Chapter 44 Carlo
Carlo
Ignoring Frankie has proven as impossible as I knew it would be.
When she refused to keep dancing tonight, I felt those walls of mine crumbling faster than sandcastles at high tide.
She was defiant and spirited and perfect, and holding her in my arms while we danced after these past few nights apart was what I craved even as we argued.
Putting distance between us again after our dance was essential. I needed to regain control, but I find myself wishing I could be alone with her instead of surrounded by our guests. This fucking circus is for everyone except the two people whose union it’s meant to celebrate.
“Let no man doubt our future Don’s pitiless nature toward hymens,” Roberto, the Underboss for Philly, says of the blood-stained sheet.
The men surrounding him chuckle, including his two grown sons, all of them the extremely traditional sort like him who get off on this shit.
I want to tear them apart with my bare hands.
I hate this goddamn tradition, and I hate myself for allowing something that intimately involves my wife to be shared with anyone.
“Is this the mark of a man in New York? To boast over making a girl bleed?”
The male amusement vanishes instantly at Nico Morelli’s mocking tone. In truth, I respect the future Capo of Chicago for his opinion and speaking his mind but offending so many of the men I’m meant to rule won't do.
“If I’m not mistaken, you presented sheets after your own wedding night with Russo’s daughter.
” It’s an admittedly low blow, bringing up Nico’s dead wife.
Like me, he's a man who typically keeps his temper in check. The last time he didn’t, his little sister was given to the brother of a man he killed.
Right now, Nico looks like he’d enjoy nothing more than dismembering me. “We honor the old ways here.”
“Honor?” Nico scoffs, his hand twitching by his side.
Before I can reach for my knife in return, Alessio steps between us, preventing the tension from turning violent. Either he's getting along better with his wife’s brother than anyone expected, or he’s only interested in things turning bloody if he’s the one to start it.
Deciding it’s best if I walk away before I kill someone - I’d start with Roberto - I turn my back on them as guilt presses down on my chest. Fuck, I’m a bastard who has failed his wife in so many ways already.
I didn’t even warn her about the sheet as I’d intended to, too busy hanging onto my anger.
I’m not sure how I’ll make this up to her.
My first impulse, to go seek her out for another dance, is thwarted by my father approaching her. Then, I spot Giulia sitting alone. I head her way, determined to brighten my little sister’s night at least.
***
She disappeared after dancing with Father, and I’m about to go after her when I catch the swirl of shimmering pale blue skirts out of the corner of my eye.
The sea of suited men parts for her, and my stomach tightens uncomfortably.
I’ve witnessed this spectacle countless times, but it’s the first time I’m considering it through a bride’s eyes.
It’s a betrayal of our privacy. Worse, it’s a betrayal on my part of Francesca’s trust.
I close the distance between us quickly, knowing I’ve got to control her impulse to openly revolt and throw the wedding cake in my face. I’d let her, but I wouldn’t put it past Father to have her quietly eliminated if she did.
Relishing her lovely scent and soft skin while she attempts to bore holes into my skull with her glare, I glance at her bare feet. “You’ve lost your shoes, mia moglie. Does this mean it’s time for another dance?” She starts to open her mouth, but I’m quicker. “Perhaps we could use some fresh air.”
She wants to refuse, but her stockinged feet on the polished floor work to my advantage.
I drag her through a nearby door labeled ‘Employees Only,’ grateful to find a dark and deserted space.
It’s no more than a storage area, holding extra chairs and a couple of tables.
I lift her up and plop her down on one of those tables.
She takes the opportunity to clock me in the jaw.
The impact quickly dulls. I don’t even flinch. She does. She’s not used to throwing a punch, and I know from my days of training as a boy that pain just exploded in her knuckles before radiating down to her elbow. “Asshole,” she hisses, cradling her fist.
“Yes, I am,” I admit, gently grasping her sore hand.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Apologies aren’t something men like me make as a rule, Francesca, though I’ve been known to make exceptions for you.” I press a feather soft kiss to her knuckles.
“You humiliated me when… They already hate me.” Her voice quavers.
“Anyone who wishes you harm will die screaming, and I have no desire to humiliate you.”
