Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
S arah
There is a soft knock at the door, which surprises me. Standing on the other side is an attractive older woman, with neatly styled hair and an outfit comprised entirely of blacks and blood reds. She has a set of dark brown eyes that are beginning to look quite familiar.
“You must be Sarah,” she tells me. She has an interesting accent, heavily dosed with a Brooklyn flair and a deeper voice than her small stature would suggest, like she used to smoke a lot. “I’m Rosalina De Luca,” she tells me, “but you may call me Lina.”
“Oh, ahm, nice to meet you, Lina.” I shake her hand.
“Do you enjoy coffee, Sarah?” she asks.
I nod, which seems to please Lina. She holds her elbow out like she’s going to escort me on a date.
“I’m Vincent’s mother,” she finally says. “Alessandro and Marco too, of course.”
She leads me through hallway after hallway. Everything is done with elegant dark stained wood and understated creams. We pass a handful of household staff, clearly maids or something similar, and a significantly larger number of heavily armed, huge men in black suits. Lina greets the staff by name, and the men all tilt their heads respectfully towards her as we pass. She leads me though a massive kitchen to a small solarium, which is set up like a sidewalk cafe, complete with a handful of bistro tables and chairs as well as a long counter with two espresso machines, syrups, cups, and an entire selection of tea and tea pots.
“One thing you learn about being the wife of a don—eventually you’re going to get stuck at home during some standoff or another. I refused to give up my coffee, so I built my own cafe.” She pulls two small cups of espresso and hands me one with a saucer.
“A standoff? Is that what this is?” I ask.
She waves her hand dismissively, as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question. “This? Oh, this is nothing.”
My face must show my absolute disagreement with her definition of the word ‘nothing’.
“On a scale of one to ten, how terrified are you?” she asks calmly.
“Twelve,” I respond.
She smiles. “That’s understandable. I was terrified when I married into la Cosa Nostra, and I was aware of what it was. I imagine you’ve had quite an exciting couple of days.”
I give a rather un-ladylike snort. “You could say that.”
“My sons are good men. My late husband would have just had you killed,” she says flatly.
“Oh.” What the hell do you say to that?
“Tell me about yourself, Sarah. What do you do for work?”
“I’m a dancer, with the New York Ballet Company.”
“How wonderful. I love the ballet. My husband would refuse to take me, but my sons would when they were old enough.” She smiles. It’s relaxed and genuine. “Alessandro arranged some sort of a fundraiser for the Children’s Center last year with one of the companies.”
“Oh my god, yes, the Christmas Eve performance of The Nutcracker. I danced in that!” I pause. “The center was part of the church, right? Our Lady of Naples?”
Lina beams, “ Si! That is his baby.” Her smile is contagious.
“You’re very proud of him, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Of all of them.”
I nod and sip my espresso.
“And how are you dealing with everything? I remember the first time I was shot at. Very exciting!” she continues.
“Ah, not how I would describe it. Although, preferable to being stuffed in a trunk.”
Lina looks horrified. I see her attention shift over my shoulder, and I turn to look. Vincent is standing there, one hand casually in his pocket.
Lina throws up her hands and begins to yell in Italian, pointing to me periodically.
“Mother!”
She switches to English, probably for my benefit. “How could you shove a sweet little girl like her in a trunk?”
“I wasn’t overflowing with options.”
She mutters something in Italian that doesn’t sound at all complementary before patting my hand and excusing herself.
Vincent seems like he’s having a terrible headache.
I start laughing. “So your mom seems nice.”
“My mother once beat a man to death with her stiletto when they were attacked by a rival many years ago. I’m not sure ‘nice’ is the right word for her.” He smiles when he says it though.
He walks to the edge of the cafe counter and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes focused on me. The pose causes the t-shirt to stretch over his biceps and broad chest. I feel his eyes run down my body, so much that his gaze might as well have been a touch. When he makes it to my knees, a slight frown flashes over his features.
Looking down, I see that my jeans are torn and knees are skinned. “Oh, I didn’t even notice.”
“Adrenaline will do that.” He walks towards me and holds a hand out to pull me to my feet, before swooping me up in his arms again.
“I can walk,” I remind him.
He smiles, and I feel my body temperature rise at least five degrees. “Not until I make sure there aren’t any more injuries you don’t know about.”
He walks us back through the house and to the bedroom I was in earlier. He opens one of the side doors and a set of motion-activated lights reveal a massive bathroom.
“No tub? Sad, I was enjoying having my own spa,” I tease.
He sets me down on the counter between the matching sinks. “No, it’s just on the balcony.” He nods over his shoulder to a set of heavy drapes.
