Page 1 of Risky Vows

1

Massimo

"Oh, yes, that's it,"Daphne whispers as I slam inside her. "So good, Massimo."

I look at her blonde hair sprawled over the pillow and the sweat glistening over her pretty, flushed face. We've known each other for years and fuck often. But after today, it's sadly coming to an end. Because in a few hours, I'll marry someone else.

The idea brings bile to my throat, and I intensify my thrusts, a growl rising from deep within my lungs. I fuck Daphne like I'm fucking the stupid notion of family loyalty. And duties—ah, how I wish I could fuck those.

"Massimo, oh. You're too much," she says.

I know she likes it. And right now, what she likes isn't my concern. She scratches my arms, her moans filling her bedroom, her pupils dilating with pleasure. I flick her clit a few times, and that does it.

Daphne comes, screaming my name like I'm her savior. "Yes, oh babe, I love how hard you fuck me. Yes."

I bet she does.

Most women do.

There's a dark, twisty element to being fucked by one of the most established mafia kings in Chicago that adds excitement to their experience.

I could fuck her again… but I can't. At least, not for a while.

The thought weaves itself into my brain again, and I plunge all the way into her, hard and deep, a few more times, then claim her mouth with mine. Even though she's half dead after the past couple of hours of nonstop fucking, she takes my kiss like she would take anything else I gave her.

Like she took me in her ass countless times. Or when I invited two of her girlfriends to join us one night. That night, I left all three girls sated and exhausted in a sweaty, messy pile of bodies.

That's Daphne. She's a part-time burlesque dancer. She likes to get fucked.

"Yes, I'm coming again," she shouts.

I flip her around and, in a matter of minutes, come inside her pussy.

I remove my cock, walk to the bathroom, dispose of my condom, and wash my hands. Then, I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is ruffled, and there's a look of contempt in my eyes that not even all the fucking in the goddamn world can wipe away.

It's happening.

I'm marrying Amara Montefiore, the heiress of an established mafia family in Chicago, who has been here much longer than we have. Former competition. They own many rundown properties in areas of the city where we want to grow our businesses. On their side, they have tradition and contacts, and we have money and a thirst for expansion. Their profits have declined over the past three years due to family issues and poor management. I'll jump in and take care of it and run theirbusinesses. My family will get a generous cut, plus access to certain neighborhoods. The marriage will solidify the alliance—a fast way to build trust.

I never wanted to marry the opponent's daughter. I don't trust this alliance, but my father does. And what Aldo Gallo wants, he gets—even if he has to use every weapon at his disposal.

I robbed my father of my mom. When I was fifteen, I was supposed to protect her, and she was killed while under my watch. She died because of me, and I give my dad props for doing his best to move forward and forgive me. Act like I haven't done anything wrong.

Now, the time has come to cash in the favor. I can't say no.

"Was this the bachelor's special?" Daphne asks from the bed.

I return to the bedroom's interior and scoop my clothes off the floor. No. The bachelor's special was last night when my three brothers and a few friends closed down an entire strip club. It was special, all right. "You can say that."

"When will I see you again?"

"Not sure." I swallow a lump in my throat. I like Daphne. She's nice. But seeing her again could jeopardize this marriage, at least initially. Most likely, after a while, my new bride will be happy when I fill my sexual needs elsewhere.

The few times I met Amara, she didn't seem enthused about marrying me either.

"You never told me much about this Amara girl," Daphne says. "Is she better looking than me? I searched her online, but she has no social media."

The image of the long brown hair cascading on a heart-shaped face fills my brain. Amara isn't bad on the eyes. From what I saw, she's perfection—generously curvy hips and a nice ass, and big breasts with a waist that isn't all that narrow. Shehas a body that's sexy and ripe, and some idiots would even call her too curvaceous. Too outside of the size two norm.

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