She arches a skeptical eyebrow, so I press more kisses to her palm and the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She shudders despite wearing a scowl.
She hates her body for reacting to my touch this way when she’s angry.
I want to distract her from her anger, but she deserves more than mere distraction tonight.
“I apologize, Francesca.”
“You didn’t even warn me.”
“Because we’ve not been speaking.”
“You’ve known about this longer than we’ve not been speaking, Carlo.”
“You’re right, I have. I’ll admit seeing proof I’d claimed you after our first time gave my possessive soul a twisted thrill, and it’s tradition for the sheets to be presented to the heads of the bride and groom’s families the morning after a wedding, proof that the marriage was consummated.
Considering how things happened between us, my father insisted on this instead. ”
“So you went along with what your father wanted and hoped I wouldn’t be too pissed off?”
“I did. I didn’t know how much I’d despise it until…”
“Do my feelings matter to you at all?” she asks in a hurt little voice that absolutely kills me. How can she believe her feelings don’t matter?
Cradling her face, I gently kiss one cheek and then the other before resting my forehead against hers.
“They matter to me. Very much. Mi dispiace. I’m a goddamn bastard for this and for all the other shit I’ve done.
I want to walk out there and set that fucking sheet on fire.
I want to burn this hotel to the ground, and the bastards out there who leered at your blood can burn with it.
I should set myself on fire while I’m at it, knowing I’ve fucked things up between us. Again.”
I expect more hurt or anger when I lift my head again. Instead, Francesca smiles softly at me. “You apologized in two different languages. Being married to me will require more of that than you’re used to.”
“And it will require more of your forgiving nature which I’m grateful for.”
“You’d better be.”
I have to kiss her, but when I start to lean forward, she presses her hand to my chest and raises both red eyebrows in challenge. “I’ve been dying of this thirst only you can quench for too long,” I plead, nuzzling her throat. “Do I have to crawl, mia moglie? I will if only you'll let me kiss you.”
I’m not sure if it’s the nuzzling or my pleading words that causes her resistance to melt, but I cover her mouth with mine when she tilts her head back.
Too many hours have passed since I last tasted her, all of her, when she’s the most addictive thing on earth.
Our lips slide together and our tongues wrestle.
When we take a breath, I see the same hunger in her eyes that burns me up inside.
Stepping between her legs, I push the skirt of her evening gown up to her lap.
Her panties are already stuck to her center, and her breath is coming in quick pants.
I catch the faint, musky scent of her arousal and nearly lose my fucking mind.
I’m so goddamn hard. “I need you, Francesca.
I've never needed anything more.” She rakes her fingers through my hair, trying to bring our bodies closer. She wants this as much as I do.
Looping a finger through the string of pearls at her throat, I tighten it as my mouth closes over her pulse point.
A sweet moan passes between her lips when I lick my way up her throat and to the shell of her ear.
“I love this pearl necklace on you. May I give you a different one later?” She stares back at me blankly. “So innocent,” I chuckle.
A slow, coquettish grin spreads across her beautiful face when she understands. “It’s your job to corrupt me, husband.”
“Fuck.” Like a man possessed, I tear at my zipper before sliding her panties to one side. I drag my thumb through her slit to test her. She’s fucking dripping when I plunge two fingers into her pretty pussy. She rears back and rocks her hips desperately, riding my fingers as I massage her clit.
“Carlo…”
“That’s right. Come for me.” I want her to come first because I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold out very long once my cock is inside her. My balls are already threatening to erupt as it is.
“Everyone is out there,” she whimpers.
“When I’m between my wife’s thighs, no one and nothing else matters. Come for me, wife,” I order, curling my fingers and pressing down on her clit.
She shudders and gasps as more of her sweet arousal coats my fingers. I roughly suck on her pulse point as she tenses and then collapses, the intoxicating oblivion of her surrender. I love staring at her when she’s mine this way. I love staring at her regardless. I can’t wait another second.
Pulling my fingers free, I lick them clean of every sweet drop of nectar before lining my cock up with her pussy and slamming into her. The table rattles and Francesca groans as my hands grip her creamy thighs. “Only mine,” I growl, completely deranged by the need to claim her.
