Page 9 of Mafia Mistress

“Too bad. I bet the sheets smell like her.”

“Fuck you.”

Marco chuckled. “You think Giulio can handle her?”

I cracked one eye. “Are you saying he is soft?”

“No, but he’s not like you. He doesn’t have them eating out of the palm of his hand. Never seen a meaner bastard get more pussy than you.”

I had a temper, for sure. Giulio was more even-tempered, like his mother. “She will come around,” I said about Francesca.

The pilot announced our landing. A silent Francesca put on her seatbelt as I secured my own. Her quiet demeanor bothered me. Shouldn’t she be yelling and panicking right now? Throwing something at my head? Trying to overpower the pilot? The instinct that had kept me alive for nearly thirty-nine years screamed inside me, telling me to be on my toes around her. She was up to something.

I smothered a grin. Whatever she planned, I would be ready. She didn’t stand a chance.

Minutes later, we touched down. As I descended the steps to the ground, I made certain Francesca was directly behind me with Marco on her tail. My car was waiting, so I clasped her arm to pull her toward it—and felt a sharp pain in my hand.

“Cazzo!” I hissed. She’d stabbed me with a pen, the point now embedded in my flesh. I snarled and ripped the thing out of my skin, tossing it to the ground. That stranza.

Francesca darted off the second she had the chance but she was no match for Marco, who still jogged daily. I hadn’t even finished cleaning up the blood on my hand before she was dragged back to my car.

“Help!” she shouted to the crew I employed at the private air strip. “Help! I’m being kidnapped.”

My men snickered. No one in a fifty-mile radius would aid a person complaining of a kidnapping here. They all knew better. I jerked open the rear door of the car. “Get the fuck inside, Francesca.”

I walked around to the other side, fury boiling inside me until I nearly choked on it. She had embarrassed me in front of my men. Drawn my blood and made me look weak.

She would pay for this when we arrived home.

She fought Marco, but it was in vain. Soon she was pushed inside next to me and the car sped off. “I won’t apologize,” she said, like a petulant child.

For once, I didn’t try to appear civilized. Instead, I let her see the darkness I normally kept hidden. “Good, because I am looking forward to punishing you.”

She swallowed and focused on the scenery. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at my home, Castello di Ravazzani. I loved every bit of the estate—the olive groves, vineyards, farmland and pasture—but I couldn’t appreciate any of it at the moment. And this only increased my fury.

When the car stopped in front of the stone entry, I didn’t move. “Leave us,” I told Marco and my driver. The doors closed and Francesca jumped, a frightened little rabbit. I angled toward her slightly. “Do you know my favorite part of owning a castle?”

“No,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Not even a guess?”

“The turrets?”

Smirking, I got out and came around to her side. Once I pulled her from the car, I leaned down. “My favorite part of this castle is the dungeon.”

She gasped. My patience thin, I didn’t give her a chance to run. Instead, I hauled her over my shoulder and started walking toward the back entrance that led below ground.

She instantly began thrashing, her legs kicking frantically. “Put me down! Stop, please.”

I ignored her and kept going.

“No, please. I can’t go into a dungeon. Don’t take me down there. Please, Signore Ravazzani.”

Signore? That was new.

But I was mad, beyond rational thought. We used the dungeon for business, though I preferred not to kill people on my land. It made too much of a mess. Francesca could stew in one of the dank cells for a few hours, then she might be more amenable to my hospitality.

By the time I threw open the heavy door, she was weeping. Good. Perhaps this would help her learn her place.

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