Page 54 of Fatal Sloth

Sebastiano breaks the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet car. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, stealing a glance in my direction before refocusing on the road ahead.

"Nothing," I reply, but my gaze remains fixed on the passing scenery outside. I try to brush off the unease settling in my chest, telling myself it's nothing to dwell on.

Sebastiano's tone sharpens. "What did I tell you about lying to me?"

"It's stupid," I concede, shifting in my seat to face him. His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road, his expression unreadable as always. I hesitate, then continue, "It's just... I felt like I wasn't even there."

"Why? Because my men didn't speak to you?" Sebastiano's question cuts in, and I can't help but nod, feeling a pang of embarrassment wash over me. His response is blunt and cold. "They know their place. They aren’t here to be nice. They’re here to do a job and make sure you’re okay if anything happens to me."

My stomach drops at his words. "What do you mean, if anything happens to you?" I repeat, fear creeping into my voice.

Sebastiano's expression remains stoic as he elaborates, his tone eerily calm. "I mean, if I get hurt or killed. Ideally, I'll be alive and well until I have a son to pass everything down to. But we both stand firm on the kid thing, so Enzo would run things until everything is passed to Nico."

The reality of his words hits me like a ton of bricks. "A-And what happens to me?" I ask, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

"You'd be a free woman," he responds matter-of-factly. "Enzo would make sure you have enough to relocate and move on."

"Move on?" I repeat, sounding more bitter than I intended to. "So again, I have no say in what happens to me and my life?"

Sebastiano's demeanor shifts slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes as he speaks. "That's just how it goes. Why? Do you want to be in charge of the Morelli mafioso if I get shot or die?" he asks sarcastically, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "No woman has ever been in charge, but you’d make one sexy Donna." His hand rests gently on my thigh, giving a gentle squeeze.

I shake my head vehemently. "I wouldn't know how to run a mafia. I'm just saying I'd like to be able to make decisions for myself."

"If it makes you feel better, you can make any decision you’d like.” His response is nonchalant, almost dismissive. “Just don't start planning my death so soon. I plan to stick around for a while.”

The idea of planning his death is ludicrous; we've only been married for a short while, after all. But I keep my thoughts to myself, letting my mind wander aimlessly. Lost in my thoughts, I don't even realize that we've parked the car until I look up and see Peccato, one of the trendy bars and restaurants near Magnificent Mile.

I look up at him questioningly, but my lips remain sealed. Without a word, he exits the car, leaving me momentarily confused. When I open the door, his hand extends to assist me out. I gingerly place my small hand in his large one, but before I can react further, his other arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to him. His grip isn't tight or painful, but it's firm, asserting his presence.

Pressing me against the car, he leans in, his forehead meeting mine in a silent exchange. "It was a joke, Piccolina," he murmurs before his lips capture mine in a passionate kiss, and the world around us fades away, his delicious scent enveloping me entirely.

Instinctively, my arms loop around his neck, pulling him closer. I can feel the hardness of his bulge against my belly, sending tingles of pleasure coursing through my veins, the needy ache between my legs only growing.

He pulls away with a sly smirk gracing his lips. "Thought you could take a break from planning my demise," he teases, reaching for my hand.

30

Sebastiano

I notice Mia's unexpected reaction to my offhand remark about death—hell, I thought she'd be happy if I were gone. Her attempt to brush it off falls flat, her body tensing up like a spring.

We pull up at Peccato, a trendy restaurant that's been in the family for generations. It's my go-to spot when I need a stiff drink to unwind. Peccato has evolved over the years, shifting its old-world charm for a more modern aesthetic. The decor is minimal yet stylish, with muted tones and subtle lighting that casts a soft glow over the space. It's a welcome escape from the chaos outside- the hustle and bustle of Magnificent Mile. The tables are spaced strategically, offering a sense of privacy for guests. It's the kind of place where you can have an intimate conversation without worrying about being overheard.

Without hesitation, the moment she steps out of the car, I press her whole body between mine and the car. My silent way to tell her I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, at least not anytime soon. Our lips collide in a heated kiss, and she responds eagerly, her soft moan only fueling my desire to explore every inch of her. My dick is already painfully hard, and if I don't stop now, I'll fuck her right here in the parking lot for everyone to see. Reluctantly, I break the kiss, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside.

The hostess recognizes me and flashes a big, fake smile. Her eyes roam over my body until they land on my hand, holding Mia's. Instantly, the smile vanishes, but she maintains the same high-pitched voice when she greets me.

"Hello, Mr. Morelli," she begins, but her greeting falters, and her voice turns frosty as she directs her attention to Mia, "and... guest. Right this way, please," she says.

She takes us to my regular table, tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant, shielded from wandering eyes and curious ears. The table is oversized for just the two of us, but it's my preferred spot. Sitting here gives me a clear view of anyone coming or going before they can see me. It’s that time of day when the lunch rush has passed, but the dinner crowds haven't quite started yet. So, it's pretty empty right now, which suits me just fine.

“Do you know her?” Mia asks as we take our seats.

“This is my restaurant. So, I do know the employees,” I offer, omitting the details of how I really know the redhead at the front.

“Mhmm,” she hums while looking over the menu, not sparing me a second look. Clearly, she isn't buying my answer.

Tina, the hostess, comes back to the table—thank God for name tags because I'm shit when it comes to remembering names. “Jen is busy setting up dinner service, so I thought I’d take your drink order,” she offers. “I already know your usual, Mr. Morelli. What will your friend have?” She directs the question to Mia, emphasizing each syllable of the word "friend."

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