She babbles her agreement, her nails sinking into my hips, marking me as hers, too.
And I am. Fuck, if the Bratva attacked this wedding reception, I’d be a dead man.
All my brains are flooding out ahead of my cum.
Her tight pussy and that primal, possessive beast inside me tips me toward climax much sooner than I wish.
I come hard, my thrusts growing jerky as my cock swells and spills.
I’m still panting her name and stroking her silky red curls when Frankie shifts beneath me. I meet her mortified gaze and know her worries. We’re not alone. So many people are on the other side of that unlocked door behind me. “I’ll kill any fucker who dares to interrupt us right now.”
She makes a choked little noise in reply. Fucking beautiful and all mine. My fingers trail down from her hair to those pert rosy lips.
“Are you alright?” I ask, nodding down at where we were joined. Her pussy is swollen and red from the pounding I gave her. My cock twitches back to life at the sight, the horny bastard, but I pay more attention to her scarlet cheeks.
“My dress...”
Shaking my head with suppressed amusement, I strip off my jacket and carefully wipe away the worst of it from between her legs before I help her down off the table. “You can’t see anything,” I promise.
“But your jacket…”
I wad it up, throwing it into a nearby trashcan. “They’ll eventually realize they can eat the goddamn cake without us.”
“We can’t do that! Our families are here and… oh, God, my mother.”
“I believe your mother is already aware I can’t resist you. We’ll go have some cake if you wish… though it won’t be as sweet as you.”
Her cheeks are still pink, but she smiles at my words, that smile of hers that casts light into the darkest corner of my twisted soul.
I take her hand and lead her back toward the party but not until I’ve claimed another kiss.
Several pairs of eyes turn our way as we reenter the ballroom and walk past the corner where the sheet is still on display.
I’m proud of Francesca for holding her head high.
Then I hear Roberto, who hasn’t noticed our return yet. “I’ll bet the traitor's daughter is a real spitfire in bed. Who can blame him for wanting more tight and tart ginger pussy-”
Swift as a snake, I strike, hopefully before his disgusting words have truly registered for her. The blade of my silver knife flashes under the soft light of the crystal chandeliers. Francesca screams the same time as Roberto does when I cut his right ear off.
The blood only feeds my hunger for more, but Francesca recoils from the sight of the ugly wound. I wrap an arm around her waist when I level Roberto with an icy glare. “Was there anything else you wished to say about my wife?”
He’s fallen to his knees, cupping the side of his head and moaning like a cowardly pussy. I give each man in his little assembled group the same murderous glare, one by one.
“Does anyone else have something to add?”
No one says a word. I’m so fucking furious I want to serve their blood with the cake instead of champagne.
More men approach us, Alessio and my brothers.
Luca and Renato will always have my back.
In this instance, I know Alessio will, too.
I gently push Francesca toward her cousin as I step forward.
“I believe there’s a matter we need to clear up…
” My voice booms around the enormous ballroom.
Yanking the sheet off the table it was draped over; I climb onto the table and slowly wipe my bloody knife clean.
The entire room has fallen silent as all eyes are on me.
“As you’ve seen with your own eyes tonight, my wife is an honorable woman who came into our union untouched when I had the privilege of claiming her as my bride. ”
Francesca squirms with embarrassment, but these men are killers like me. I can’t mince words with them.
“Lest any of you forget, she is mine. My wife. No matter her father’s sins, she bears no blame in that, so the next man who dares insult her in word or deed will spill all of his blood on this very sheet, and while I will find pleasure in that, you most certainly will not.”
I jump off the table, striding toward her.
Alessio steps back without his usual defiant glare.
She shivers when I take her hand again. Our eyes meet, and there’s a mix of emotions swirling in her pretty blue eyes.
I will defend you to my last breath, I think, wishing now was a moment I could say as much.
“One more thing before we all have our cake and call this night done,” I say, addressing the room again.
“Tomorrow night, every Underboss, every Captain, every Made Man present who hails from my territory will be expected to attend my Seconda Notte. My brothers and I will be hosting it at Red Hook.” The expected tremor passes through the assembled crowd of men and even some of the women.
“I promise the entertainment will be to die for.”