Page 73 of Heartless Mafia Prince

I sighed. “Listen, Ryah asked if I’d join you all on your bizarre family vacation.”

His brows lowered. “What makes it bizarre?”

“I don’t know. Maybe taking Ryah on vacation with you and Rosetta.”

He cocked his head to the side. “She’s my wife.”

“On paper only,” I muttered on a chuckle.

“Vacationing in the Caymans makes her happy. She puts up with a lot of shit. Don’t you think?”

I shook my head. “Yeah.”

Bracing my hands on the arms of the chair I stood. “I bought dinner. Oh, and I’d like to bring Ryah on my family trip this summer, too.”

His eyes narrowed.

I placed my hands up as if I were surrendering. “Of course, she’ll have her own room.”

“Just like you’ll have on our vacation,” he scowled.

The separate rooms we agreed upon wouldn’t stop me from sleeping next to her every night. “Ok, I’ll get back to Ryah.”

I turned and walked out before he changed his mind.

Ryah shoved pasta into her mouth as I turned into the kitchen. “What did he say?”

I peeked at the chicken on the plate next to hers. The smell of fresh squeezed lemon juice swept up my nose. My stomach grumbled at the sight of the Chicken Piccata.

“I told him I was coming on your family vacation and you’d be my guest on mine.”

She threw her arms around my neck. “I can’t wait.”

Ryah nuzzled my cheek. Silence fell between us.

“I want you on your knees after we’ve finished our homework.”

The beat of my heart banged in my chest at a rapid rate. My nerves were always on edge around her.

She placed my hands on her hips. “I’m ready, Rocco.”

My lips pressed against her neck. I didn’t say a word. At the beginning of our relationship, every weekend I rubbed her little nub in the middle of the night. Then I starved her of what she craved most. Me. Or my hand. Shit, I felt it was one in the same.

I squeezed her waist and her body quaked in my grasp.

“Ok, Ryah.” There was no place I’d rather be than deep inside her tight pussy. Beating off was getting old. But I was ok with it. Because I had no intention of pushing her to move too fast.

“Smells like Chicken Piccata,” I heard across the kitchen.

Ryah jumped back.

He snuck up on us. Bet he walked down here in his socks to catch us doing what, I didn’t know. Or maybe to eavesdrop on our conversation. If he indeed heard what she asked he couldn’t be upset with me. His daughter wanted it.

I sat and shrugged out of my jacket. “Yeah, Ryah’s favorite.”

Luciano’s narrowed eyes darted between us.

“There’s cannoli in there, too.” I pointed with my eyes at the large paper bag.

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