Page 24 of Married to the Mafia

She’s naked in the tub right now. I could walk in there and fuck her, and there’s not a thing she could do to stop me.

No.

I have to follow the rules. For the marriage to stand and me to get the role I deserve, I have to follow the rules.

The rules are important. Without rules, we’re nothing but animals. I’m not an animal. When I’m Capo dei Capi, a lot of things will change around here.

I will make the rules, not follow them. First, getting rid of the Belucci name. It’ll be history. Especially Ricardo.

If I had a son, I would not have him raised the sameway. I would make sure he understood what respect was, why it mattered so much.

Ricardo thinks the world exists in order for him to profit from its pain. He does not understand nuance. All he cares about is his own pleasure. I’ve known that ever since he got my dog killed. He cares about the pain of others. It’s no wonder he graduated from animals to women.

Which would be fine if not for the ways he gains that pleasure, torturing and killing helpless women. Eating them too, if the rumors are to be believed. The Don covers up for him instead of disciplining him. It’s no wonder he ended up like this.

It’ll be a mercy to kill him once this is over. There will be peace and I shall maintain it. Anyone who breaks it will not be long for this world.

With peace comes prosperity. It’s difficult to focus on the parts of the business that make a profit while having to watch for rivals waiting to whack you.

We can make a fortune if we just stopped fighting each other for long enough to take on the authorities. We’d be unstoppable.

That’s what matters. Getting one over on the Feds. Respect. Where it belongs. The family on top. Everyone is relying on me and I will not let them down.

Which is why I resist going into the bathroom and fucking her while she’s relaxing in the tub. I will marry her first. We will do everything the right way.

Once she says I do, that’s when I will start doing whatever the fuck I want to her. She will take it because she’s my wife. She’s about to become the means to the ends, the way I become the Don of Dons.

She does not know the things I’ve done in the past to get this close. No need to tell her unless she tries to escape. Ifshe makes a run for it, I will tell her what I’ve done, let her see that I’m a man to obey. Let her truly fear me. It’ll help keep her in line.

There’s a buzz from the corner of the room. She’s hit the button. I get to my feet, drain my glass, and enjoy the taste of the fiery liquor burning its way into my stomach. I walk from the study back upstairs and push open the bathroom door.

She’s wrapped in a towel and for a moment I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t do anything except stare. She looks stunningly beautiful, like an ocean goddess emerging from the sea, her hair trailing down her back.

The towel is short enough to show off her legs but not too much, hiding the parts I want to see the most.

That’s the thing about women. Once they’re naked, the mystery has gone. It’s just a naked body and I’ve seen many of those in my time. But with something wrapping them, concealing them? Then the mystery remains.

It is far more erotic to see a woman concealing the parts of her I most want to see.

Her in underwear when she arrived here had that effect on me. It’s the same now.

Rose wearing a towel like this, the way her tits push the fabric forward as she stares at me, a mixture of hatred and fear in her eyes. I want her more than I ever wanted anyone.

I tell myself to be patient. I don’t have long to wait. Tomorrow night she will be my bride and then she will be mine.

“This way,” I tell her, passing her a dressing gown. She turns away and wraps the gown around herself, letting the towel fall to the floor.

Again, I’m caught by the sudden urge to fuck her. She has no idea what’s going through my head, how hard I’mfinding it to resist pushing my cock straight into her mouth, to see that innocent expression change into something far dirtier.

She turns back to face me, tying the cord around her waist. “What now?” she asks, her voice as defiant as her face as she folds her arms across her chest.

“You return to the basement,” I say.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

“If I let you leave, within an hour Ricardo Belucci will have you collected. Shortly after that, he will marry you. After that your life will comprise torture until he tires of you at which point he’ll kill you.”

“But why would he kill me? Why would he even marry me? I don’t see why you’re all fighting over me. What am I to you?”

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