Page 45 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

“On your fucking knees.”

How he’s instantly hard again, I have no idea. But any chance to have this gorgeous cock in my mouth, I’m going to take it. This isn’t a punishment; it’s a reward. I guess he likes being called “daddy” by his little brat.

It doesn’t take long before he’s fisting my hair, and I’m swallowing his cum as he grunts out my praises. Helping me stand, he just looks at me for a moment before licking a bead of cum running from the side of my mouth. He sucks on my bottom lip and gives me a quick swipe of his tongue before I pull away with a giggle.

He’s acting like a teenage boy who came in his pants after copping his first feel.

“Now, get out so I can freshen up. I totally look like I just got my brains fucked out in the bathroom.”

Enzo’s smile could brighten any of my darkest days, and I can’t help but stare at him when he does it. “You totally did just get your brains fucked out in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I did.” I grab his hip and lean up to kiss him. “And it was some good dick too.” I lick his bottom lip, and he groans, rolling his head back and closing his eyes.

“Please, can we just go home? We have so much more fucking each other’s brains out to do.”

It makes me chuckle, and my stomach does somersaults.

“No, I’m hungry. So, feed me.” I pause, realizing my mistake. “Something other than your dick. And your fingers,” I quickly add, making him resign. “Food, then fucking.”

“Fine.” He kisses the tip of my nose and steps toward the locked door.

I’m sure there’s a line a mile long of poor old ladies nearly wetting their panty liners, waiting to use the bathroom.

Sure enough, Enzo leaves, and within a minute, an older woman comes in as well. I catch her eye in the mirror and give her a courteous smile and a nod. It must smell like sex in here. There’s no mistaking what just went down, but she’s a lady, and we both act like everything is normal.

I’m fixing my makeup when she exits the bathroom stall to wash her hands, and I remember who she is: the wife of the first asshat who danced with me, Mr. Moretti.

“Hi, Marie, my name is Marie too.” I break the silence with something polite.

“Oh, my name is not Marie.” She answers, her old age making her voice shake. “I’m Eloise. Pleased to meet you.”

“I apologize. I could have sworn Mr. Moretti said his ‘lovely wife’s name is Marie.’” I mock his tone, and she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ah, his first wife. He always preferred her over me.”

Great, now I’m the asshole.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I instantly feel bad for her. That must feel horrible, knowing your husband still loves his first wife. “May I ask what happened to her?”

“It’s rather tragic. But he had a debt he couldn’t pay.”

Oh my God.

“She paid it for him, with her life.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit is right. My father was a hard boss, but in some territories, you have to be.” She takes out a cigarette from a silver case and closes it. She clicks a button, and a small flame from one of the case’s corners lights it for her. She releases a plume toward the ceiling. “Then I was his second punishment. He had to marry me to show his loyalty and all. Provide an heir, all that jazz. Except the bastard is impotent.”

I gasp. This old lady is a riot, and it gives me an idea. “He tried to hook me up with his son, though.”

“His wife stepped out on him. There was a rumor the child belonged to Caputo.”

My heart skips a beat at the mention of my father, then rushes forward again.

“But it wasn’t. Us ladies talk. We know who’s fucking who, so we don’t cross each other… most of the time.” She winks. “She was having an affair with one of the lower-level members of her father’s crew. Moretti just can’t admit that because then everyone will know he has a limp dick.”

It makes me snort.

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