Page 22 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

She’s a bona fide Mafia princess. Too valuable to pair off with a lowly piece of scum like Abrashi.

“Hana was showing me her picture on social media. Check her out. You might like what you see.”

My turn to snort. “Three weeks married, and you’re already turning matchmaker. I’m not thirty yet, and I plan to enjoy the remainder of my free years.”

It’s like this in our world—green until a boy turns thirty; then once that age clocks,mammasandnonnasalike are banging on your door asking why you haven’t settled down yet to give them thebambinosthey crave, like they want to collect two hundred without passing Go. Can’t win either way.

“At least the old women won’t be beating down your door now,” I continue.

“Yeah.”

It’s disgusting how besotted he looks, how happy. I’ve never envied my best friend before, but today, I want to beat him to a pulp for having found the elusive one to share the rest of his life with. Because I’ve been denied this chance. One look at her, and I knew Bianca Bonucci was all I’ve ever wanted, all I’d ever want.

And she can never be mine.

Giggles reach our ears, and we look up. Which was a terrible mistake.

Those scraps of cloth Hana was giving Bianca? It’s a bikini,proudly displayed on her body now as she walks toward us. Proudly showcasing an almost obscene amount of naked skin, the sinful curves of her alluring flesh.

Dio santo, I’m not a weak man. But this? Lord have mercy.

She’s right there, so near, so delectable, so fuckable, all I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and take her to the nearest bedroom, slam her down on the bed, undo those ties at the side of her hips and in her back with my teeth, before grazing my tongue over her exposed belly, going down into the wet folds of her pussy while my hands grab her bountiful breasts and squeeze, hard—

The glass shatters in my grip. Everyone is startled. Bianca stares at me with wide eyes, mouth parted in a small ‘o.’ All I can think of is pushing my erect cock between those lips, fuck that mouth long and hard, come at the back of her throat…

A garbled groan rises in my throat, but I quell it.

I can’t stay here. She’ll be the death of me. And if I make any move toward her, my intentions will be crystal-clear and then her brother will end me.

The only thing I can and should do? Place the broken pieces of glass on the island then turn around and hightail it out of there as I push my bloodied hand into my pocket to not soil their floor.

A piece of glass is lodged in my skin, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

Exactly like the very thought of Bianca Bonucci slashes into my entire being now.

Chapter 6

Bianca

It’s official: I’ve run out of things to say. All the time in Switzerland’s best finishing school can’t prepare someone for making small talk with a person who has the conversational skills of a piece of cheese. And even cheese is good for something.

This man, on the other hand, is as useless as a strain of bacteria that does nothing. This man, my fiancé.

We’re sitting at a table at the illustrious Richmond Club located on the south-west corner of Lenox Hill and Central Park, a stone’s throw from the Plaza Hotel. It has a refined ambiance and delicious food, though I can’t appreciate either tonight.

It’s my fourth ‘date’ with my fiancé. Four months since our engagement has been announced, and we’ve met just as many times, if you discount my brother’s wedding from the list. He’s a busy man, it appears, Ardian Abrashi. Busy doing what? Crunching numbers? Even that didn’t get him talking—I asked about his job on our first outing. Books on the second—he doesn’t read, prefers TV. Food tastes on the third—he eats everything, he says.

I have no clue what to ask today. My eyes return to the Rolex on his wrist. Different one from the wedding. Is he into watches?

“You like Rolexes?” I ask.

He shrugs. “They’re good.”

Okay, I’d stand a better chance of pulling words from a rock. To think I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this meat suit filled with absolutely zero personality? How are we going to manage that? I shudder just thinking about it.

Ardian’s eyes narrow on me. They’re especially assessing tonight. I better be careful. Has he noticed me shivering? Is he going to ask me if I’m cold, show he cares, at least a little bit?

“You haven’t touched your wine,” he says.

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