Page 28 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

She’s right.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” My right fist hits the beam in time with each swear.

“Leo, stop.”

Her soft murmur makes me want to cry. I’ve never felt the urge to bawl like this before, not even when my mother walked out on all of us when I was just eight, my youngest brother still a baby.

Her gentle hands cradle my right hand. When her thumb grazes the open cuts on my knuckles, I hiss in a breath.

Bianca. She calls out to the basest instincts in me—all I want is to fuck her and also kill for her, so she can be mine, so there’ll be no doubt to anyone about her belonging with me. But something in her also calms the rage inside, soothes the monster just waiting to come out the second I let my guard down.

“Why?” I ask her, voice low, almost inaudible. “Why couldn’t we have met before, you and I?”

If I hadn’t brushed Mattia off when he told me to accompany him to Paris for the New Year, I would’ve met the woman she’s become then. I would’ve been able to claim her before her father paired her off with that bastard of Abrashi.

“Mon cœur,” she says, before dropping a soft kiss on a torn knuckle. “You know as well as I do our fathers would never agree to us getting married.”

She’s right, never mind how much I abhor this state of affairs. There’s a hierarchy in our organization, just like in thearistocracy. Dons are all the way up, the princes and dukes of our world.Borgatas—families or houses—they run the gamut in ranks below, all the way from prestigious marquess to lowly baron.

A baron’s daughter, despite still being an aristocrat, stands hardly a chance of being married off to a prince’s offspring, his heir, no less. And certainly not when there are plenty of eligible daughters of princes and dukes to contend with.

On days like this, I curse my origins.

“Your father has an enforcer, Leo. One day, you will, too.”

An enforcer is the one who, like the title suggests, enforces the will of his Don, the one who gets his hands dirty for him, literally. It’s a measure of the danger that riddles the world of a Don and his family.

One such as mine. Don Pellegrini is fearsome and feared—big shoes I’ll have to fill in when my time comes. No man aside from another Don wants his daughter entangled with the likes of us.

“What happened between us,” she continues. “We have to forget it ever did.”

I bristle. She shouldn’t have said this.

I stand up straighter, and Bianca gasps. Before she can move away, I reach out and clasp her shoulders, swivel her body to the right, and plaster her back to the wall. I don’t care that I’m being heavy-handed. She needs to understand this wasn’t a game to me. A mistake, it was not, because mistakes don’t burrow their way into your skin like a splinter, finding a way into your blood to keep you awake all night with your cock seeking release andnever finding it.

A mistake doesn’t make a heart pound this much with yearning, with need.

A moment of lucidity strikes me.

What am I doing?

My eyes flick to hers. But instead of fear in these brown depths, all I can see are liquid pools of dark desire. Dilated pupils, parted lips, flushed cheeks. She’s aroused. I bet I can smell her arousal if I go looking.

I force a knee between her legs. No resistance from her as I part them open, as my hand lowers to then crawl up under the skirt of her wrap dress, from her knee to the apex of her thighs.

Her sex is warm, panties soaked already. I push them to the side with my middle finger, find her folds drenched, and sink it inside her hot channel. My eyes never leave hers all this time, and I can see desire, yearning, need bursting in her gaze, hear it in the soft pant from her lips, feel it in her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breasts brushing my torso, in the clenching of her pussy around my digit.

When she gasps, I smile and pull my finger out. It makes its way into my mouth, where I savor her taste.

Her body is now plastered against mine, and I slam her into the wall as much from desire as from the need to hold her as I brace my feet on the floor, my hands on either side of her head. Our heavy breaths mingle, and my mouth hears the call, crashing against hers to demand, seek, take, plunder.

Her lips and tongue are just as voracious, and her hands aregripping my sides, twisting the fabric of my shirt in her grip. Her hips arch into me, her sex pressing into my engorged cock in my pants, with too much clothing between us. I need to get us naked. Open my zipper, pull up her skirt, rip her panties.

I’m lost in a haze of sexual need when Bianca’s hands press onto my shoulders and she pushes me away.

“I can’t do this,” she cries before she grabs her bag and hightails it out of the loft.

I’m never going to force a woman to be with me, sexually or otherwise. The fact I let her go right now? It means I’ve lost her. For good.

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