, keeping her hair wrapped tight in my other fist. “Because I intend to punish you with my cock before you make me dinner, Sophia.”
I rub my cock against her, coating it with olive oil, then push inside her ass steadily and relentlessly until I’m balls deep inside her without warning. She cries out, hands scrabbling along the counter top, spilling a container of pine nuts.
“Now stop questioning me.” I pull back and drive in again, harder, establishing a rhythm. “And put your face on the counter.” Another brutal thrust that has her gasping. “And let me use you.”
Sophie obeys, pressing her cheek against the countertop, spreading her legs wider for me. “Vincenzo—”
“Did I say you could talk?” I slap her ass, leaving a hand print in the oil coating her skin.
She whimpers but doesn’t answer. Smart girl.
I fuck her with single-minded intensity, using her body to blank my mind, to purge my stress and my rage.
Her ass is tight and hot and perfect. I can feel her getting close to orgasm, that telltale flutter to her breathing.
“Don’t you dare come.” I punctuate the command with a vicious thrust. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”
“Please—”
“Please what?” I lean over her, pressing my chest to her back, my mouth at her ear. “Use your words, princess.”
“Please, signore.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Please may I—”
“No.” I pull out completely, and she whines at the loss, hips pushing back, seeking me out.
I grab her hair and haul her upright, spinning her to face me. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted and swollen from biting them. She looks fucking wrecked, and I haven’t even started.
“On your knees.” I release her, and she drops obediently. “Open.”
Her mouth falls open, tongue out, waiting.
And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? She’s too willing. Nothing I do fazes her. Every degradation, every humiliation, she meets it not just with acceptance but an eagerness that makes me feel like she’s still fucking playing me.
I push my cock between her lips, watching it disappear into her warm mouth. She doesn’t gag or protest, just takes me deep, eyes locked on mine, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.
“Fuck yourself while you suck me off.” I grip the edge of the counter behind her, using it for leverage to thrust deeper. “Lift your ass so I can watch you touch that pussy from behind.”
Her hand slides between her legs, and even from this angle I can see how wet she is, oil and arousal coating her thighs. She circles her clit with her fingers, moaning around my cock, the vibrations shooting straight up my spine.
This was supposed to humiliate her. Break her down. Make her run crying to daddy about the big bad mob boss who degraded his precious daughter.
Instead, she’s looking at me like I’m giving her everything she’s ever wanted. Which fucking sucks.
I pull out of her mouth with a wet pop, jerking myself off roughly. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
She obeys instantly, tongue out, waiting for me like this is communion and I’m her priest.
I come across her face, her cheeks, her nose, her parted lips, trying desperately to convince myself this is just about revenge, nothing more, nothing less.
When I’m finished, she opens her eyes and smiles up at me, cum dripping down her face.
“Thank you, Vincenzo.” She licks her lips, tasting me, that innocent expression unwavering, and irritation twists in my gut.
I’m so fucked.
“Clean yourself up.” I tuck myself away, trying to find my fucking balance. “Then finish making my dinner.”
My phone buzzes. Tommy again, and Matti, plus three texts from Valentina asking where I am.
I’m in Sophie Bellamorte’s tiny apartment watching her wash my cum off her face, content and happy like I didn’t just use her like a fuck toy and deny her orgasm.
“I’ll need to roast a new batch of pine nuts,” she says, pulling out a sheet pan.
“I don’t give a fuck about pine nuts, Sophie.” I drop into a chair, spreading my legs, making myself comfortable. “I give a fuck about you learning to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to.”
She pauses, then turns to face me fully. “Would you like me to stop talking?”
It’s a genuine question. No attitude. No defiance. Just like she’s checking in.
And somehow that fucking pisses me off even more.
“You know what? Yeah. Shut the fuck up and cook.”
“Yes, sir.” She turns back to her work without saying another word, leaving us in silence.
And it’s un-fucking-bearable. I last maybe five minutes before I break.
“Why’d you let me do that? Why didn’t you fight me?” She doesn’t answer, and I roll my eyes. “Fucking speak.”
“Did you want me to fight you?”
“I—” Fuck. Did I? “That’s not what I asked. Answer the fucking question.”
“Because I trust you.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You shouldn’t.” It comes out harsh. “You don’t know me, Sophie. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
She glances up at me. “Don’t I?”
“No. You think you do because I fuck you, eat your food, sleep in your bed. But that’s not—” I drag my hands over my face, frustrated. “That’s not all I am.”
“I know.” Her voice is so fucking gentle. “You’re also the man who washes the dishes after I cook. Who asks if I’ve eaten. Who makes sure I’m safe.”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
“It means everything.” She moves toward me, and I should stop her but I don’t. She settles on my lap, straddling me, and frames my face with her hands. “You can be rough with me, Vincenzo. I like it. But don’t pretend it makes you a monster when you’re not.”
I grab her wrists, pulling her hands away from my face. “You don’t know what I am.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m using you. Every time I fuck you, every bruise I leave is me using you for my own purposes. It has everything to do with me venting my frustration and absolutely nothing to do with you at all.”
I wait for the betrayal, the anger. But Sophie just smiles. “I know.”
“What?”
“I know you’re angry about something. I don’t know what, but I can feel it.” She touches my chest, over my heart. “Every time you fuck me rough, you’re working something out. And that’s okay.”
“How is that okay?” Who the fuck is this woman?
“Because I choose to be here. I choose to let you work through whatever you need to. And when you’re ready, if ever, you can tell me about it.” She leans in, pressing her forehead to mine. “Until then, I’m not going anywhere.”
My hands find her hips. I squeeze, holding her tight.
“Finish making my dinner,” I finally say, my voice rough.
When she serves me, the meal is incredible. Of course it is. It was just supposed to be a snack since she made me dinner at the restaurant a few hours ago, but in typical Sophie fashion, it’s an over the top spread of side salads, vegetables, and a tray of light chicken panini.
As I eat, she sits across from me with her coffee, watching.
“You need to eat too,” I finally say, pointing at her with my fork. “Can’t live on coffee alone.”
“I ate at the restaurant earlier.”
“Bullshit. I was there. You were too busy waiting on me to eat.”
She ducks her head, blushing, happy I noticed. “It’s too late. I’ll eat tomorrow.”
“You’ll eat now.” I load up a fork with some of her incredible marinated artichokes and hold it out to her. “Open.”
She obeys, and as I watch her chew and swallow, something softens inside me.
“Again.” I prepare another bite, and another, until she’s shaking her head and laughing. Something about her taking the food I’m giving her is just…
“Vincenzo, I’m full. Really.”
“Fine, princess.” I finish the rest myself, scraping the plate clean. “But tomorrow you eat breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. Understood?”
“Is that an order, sir?” She’s teasing me, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah, it is.” My voice is hard. I want her to feel subjugated, controlled. “It’s a fucking order.”
She nods. “I’ll send proof if you’re not here, a picture of what I’m eating.”
I blink as she clears our dishes, humming. Fucking humming. She’ll send me pictures?!
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?