“Balcony?”
“Mmmm, privacy curtains and everything. Great view of the sunset.”
“For fuck’s sake, who has a tub on a balcony? Who has a balcony?”
He just laughs and points at my current seat. “Sit. Stay.”
I smile. “ Woof.”
He walks over to the shower and turns it on to warm up, then disappears into a linen closet before returning with a pair of robes and towels, which he hangs just outside the shower doors. He strips his shirt off over his head.
Holy shit.
His back is covered in massive tattoos, surrounding a large cross. There is a maze of roses, thorns, skulls, and Latin script woven all around it. The entire thing is done without color, giving it an almost sinister feeling. Then I remember it’s tattooed on the head of the mafia. He turns around.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
His broad shoulders and powerful arms connect to a sculpted chest and an inhuman amount of abs. There is a light patch of dark chest hair and a faint trail of hair on his flat abdomen disappearing into his jeans.
Jeans that cover a rather large budge. He catches me looking and smirks. Slowly he slides down the zipper, then hooks his thumbs in the waistband, pulling off his pants and underwear at the same time.
Oh. My. God. While I admittedly do not have personal experience with the male anatomy, I’m not a nun. That cannot be the normal size. He isn’t hard and still his cock is massive. I swallow.
He stalks forward until he’s standing in front of me on the counter. He spreads my knees apart and steps between them. His eyes are almost black, molten heat washing over my body. He takes the edge of my shirt and slowly drags it up and over my head. His eyes rake down my chest, and a low growl rumbles from him, like I really am about to be devoured.
He grips my hips and slides me off the counter, turning me to face the mirror. I feel him unhook the back of my bra, and then the straps slide down my arms. He leans forward, dipping his head to my neck, kissing it, and causing goosebumps to break out over my body. His large, rough hands slide around my ribs and cup my breasts like he’s weighing them. Then he kneads the sensitive flesh and starts to roll my hard nipples between his fingers. I moan, my head falling back. He runs his mouth down the side of my neck and bites down where it meets my shoulder. I gasp, the sharp twinge of pain mixing with the divine sensations coming from my nipples and sending a small wave of pleasure straight to my pussy.
His hands roam lower, to the waistband of my jeans. He teases his fingers back and forth along my belly before popping open the button and sliding down the zipper. I catch our reflection in the mirror. My lips are parted and my face is flushed, my fair skin pressed against his hard, naked body. He towers over me, a wall of bronzed muscle, his hands slowly undressing me, his eyes burning with desire. He pushes the fabric off my hips, letting it tangle around my knees. He holds his palm over the front of my pussy, still covered with a minuscule layer of cloth, like he’s claiming it. Then he slowly pulls down the rest of the material, leaving me naked.
I can feel his hard cock pressed against me.
He whispers into my ear, “Am I going to find this beautiful pussy already soaked for me?”
I open my mouth to speak, but only get a little squeak out. I nod.
“ Good girl.” He slowly traces one finger down my seam, slipping between my folds, stopping to swirl around my swollen, throbbing clit. Some sort of choked moan comes out of my throat. He pushes further, sliding down to my entrance.
“Oh, you’re so very wet,” he whispers against my hair, his voice husky.
His finger slowly sinks inside of me, rubbing along a sensitive spot on the front of my pussy. I gasp.
“Fuck, you’re tight, kitten.” He slides his finger in and out of me, slowly, rhythmically. It’s amazing. Ever so briefly I consider telling him that I’m a virgin. Then I decide I’m not taking the slightest chance that he will stop.
My eyes closed, I’m leaning against his chest when I feel the pressure increase as he slowly slides another of this thick fingers inside of me.
“Oh my god,” I moan. I feel a satisfied chuckle against my back. He thrusts them in and out of me, twisting them, exploring the spots that made me gasp and moan. Spots I didn’t know were there. His other arm wraps around my chest, and he starts to massage my breasts again. I feel the pressure building in my core, my heart frantic, the wet sounds of his fingers fucking in and out of me filling the room.
When he pinches down on my nipple, the sharp sting of pain travels straight to my clit. I feel my back arch as the pressure explodes across me, stealing my breath and making stars dance behind my closed eyes.
Vincent twists me around and slides his wet fingers over my lips.
“Open,” he commands.
He pushes his fingers into my mouth, and I lick them. Then he growls and crushes his lips to mine, kissing me until I’m dizzy. His big hands trace down my back and knead my ass, before hoisting me in the air. I wrap my legs around his hips as he walks us into the steamy shower, his lips still pressed to mine.