Page 23 of Dangerous Secrets

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Fuck…” I whimper, gasping as he does it again. His hand comes down on my clit and lips, slapping me hard. I whimper and shake and his other arm holds me up. I lift a leg and rest it on the chair and he does it again, and again. It stings and stimulates me at the same time. My pussy is raw, screaming for him to penetrate me, and he just keeps spanking it. I’m so turned on I could come just from his smacking, but he doesn’t make me suffer such a moderate orgasm.

Rome unzips his fly and pulls his cock out, forcing me down over the chair again as he rubs it against me. My fingers go to my clit instinctively and I rub. I’m tender, almost too tender to touch, but the moment he slides into me and starts fucking me, I am on the edge. His cock fills me and pushes to my back wall and he fucks me hard.

“Shit… oh god,” I moan and rub myself. It’s incredible the way he makes me feel. I wince and whimper and then I forget everything, even his hands as they grip my body right on my bruises and pull me toward him.

I come hard and the convulsions make me forget everything except his cock in me. I wail out the pleasure and ride out the orgasm. His dick explodes, flooding me with hot sticky cum and enjoyment. This is the hottest sex we’ve had in weeks and I’m ready to pass out. My blood pressure has to be through the roof.

He pulls out and I straighten and lean against him. His dick is hard against my ass, but I know he’s satisfied. He kisses my neck as he squeezes my tit again and I feel him draining out of me and down my thigh. My mind is a whir of thoughts that I can’t express. I can’t tell him I’m the assassin he’s hunting. Can’t tell him I’m having his baby without also confessing I’m hired to kill him. Can’t tell my family about the baby either. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, and I hate every second of it.

He pulls away and I hear him zip his zipper, so I bend and pull my leggings up, not even attempting to clean the mess. When—and I don’t say if because now that I’ve met Dominic it’s almost a certainty—he asks me to attend his father’s funeral, Mickey will expect me to kill them. I have to decide what to tell him and how I will do it before then.

If not, Mickey will kill us all.

15

ROME

Dad lays in bed struggling to breathe and it’s hard to watch. One diagnosis has led to another and then another, and after the grim prognosis, we all resigned ourselves to the fact that he needs to be comfortable more than we need him to stay here. The drugs they have him on are heavy and so is my heart. I wish Bianca was here to sit at my side and make me feel more human—not the machine I am.

I hold his hand and look at the thin skin and wrinkles. I can see the blue veins and vessels that snake beneath its surface toward his fingertips. These hands have seen a lifetime of pain and heartache. They’ve wrought victories and fought and lost difficult battles. They raised four sons, buried two wives, held and let go of fortunes, all in the sixty-nine years they’ve existed. There is so much wisdom and hope my father can impart to us, and he has.

The rhythmic whir and beep of the machines they have him hooked up to keep me company in the otherwise silent room as I think about how my life should be going right now. Most men are settled down with a woman long before they’re my age, but my duty to my family has always come first. It makes me question some choices I’ve made, and some that were made for me too.

As I sit here next to my dying father, I can't help but think about the path I have chosen in life. Growing up in a mafia family, I never had much of a choice. It was expected of me to follow in my father's footsteps, to continue the family business once he was gone. I was groomed from a young age to be a killer, to make tough decisions, and to always put the family's interests above my own.

But as I sit here watching my father take his last breaths, I can't help but wonder if it was all worth it. The power, the money, the respect—it all seems so trivial now. All I can think about is the time I wasted, the relationships I ruined, and the people I hurt in the pursuit of this life.

I look down at my hands, calloused and scarred from years of violence and bloodshed. These hands have taken lives, destroyed families, and caused so much pain. But they have also protected my family, upheld our honor, and ensured our survival in a world that is not kind to those like us. I am conflicted, torn between my duty and my conscience.

As I sit there, lost in thought, a nurse walks into the room, interrupting my inner turmoil. She checks my father’s vitals and adjusts some of the machines. I watch her as she works, admiring the care and attention she gives to my father. For a moment, I envy her. She gets to save lives, to make a difference in the world. What have I ever done that was truly meaningful?

The nurse smiles at me and leaves the room again and me to my thoughts. I will kill the assassin and defend our family, but after that I want a family. I want a wife who will give me children and I want to raise my children to take my place in this legacy when I'm gone. I'm not getting any younger.

My thoughts are interrupted once again when my father’s hand twitches in mine. I look up at him and see his eyes slowly opening. His breathing becomes more labored and I can see the pain etched on his face. I reach for the button to call the nurse, but he grips my hand tighter, stopping me.

“Son,” he whispers, his voice raspy and weak. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I squeeze his hand gently, feeling the weight of his words sink in. Despite everything, I am still his son, and he is still my father. His eyes are clouded with pain and regret, and I can see the weight of his own choices bearing down on him.

“Dad,” I say softly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He takes a deep breath, his chest heaving, and I can tell that he is struggling to get the words out.

“You have to...protect the family,” he says, his voice barely audible. “You have to...”

He trails off, unable to continue. I know what he is trying to say.

His dying wish is that my brothers and I bind together to commit to his dream of seeing our family become the most powerful in New York. We are well on our way. The Italians are floundering, throwing out every last-ditch attempt to get in our way, but we will overcome.

"I know, Dad..."

The machine starts to beep loudly, a long monotone chime piercing the silence. My heart races as I watch the numbers on the monitor start to drop. Brewster rushes in followed by a few nurses. They start to work frantically on my father.

I stand back helplessly, observing their frantic attempts to keep him alive. I don't think I can take it if he dies right now and my mind is full of ‘what ifs’.

Suddenly, his eyes snap open and he looks right at me with an intensity that leaves me speechless. He knows what's about to happen—he knows that death is coming for him, but he refuses to accept it without a fight.

---