Page 65 of Rescued By the Mafia

Dante dropped to his haunches, simultaneously releasing his hold of Paul, and the room filled with the sound of a hard slap as the backside of his hand connected with Paul’s face. He held stationary as Paul rocked back, more blood sprinkling the air. “That’ll be one more tooth,” Dante said. He lifted a hand as his men started forward again, stopping them. “But I’ll let you wait for the extraction. Call it a debt.”

Paul grunted, shifting awkwardly in a clear attempt not to be flat on his back.

Dante stood and glanced toward the same two men. “Shorten his chain by half.”

Iris felt a flicker of confusion as Paul was unceremoniously dragged closer to the pillar, the heavy chain being looped and anchored with an efficiency that assured her this was not their first time. She let her gaze turn away from that, watching Dante move to the shelving unit and extract something for himself. A towel, she realized, as he began wiping down his hands and forearms.

He tossed the lightly bloodied towel toward the accumulated bucket and garbage bag, then strode straight toward her. And the look in his eyes made the rest of the room fall away.

Iris reached out as soon as he was near enough, letting her hands find purchase over his sides as she waited for whatever he was going to say.

Dante bent down and sealed his lips over hers, his hands burning her hips through the fabric of the dress she’d changed into after everything that had happened in the craft store. The kiss was short, wet, and left her aching for release only he could give. Then, quietly, he asked, “Did he ever make you come?”

Her head spun. Her body heard the words out of order, reacting inappropriately—again—as the question sent a portion of her brain spiraling through memories she’d rather forget before she could find her focus. She licked her lips and twisted her fingers in Dante’s shirt. She didn’t understand, but she trusted him. “Maybe, once?”

He arched a brow.

A strange embarrassment flooded her. “It was a long time ago, before I moved in with him. And in hindsight, it doesn’t … compare.” It had been the only time she hadn’t felt the need to take herself the rest of the way after Paul was done. She’d considered herself satisfied, and optimistic. The experience had convinced her that the potential was there and that had been enough.

She’d been so naïve. In so many ways.

Dante hummed and lifted a hand to cup her cheek. When his stare locked on to hers again, he said, “I want to fuck you in front of him. I want him to see your face when you come, so he can see what you really look like consumed by ecstasy.” The breath rushed from her lungs. “I want him to understand how much of a failure he is as a man.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over her forehead in a feather-light kiss. “But only if I have your consent, Snapdragon. If you’re not comfortable with that, I’ll break him in other ways.”

Iris easily remembered the arousal she’d struggled with only minutes earlier. She could still taste him on her tongue. It was plain to her that her body cared much more about his nearness and his touch than whatever else was going on in the room.

Then she remembered the wide, heavy chair three men had carried inside at one point during the torture. Dante had motioned for them to set it a bit back and hadn’t otherwise acknowledged it.

“I want him to understand how much of a failure he is as a man.” She wanted that, too.

Iris turned her head enough to press a kiss to the hand still curved against her cheek. “What about the others?” She didn’t have anything against the men more or less playing assistant currently, but she wasn’t sure she was into that level of exhibitionism.

“Dismissed,” Dante said.

She held his stare. “You promise, you won’t let him touch me?”

“Not while I breathe.”

She pushed up on her toes and looped her arms around his neck enough to slide her fingers into his hair. “Then I consent.” She was crazy. But she also kind of felt like just jumping up and curling around her lover right on the spot, in front of everyone.

Dante grunted, kissed her again briefly, and pulled her hand into his as he started walking. He glanced to the side, toward Paul, then around the room. “All of you leave the room.” He indicated for Iris to wait beside the old chair and reached for his suit coat, which had been deposited on the seat.

“Leave, Boss?”

“That’s what I fucking said.” Dante snapped the coat out, flipped it over and spread it across the seat bench. “I’ll signal you when you can return.”

Paul started laughing manically. “What … gonna do something so batshit, you can’t even let your goons see?”

Dante turned, a dark smirk again lifting his lips as he looked across at Paul. “Yeah.”

The door settled heavily behind the last man, the clang reverberating throughout the room but only barely competing with the intense drum beat of her heart.

“But there is another way to look at this,” Dante said, speaking slowly. He started working on his belt, moving casually, as if he were merely undressing for the day. “It could be argued I’m about to do you a favor, Bishop.” He tugged the belt free and dropped it to the far side of the seat, then sat and spread his legs. He never took his glare off the other man. “Earlier, you made a comment about my fiancée that I don’t think I can let slide. Something about her being inferior to a blowup doll.”

Iris waited for her cue, finding herself increasingly impatient.

Dante patted his thigh in invitation.

Iris hopped onto his lap and leaned close, letting herself breathe him in. She knew she’d have to turn and face outward, filling her vision with her ex, in order to achieve the ultimate point of this twisted scheme. But that didn’t have to be immediately. So she let her hands play on Dante’s skin and her lips tease the side of his throat as he brought an arm around her waist.

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