Page 63 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

I nodded. “It’s going to take time for me to get used to my new life.”

“Claire, I know.” He stepped away.

I felt empty and cold, wishing he’d hold me forever.

Vino closed the stopper, plugging the tub, and ran the hot water. He grabbed the bath gel off the side of the tub and poured it under the water. This was all foreign to me. The man was so thoughtful. It was odd because I could tell all his moves were genuine.

“I’ve never prepared a bath for a woman before because they never stayed over,” Vino confessed. “I’m doing this for you because it’s something I would do for the woman I want to be with for the rest of my life.” He gave me a quick look over his shoulder before heading into the shower.

I gasped at his words before closing the door. It didn’t make sense to tell him we could’ve used separate bathrooms. This was what he wanted.

I stripped out of his clothes and released my hair from his tie. My eyes moved over his expensive tie on the counter. I didn’t want to give it back.

I cautiously dipped a toe into the water to check its temperature against my skin. I could sense Vino watching me as I swirled the water in the tub, tweaking the cold and hot water knobs until I achieved the ideal balance.

He got an A for effort. At least he tried.

As I lowered into the sudsy water, I exhaled. The silky hot water on my skin felt refreshing. A bath always calmed me. I ran the loofah bath sponge over my skin. After I finished washing my body, I slipped under the water to rinse the conditioner out of my hair.

When I resurfaced for air, I found Vino seated on the edge of the tub, a gray towel hanging low on his waist. I ran my hands over my face, wiping away the excess water, as my gaze wandered over his sculpted frame. His dark, curly hair, slicked back by the water, caught the light, and droplets cascaded slowly down his broad shoulders.

“I’m going to start dinner.”

“You’re cooking for us?” I smiled up at him.

He leaned over and took my lips. “Yes.”

My heart fluttered in my chest as I deepened our kiss. “Vino,” I moaned.

I eased back and sighed. “I need to pull myself together before dinner. I wish I had my blow dryer and curling irons.”?

“Xavier probably grabbed those for you. I’ll find them and bring them upstairs,” he replied, rising to his full height.

I stood on my knees and trailed my fingers along his chiseled abs. “Later, I want you to fuck me again,” I whispered.

His tongue flicked over his lower lip as his eyes darkened with desire. “You have no idea how hard it is to resist fucking you right now—I’ve been dying to have you all day.” He gripped my chin firmly and murmured, “Don’t worry. I plan to watch you choke on my dick and then see you bounce up and down on it until your tight pussy’s creaming all over my cock.”

My teeth sank into my lower lip as I breathed, “Dinner can’t get done fast enough.”

Vino chuckled softly before walking out of the bathroom.

An hour later, I strolled downstairs wearing a cozy, off-the-shoulder lavender sweatshirt with matching shorts. My plush lavender slippers whispered against the floor with each step. My bone-straight hair flowed smoothly over my shoulders, freshly done and flawless thanks to Xavier. He’d picked up my curling irons, flat irons, blow dryer, and an entire arsenal of hair products. I could only imagine the look on his face when he saw just how many I used.

A Black woman’s hair was her crown whether short, long, natural, or styled. It was sacred. I was just glad he hadn’t ventured into the guest bedroom. If he had, he would’ve found my collection of lace front wigs lined up like soldiers in a beauty battalion. I didn’t need those brought here. I couldn’t see staying at Vino’s home longer than a week. Hopefully, he would’ve gotten his war under control and I could return to my home and work.

The moment I hit the bottom step, voices carried from the kitchen, sharp and heated.

“You’re fucking rotten, Vino!” the voice boomed—raw, furious. It sounded like the person’s voice was exploding from a phone.

Vino’s low, gravelly chuckle reverberated like an earthquake in his chest. “I’m rotten for what, Michelangelo? You did this. You came into my territory. Everything you sent to Jersey, I returned to you.”

Vino shrugged. “Sure, maybe not in the same condition.”

“Hands. Legs. And ground chuck,” Michelangelo roared, practically spitting through the line. His rage filled the air, thick and venomous. It seemed like he was seconds from having a coronary.

Ground chuck? What on earth did that mean?

“Michelangelo, I’m ready to meet in the streets of New York,” Vino said, his voice ice-cold. “Since the Romanos run New York and Jersey. Let’s settle this like men.”

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