Page 41 of Princess of the Mafia

The Cosa Nostra etched infidelity far deeper than our own mottos. This was what we did. What we had always done from generations past.

The only faithful man that I knew of was Capizzi, but I considered him pussy whipped just because he chose to go to his wife every fucking night. Would Di Matteo stay faithful? I imagined if he went through what he did, he might just not marry at all. But he had to. As the Don. So was he going to be faithful?

Why did she fucking expect me to be? Except she didn’t. And that pissed me off above all else. The thought had never even crossed my mind to be anything but unfaithful, and I didn’t even know if I could be anything but that. Did I have the will to? Or would it crawl in like the need to smoke when agitation arose? Did she know me better than I did?

It irked me beyond what I cared to admit that she was waiting for it rather than believing in me, in us, in our marriage.

But then again, her stricken look smacked me in my face, and I wanted so badly to prove her wrong. To prove to her day by day that I was worth the fuck. That we were worth it.

“Hi.”

I shifted my gaze to the door. The room had gotten dark without warning, and a soft, hesitant voice called out from the doorway of the dimly lit hallway.

My chest filled with relief as she stepped hesitantly into my office.

She wrung her hands before her and filled the room with her broken words.

“I’m sorry.”

Fuck! It hurt me more that she’d apologize for something she had no control over. Because of the actions of a jackass.

She took three steps into the room, and I found myself in front of her. My hands hitched her up on me like before, and I carried her over the mess littering the floor back to my chair.

I told myself it was because I didn’t want her to hurt her dainty feet on the glass. But it was only partly the reason. I kind of liked how she crawled up me, like a koala bear.

I rocked back on the chair with her straddling me, and the intimacy of the position glazed over me like the finest whiskey that had touched my tongue. She was still in her shorts and t-shirt and clearly had no idea how tempting she looked as she sat on me, my dick almost in her pussy, with her hair in tangles, and her face makeup free. I rolled my head to block the nasty thoughts riling me. I wanted to grab her and wipe that sad tilt off her lips with my own. Stuff my dick inside her and make her ride me and hear her moan. There was some sanity somewhere in my depths because the memories of today and her red, tear-stained eyes held back the monster in me. By an inch and with a thin, threaded line.

She rested her head on my chest like I was her fucking comfort to her daddy issues. I was not even sure why that idea warmed me up like fucking mercury.

My hand found its way to her hair and trailed it softly. A sigh left my lips as the soft tendrils wrapped around my thick fingers, the texture of silk catching on my calloused skin.

“I’ve fired the maid,” I said gruffly.

She stiffened in my arms while the awkwardness of forgotten memories crept into the room.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so softly that I almost missed it.

Wish I had because it pissed me off. She was a fucking princess. She had no business apologizing.

“Fucking stop apologizing.”

My tone was harsher than I intended to. But really, I couldn’t be all things to her. I was no gentleman, and kindness was a far-fetched trait for me. I was trying for the faithful part, and that was all that she would get from me.

“We’ll have to hire someone else since apparently you can’t cook.”

Jesus! That came out all accusing. Probably because I was pissed off. This wasn’t what I had wanted. I wanted a quiet doll with home-cooked meals. She was a messed up firecracker who apparently didn’t know how to boil a damn egg. I was beginning to wonder why I was not returning her to her brother.

“Can you hire a man?”

I gritted my teeth. Should have returned her. “Not going to happen.”

“I don’t want a woman.” Her words rumbled on my chest, and suddenly, I remembered what it had felt like to have her against my naked chest.

I cocked her chin up to look at me. “Then we’re going to have a problem, Principessa. We need to eat. Why don’t you know how to cook, anyway? Didn’t your mamma teach you?”

She jerked her head to look away. “Didn’t want to learn.”

There was an entire story behind that line and the hunched shoulders. One I wanted to know, but not today. She’d gone through enough already.

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