Page 52 of Mafia Mistress

“Go. Be safe, figlio mio.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He disappeared out the door.

Now that I was alone, anticipation flooded my veins like the rush of a drug. As much as I wanted to wait, I couldn’t.

I needed to see her. Now.

Downing my wine, I carefully placed the glass on the desk and left my office. The house was quiet as I made my way into the wing opposite my own. What would I find when I entered Francesca’s room? Was she showering? Relaxing in the bath? My cock twitched at the fantasy of seeing her wet and soapy golden skin, touching those soft and supple curves.

I didn’t bother knocking. She would tell me to go away, and I would not be deterred from seeing her. Throwing open the door, I stopped short.

Francesca sat on the bed with her arms crossed, glaring at me.

Oh, yes. I liked her spirit very much. She would not be easy to win, but the victory would be sweet in the end. “Waiting on me already?”

“What are you doing in here, Ravazzani? This is my room and you cannot just walk in whenever you feel like it.”

I closed the door behind me. “Oh, but I can, actually. This is my house. I don’t need your permission to come in here.”

She stood up, her body covered by the wrap she’d worn on the boat. Madonna, that meant the bikini was still on underneath. I approached her, but she didn’t back away this time. Instead, she bit her lip. “Say whatever it is you came in to say and then leave.”

“Always playing tough, but I am not fooled.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t really want to escape. Your effort to leave was half-assed at best. Instead you spend your time with the lambs and Vincenzo, not searching the grounds for a wall to climb over. You could have stolen one of the cars. Or jumped off the boat today and swam to shore. You are resourceful and smart, Francesca. If you want something bad enough, you make it happen.”

I moved closer, almost touching her. I could count every eyelash and freckle on her lovely face as she stared up at me. Reaching out, I twirled a piece of her golden hair around my finger. “So I have to ask, why are you still here?”

Her gaze locked on my face. “I was biding my time before I tried again.”

“Cazzata. Your life in Toronto was boring. You were dying there, like a plant starved of water. I saved you from that loser boyfriend, from the lackluster orgasms and sneaking around. There is so much I can show you, dolcezza. So much I want to give you.”

“So you’re my savior? Is that it?”

I chuckled softly. “I’m no savior. They call me il Diavolo for a reason, and that is because I am as wicked and evil as they come. But if you want to get on your knees for me in gratitude, I will not object.”

Her shoulders trembled as her breath hitched. She hadn’t backed away—had barely moved—since I entered. She seemed to be waiting to see what I would do. “In your fucking dreams,” she finally said, but there was no heat behind it.

Slowly, I dragged my thumb across her lips, loving the feel of the slick plump flesh. She was gorgeous, but the kind of earthy beauty that burrowed under a man’s skin. A woman who should be worshipped every single day with kisses and orgasms. I wanted to both take care of her and wreck her in the same breath. “That mouth will get you in trouble one day. But I’ll let it slide tonight because I’d rather get on my knees for you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I intend to have you and I’m tired of waiting.”

I bent down until my knees met the carpet. Then I slid my palms up over her calves, behind her legs, with my face resting right below her full tits. My dick pulsed as it thickened in my trousers and I had to resist the urge to stroke myself. Fuck, I wanted this woman badly.

As my hands continued up her body, I lifted the flimsy piece of cloth that covered her. Francesca watched me with hooded eyes, her skin flushed. “Take this off,” I told her.

“What about Giulio?”

“You are no longer engaged to my son. Take the fucking cover up off, Francesca.”

She didn’t argue, just whipped the thin garment over her head, leaving her in the black bikini I’d both loved and hated today.

Santo cazzo Madre di Cristo.

I couldn’t breathe, and my cock was now rock hard. She was even more gorgeous up close, her skin smelling of sun and salt. Her nipples beaded behind her suit, and her chest rose and fell as she took rapid breaths. But part of winning this battle meant I needed her full surrender.

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