Page 17 of Married to the Mafia Devil

He nods. “I locked myself away in here after they died. Started drinking to numb the pain of it all, the injustice. Took a long time to get myself back out on the streets.”

“Agoraphobia? You mentioned it in my bedroom.”

“In the past now. I got our empire back on top and I’m about to cement a deal with the city that will secure our power for decades. If I can get that file back.”

“What file?”

“In the suitcase is a file with all the dirty secrets of the members of the appropriations committee. Without it, I can’t force them to sell the land by the river to me. I know for a fact development will be approved one way or another. The value is only going to go up. We build on there and we earn a billion in five years. Petrovitch wants to show me he’s still the big man in New York. He paid those two corpses to get the file out of my secure vault. Your father was hired to move it for them.”

“You don’t have a copy?”

“You don’t make copies of this kind of thing.”

“So he can blackmail them now he has the file? Win this big deal?”

“It’s encrypted but if he cracks the code, he gets that land for himself. Fill it with brothels like the one you saw today. I can’t let that happen. I need to make this deal work, for my parents as much as for me. I must get that file back.”

He puts the book back on the shelf, making sure it’s aligned perfectly with the others. “You spoke to your sister?” he asks.

“Just now. She said you’ve put alarms all over the building.”

“My men are good. Nothing will happen to her. Now, you should get cleaned up. I’ve had some clothes put in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll be in the conservatory when you’re done.” He heads for the door. “This way.”

I follow him until he motions toward an open door. He walks off without speaking and I watch him go. He looks like a man in total control of his world but I can already see that’s not true. He’s as formed by his past as I am by mine. No wonder he wants to control everything after what happened to his parents. The cracks are visible though. He’s deeper than he thinks he is. Capable of more.

I lock the bathroom door behind me, leaning back against it. I smile to myself. No rituals here. Not yet, at least.

I undress and climb into the shower. As the water cascades over me at a constant heat, I can't help but think of how different it is to my place. Shared bathroom, shower that alternately scalds and freezes. Mold creeping across the tiles no matter how often I clean.

This place is so different. The bathroom is huge, the tiles spotless. I could get used to being in a place like this. I close my eyes and let my mind drift. I imagine the door opening, him coming in, seeing me in the shower, climbing in with me, his suit getting soaked but he doesn’t care.

I don’t know where the fantasy came from but I don’t want it to vanish. I picture his hands moving down my body, teasing my pussy, his lips on my neck as he plunges a finger deep into me. He tells me I’m his wife, he can do what he wants to me. I protest but he presses his mouth onto mine, owning me completely.

I imagine him taking my virginity and as I dream of the moment, I touch my clit, easing the tension that’s building there. Shifting my body, I let the showerhead hit the right spot, the pressure of the water getting me close to the edge in minutes. I keep picturing his hands on me, his body towering over mine, his cock easing into me, his growling voice by my ear, talking dirty to me, telling me how much he wants me.

A minute later, I gasp out loud as an orgasm hits me. “Matteo,” I call out, unable to stop myself. My legs go weak as it courses through me, my heart thumping in my chest. The dream fades and I’m left with shaking fingers and a racing heart.

I turn off the water, drying myself with enormous fluffy towels, trying to ignore what I just did. It’s a stupid dream. The man’s a coldhearted killer, not exactly the Mr. Right I’ve been holding out for.

When I'm dressed again in the clothes he’s provided, I find him in the conservatory, buried in a book. He looks like the weight of the entire world is on his shoulders.

“I have work to do,” he says when he spots me watching him. “I should get to it.” He climbs to his feet as if I’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of reading,” I say, taking a step toward him.

“You’ll need to occupy yourself,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for discussion. “I have calls to make. Marcella will look after you for now.”

I turn to find a woman in her mid-fifties nodding at him as he passes. Her smile is warm as she walks over to me. “What can I do for you, Miss Thompson?” she asks. “Are you hungry at all?”

“All I need is somewhere to read,” I tell her, seeking solace in the familiar comfort of books.

“Yes, ma’am. The library should suit your purposes best.”

She leads me down a corridor and through a set of double doors. I gasp at the sight. The library is vast, almost cathedral-like in its scope, with soaring ceilings high above me.

The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with shelves that brim with books, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors and textures that catch my eyes.

Each shelf is masterfully crafted from dark, polished wood that gleams under the soft, golden light of ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, inviting glow over the leather-bound treasures they cradle.

---