39. Nico
Nico
“How’s your bride, Nico?” one of my underbosses asks, the first to appear on my laptop screen before the meeting starts.
“She’s good.” And insatiable.
“You’re a lucky asshole.”
Don’t I know it.
When Caterina asked me about my upcoming arranged marriage to Margareta over two years ago, I told my sister the things I believed back then – It’s for strategic purposes, I have little to offer a wife in terms of emotional bullshit, my cruel heart belongs to the Trio.
The universe, or whatever, listened… and paid me back for my hubris.
After Margareta’s death, I was navigating fatherhood on top of my other obligations. I had to devote myself to them. I had to ensure they would be safe and cared for. That was more than enough to handle.
I didn’t think I’d ever want to marry again.
But the universe, in all its dark humor, seemed to think plucking this poor Sicilian farm girl from her quiet life, throwing her into the grim and gritty realm I rule and then plopping her down on my doorstep was exactly what I needed.
And the motherfucking cosmos was right.
I never would've gone looking for her, but there are just too many little ways we’re entangled and aligned for me to pretend it’s all a happy accident.
I’m genuinely fucked.
Beautiful and elegant as she was, I didn’t have to feign my indifference for Margareta after she revealed her true feelings. I hadn’t particularly been eager to marry. I wasn’t the man she wanted. Simple as that. I thought we could make the best of things. She had other ideas.
But Matilde looks at me differently, and I’ve caught this little glimmer of hope in her eyes more than once lately.
She’s a smart young woman but still a woman.
No matter how practical she sounded that day speaking with her sister, she probably wants what all wives hope for - Love.
The same magic potion my little sister thinks she’s found with that crazy bastard she married.
No doubt, Matilde’s sized up her options by now, probably deciding that finding something in me to love will make our arrangement easier to bear as the years pass. Many mafia brides do the same. For fuck’s sake, it’s what my own mother chose with the ruthless asshole I call Father.
But this time, knowing I’m doomed to fail the women I’m sworn to protect, knowing I could lose Matilde…
“Nico? You alright?” someone asks.
No, I’m not. I can’t fucking breathe.
Everyone has joined the meeting by now, and they’re waiting for me, their Capo, to start things. I’ve already had one coup to eliminate in my short reign. The last thing I need is for anyone else to question my strength, leadership or cruel nature.
“I’m fine,” I clip, all businesslike coolness as usual. “Give us your inventory for this latest shipment, Donati, and the timeline for the freighter’s arrival.”
While I’m busy jotting down figures for cocaine and heroin distributions, my office door quietly opens and Matilde steps in. I frown, muting myself as one of my uncles grills another one about dockyard security arrangements.
“Is something wrong?” She shakes her head, locking the office door. “Matilde, this is an important meeting.”
“But I miss you, and I’m bored,” she whispers, playfully.
I scowl at her ill-timed teasing, but my goddamn cock comes to life at once when she paces toward me in that silky green robe with her lush raven hair loose and her bare feet crossing the thick Turkish rug with her toenails painted a pretty peachy shade.
“Matilde, I can’t entertain you right now. I have-”
“I will be quiet,” she promises, shrugging out of her robe.
She’s wearing nothing underneath it, and my mouth hangs open for far too long before I remember I’m on camera. “What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath.
“Interrupting?”
Her tone is so sweetly mischievous I feel the corners of my mouth tugging upward of their own accord. Apparently reverse cowgirl in the backseat of the Mercedes earlier wasn’t enough to get me out of her system. I’m a lucky asshole, indeed.
Unmuting myself, I push back my chair from the desk.
“We want trustworthy people on the ground to handle moving the drugs into vehicles.” I discreetly point at my feet, and Matilde saunters over, avoiding the laptop’s camera to kneel and smiling up at me like she’s expecting a marvelous treat.
“You should get on that.” The men in the meeting are probably pondering which of them I mean, but I glance at my lap, and my wife knows.
Our supplier chimes in as Matilde, wearing a sultry grin, unfastens my belt and unzips my pants. My cock springs free of my boxers.
That’s when she does something I should’ve expected but didn’t. She gestures at my cock with her hands and mouths one word - “How?”
Her lips are puckered, and her eyebrows are quirked together. My wife is kneeling on the floor asking me how to perform a blowjob.
When I’m in the middle of a major virtual meeting.
I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.
I’m going to happily lose my goddamn mind.
Mute. “Take me in your hand first. Stroke it.”
