Page 79 of Secret Baby for the Italian Mafia Don

Meanwhile, Thaddeus has suddenly taken a strong dislike to alcohol. The past forty minutes, I have found various bullshit to toast to—the family, his future children, the business. His only aim right now is to sit there and not vomit on himself. If he does, he’s done for, and he knows it.

He’s drunk enough that he doesn’t notice that I scoot even closer to Ava, that my hand hangs between her legs and then inches up her thighs. I stroke my fingers up her skin without breaking eye contact with her fiancé. Ava goes still, frozen mid-bite, her chopsticks hovering near her lips. Finally, slowly, she finishes the bite and pretends nothing is happening as I drag my touch up toward her cunt.

She breathes out softly through her nose.

“Maybe you should order something to eat after all,” she suggests to me, through clenched teeth. “You’re drinking an awful lot.”

“I’ll have dessert.”

She swallows hard, her eyes roaming without seeing. I nudge her thighs apart. Ava complies, her legs drawn open as I work my hand under her. My fingers go still. I feel the subtle design of something lacey, and a satiny strap that hugs around her thigh. My touch stills as I piece together what it is I’m feeling.

Lingerie.

“Dessert sounds like a good idea,” Thaddeus is saying, unaware that there is a nuclear warhead going off inside my head.

Why the fuck is she wearing lingerie with him?

“Here’s your fucking dessert, Thad,” I cut across, not even being subtle now as I pour him another drink with my free hand, all the way to the brim, until he can’t even touch it without spilling it over the sides. “Don’t spoil the fun, Thaddeus. We’re not fucking done yet.”

He laughs, but it sounds desperate and panicked, trapped in this scenario with no way out.

Anger keeps me grounded, and burns up the alcohol as it hits my system. The world should be swimming like a fish tank, even for me, and I’ve got body weight on Thaddeus and less alcohol in my bloodstream. If the man makes it home tonight, it’ll be an act of God. Me and that fucker never really got along, so he probably will.

But Thaddeus isn’t the only one who needs to be punished.

Ava goes pink as I swallow my shot and take out the burn on her cunt, moving my fingers between her legs. Her breathing stills and her fingers loosen around her chopsticks. She stares into her plate with her eyes almost crossed as I force her to hold her expression, like I’m not rubbing the paint off that little clit right here under the table. Her thighs shake and clench around my hand, her expression vacant.

She tries to speak, but she can’t, her hand curling around the edge of the table as she almost bends over. She tries to close her thighs, but I’m not going anywhere, and she sits back sharply as I change the angle on her.

My hand cuts through her composure, while the alcohol cuts through Thaddeus’s.

At this rate, the fucker wouldn’t notice if Ava had an orgasm right in front of him. His tongue loosens up and his temper flares like a cornered animal’s.

“Do you want to fuck her? Is that it?” he asks, drunk and despairing as his words slur out of his mouth. “Or is this about Marcel? About Sal? What the fuck do youwantfrom me, Nico?” he asks, half begging as he sways pitifully in his seat.

Ava bites back a whimper as Thaddeus asks if I want to fuck her, while my hand is already on her cunt.

“I want to toast to your health, Thaddeus.”

“Nico, that’s enough,” Ava says, begging me on two fronts. Her knuckles are white. “You’re going to send him to the hospital.”

“I wouldn’t waste their time. I’m going to send him to the morgue.”

Her eyelids flutter beautifully.

Thaddeus lurches to his feet. Bad idea. He sways hard, almost going down in the middle of the crowded room. I slide my hand away from Ava as the attention shifts to our table. Conversation lulls as Thaddeus stumbles around on his feet. His face gleams red and his eyes glimmer. He’s well and truly fucked up. Just as he almost gets those spindly legs under him, taking that first brave, wobbling step toward the bathroom, I rise and block his path.

“Wrong way, Thaddeus. Exit’s over there.” I nod over his shoulder to the entryway. He’s not too drunk to catch my meaning. His bleary gaze shifts from the toilets to the street. With a tiny nod of my head, I kick him out of the restaurant, out of our company, out of my sight.

He’s too drunk to fight me on it, too desperate to go somewhere and puke his guts out. He turns, veering clumsily, not sober enough to even argue as he tries to get out, to get anywhere private. He hits the door like an insect on a windshield before he manages to push it open.

I join Ava again, sliding into the same booth with her even when there are only two of us. She sighs, her relief double-sided. Her cheeks are still pink, and she’s the only one at this table who hasn’t drunk a drop.

“Jesus Christ, Nico,” she breathes, annoyed and flustered all at once. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to make me feel sorry for him.”

“Pity him all you want. Nobody’s ever gotten married because they feel sorry for somebody. Besides, you started it.”

She smiles guiltily at that.

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