Page 11 of Corrupting Lily

She is light as a fucking feather, this thought crossing my mind for the second time as I carry Lily from the car to the boutique we had just stopped in front of. Matteo, who had finished moving Lily’s belongings to my mansion, and one of my other men, Luca, picked us up from Mirra to bring us here, while Edoardo took Lorenzo to the warehouse, where I would deal with him later. A second vehicle was behind us, four more of my men exiting and positioning themselves outside the opulent boutique, Eve's, situated on a quiet street just outside the center of town.

Lily is flushed with embarrassment, her protests fading when she realizes they're pointless. After sitting her down on a chair at the club, I quickly untied her shoes and tossed them aside, leaving them for the cleaning staff to dispose of with the rest of the trash. They belonged there, alongside the used condoms, their purpose as expired as her soiled socks. The only things I left on were the numerous band-aids she had plastered all over both feet. Blisters from her shoes from theprevious night, she had mumbled quietly. The thought that I had scared her enough to run home was somewhat unsettling. Instilling fear was something I liked doing. It kept people in check. With her, it felt wrong. Why I even have a feeling about it is disturbing enough.

I should just take her back to Basilio and let the bounty on her head play out. But after what happened at Mirra, and the taste of her still lingering on my tongue like a fine fucking scotch, the thought of anything happening to her leaves an odd, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. It is a warning, yet I ignore it as my gaze drifts across her beautiful face. A face that expresses so much more than this usual resigned look when given the opportunity.

Matteo opens the door for me, and the woman behind the counter rushes to meet us, bringing with her a cloud of sickly, sweet-smelling perfume. Briefly, I think about how much better Lily’s subtle vanilla and jasmine scent is in comparison. Fuck.

“Mr. Sante, it is such an honor to have you here. It’s been a while. What can we do for you?” Sally, her name stitched on a pristine blue two-piece, clasps her hands together and looks at me with dollar signs in her eyes, neglecting the woman in my arms. She undoubtedly remembers the wad of cash I dropped the last time I was here when I treated my sister Mia to a brand-new wardrobe for her birthday two years ago. This year, it was a vacation house in the Bahamas.

“I want to see all your best pieces. And close the shop for the day. I want some privacy.” I walk over to one of the cream-covered sofas in the center of the room, placing Lily softly down before sitting next to her. Matteo walks over to the door, flipping the sign from open to closed. However, I think the look of my men outside alone would be enough of a deterrent.

Sally calls her team of shop assistants, some of whose faces pale with recognition while others watch with curiosity and desire, theireyes raking my body unashamedly. Only one offers my little flower the courtesy of a glance. Lily looks between them and me, her gaze touching the side of my face like gentle kisses. Suddenly, I feel angry that they do not even acknowledge her.

“So, Mr. Sante, what size are we looking for?” Sally asks, her eyes on me as she stands poised, awaiting my response. She does not even consider that it could be for the woman next to me, whose baggy thrift clothes perhaps do precisely what I think Lily intended: make her invisible.

Lily looks shocked as I rattle off her sizes, likely thinking we were there for someone else. So fucking naïve.

“But that’s my—” Before Lily can finish, I interrupt her, looking directly at Sally.

“And you better show my companion the respect they deserve. You know what happens to those who don’t respect what is mine.”

The threat is effective, draining all color from her cheeks. Her clasped hands tremble slightly as she stutters an apology. She introduces herself to Lily, her voice quivering as she asks her which styles she prefers.

“I’m sorry, Sally. Can you please give us a moment?” Lily asks, raising her small hand to halt Sally’s rehearsed sales pitch about all the new arrivals. Sally glances at me, a slight nod indicating she should leave us.

“Um, what’s going on? And since when am I yours? I’m not cattle,” Lily whispers, shifting in her seat so that her torso faces me, allowing her to look me directly in the face. Ballsy.

“We’re getting you some clothes. Ones that fit,” I say simply, my eyes locking with hers as I ignore the other question. I wasn’t sure why I considered her mine. Perhaps I just thought everything belonged to me.

“But I have clothes,” she says, a small hand brushing her well-worn jeans nervously.

“You don’t. I saw your closet, and it’s neither enough nor the right style for your new role.” Her brows furrow in confusion, and her head pulls back slightly as she processes what I have just said.

“What new role? Did Basilio fire me?” The pain in her voice annoys me. More than it should. That fucker. Why is she so worried about him?

“Consider this a temporary reassignment. With me entering a partnership with him, I am your new boss. And as your new boss, I need you to assist me elsewhere.” A fleeting look of relief appears, only to be replaced by suspicion, her brows arching upward. I can tell she has questions, but perhaps self-preservation prevents her from asking them.

“I can’t afford to shop here. I think we should go somewhere else.” Her eyes shift from mine as she turns her body, now focused on the rows of clothes in front of us, her arms crossing defensively in front of her.

“This is a perk of working for me—a business expense. You will need to accompany me to certain events, and I expect you to look presentable. The bill is not your concern.”

"Working for you? As part of the mafia?" she whispers, her eyes darting around to check if anyone hears.

Her gaze meets mine, and when I don't answer, she takes that as confirmation.

"So what do you do for the mafia? I mean, you look like you are pretty high up in the ranks, or whatever you call it. And you're quite…big. You know, muscular," she mumbles, her hands gesturing toward me as if that explains it. "Are you like their enforcer or something?" she asks, her beautiful whiskey eyes searching my face as if it will somehow provide her with the answers. I want to laugh at how clueless she is, but that would soften the fear the other ladies feel, and I'm not ready to let them off that easily yet.

"I don't have a boss." Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head slightly as if confused.

"What? You don't have a boss? But if you don't have a boss, that means…that means you…," she mutters, her words petering off as understanding slides into place, written all over the shocked expression I now see there.

"You are the boss." She whispers it, more to herself than to me.

"Yes. I am the Don of the Cosa Nostra, head of the Three Families."

Her mouth forms an 'o' as she processes this new information. I wonder when the fear will set in, but it doesn't come. Instead, she tilts her head to the side.

"I remember now. I saw your picture in a magazine once when I was small. I remember thinking how young you were to take over that role. Back then, you looked so…innocent."

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