Unmute. “Yessss… I mean, no, Detroit gets their cut after my city, then Minnesota.”
Mute. “Wrap those gorgeous lips around the tip, tesoro. Lick me… fuck. That's it. Now, try sucking. Just a little. Yes, my good little wife…”
Unmute. “Watch for the teeth. I mean, the cops.”
Mute. “Can you take a little more? Relax your throat.”
Once I’m unmuted again, it’s a good thing I don’t need to speak for a bit.
My every thought is fixated on my glorious Matilde as she tentatively licks, sucks and bobs her head up and down while taking a couple of inches of my cock into her hot, wet mouth.
I would swear she’s snatching more of my brain cells out with every single breath she takes.
Then those hypnotic eyes sweep up to meet mine, blown wide with lust. “Do you like it, wife?” She blushes when she nods. Fucking hell, she’s perfect.
“What was that, Nico?”
Fuck! “I dropped my knife. I was cleaning it.”
Giggles erupt from below, and I grab the back of her neck, carefully but firmly reminding her what she’s supposed to be doing.
She starts sucking with more confidence, and it’s so fucking hot.
Inexperienced she may be, but I’m in danger of coming when she licks my balls and then cups them with her hand.
I have just enough presence of mind to toss my pen at the computer, knocking the camera askew so there’s zero chance anyone will see my face in the throes of an orgasm.
“Nico, it just went dark there. Are you having trouble with your camera?”
Like you bastards really care if you see my ugly face. “One of the kids must have messed with it.” One of my infants who can’t even stand unassisted yet.
Glancing back down, I catch Matilde’s indignant glare… right before she nips my balls with her teeth for slandering the children, the little minx.
“Ow… uh-I think we’ve gone over what needed to be covered tonight, Donati. If there’s anything further, we’ll reach out.” Slamming the laptop closed, I reach down and pull her into my lap. “You are very naughty, wife.”
Her laughter is unrepentant and the most beautiful sound in the world. “I was not finished being naughty.”
“What brought this on?” I don’t believe taking part in the death of a man today or rescuing trafficked girls would make her eager for this.
“I don’t know. I was thinking of you, and I have not done it yet. You have not asked.”
“I wasn't going to insist.”
Her brow furrows as though that wasn’t the reply she wanted. “Okay, but I was curious, and I spoke to Frankie on the phone tonight. You know I talk to her.”
I did know that, and I'm glad she's got a friend to chat with besides her sister. “You called her to discuss blowjobs?”
She laughs. “I talk to her about many things, but she said at the wedding if I had questions about the wedding night, I could ask. I did not ask then but now…”
“Christ.”
“Are you angry?”
“No, tesoro. Why would I care if Carlo finds out my wife is asking his wife about blowjobs?” She laughs harder.
“I want to fuck you,” I murmur, raking my nose along her smooth skin.
She nods eagerly. “Grab ahold of the desk.” Standing us up, I turn her to face it, excited at the thought of having her spread over my desk this way.
But her body language shifts, stopping me in my tracks. She’s gone from aroused and playful to stiff and withdrawn at my touch. Was it only fun if there was the thrill of getting caught? No, that’s not it.
“Matilde?”
“Do you not like looking at me?” she asks in a hurt little voice that rips my heart to shreds.
“Of course, I like looking at you. You’re gorgeous.”
“Why then?”
Panic slithers through my veins. I fucking hate weakness. Mostly in myself. Trying to recapture the playfulness, I cup one of her rounded butt cheeks. “I love looking at this gorgeous ass when…”
Wounded tears form in her beautiful eyes silencing my idiotic mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m tempted to grab my knife and slice my tongue off.
“That’s not true. I mean, of course, I love your ass, but… I’m not being honest with you.”
She looks both relieved and even more wounded. “Are you thinking of her? Is that why you do not want to look at me?”
“Her?”
“Your wife.”
Oh, fucking hell. “You are my wife, Matilde.”
“Yes, but I thought you might think of her. You might still want Margareta. You only married me because you needed a mother for your children and you felt sorry for-”
I press my finger to her lips, but it doesn’t stop the tears that slip down her cheeks, washing away my lies and stupid excuses and making me feel about three inches tall. I have to be honest with her. I have to tell her, much as I hate talking about it.
“No, I don’t think of her or anyone else when I’m with you. The truth is, looking someone in the eyes during sex is a very intimate act.”
“I know. That is why I want it. But you do not want it?”
“No, I don’t.”