Page 107 of Runaway in the Mafia
No one’s fucking seeing you rock your hips but me.
You’re no fun.
I’m plenty fun. We can have our own party. It starts with your pussy.
Entertaining. But I wanted to go out. Get out and forget. Just for one night. To get me through two days of agony before I tried again.
How about a dinner?
I’ll eat anything on your pussy.
No! I mean I’ll go out for a dinner with the girls. Daria’s still in town and…
That’s supposed to make feel me better?
Please. I don’t ever want to feel imprisoned.
Get used to it.
It just brings back memories.
…
The dots appeared and disappeared. A second later, the phone rang in my hand. His voice was tight and controlled but edged with a warmth that seeped into my soul.
“I don’t want to make you unhappy,mia ammaliatrice.”
“Then, don’t,” I whispered.
“Pick another night. I don’t have time to join you.”
“But Daria’s leaving tomorrow.”
“I hate my sisters,” he groaned.
I stayed silent. Gave him the time he needed.
He sighed. “Fine. But I pick the restaurant and who’s going with you.Capisci?”
“Capito.”
“Fuck. Your accent deserves my cock.”
I didn’t even have a comeback for that. Luckily, he didn’t wait for it before hanging up.
Somewhere between that first message and him hanging up, the dread in my heart had eased up. I knew how difficult it was for him to relinquish his control. Still, he’d done it. For me. I’d tell Papa on Monday when he was back in the office and I had him on a call alone. I’d be careful about giving him the details. Maybe not spill all the details in one go.
Vitale deserved my everything. So a few hours later, in between my first alcoholic drink and the second, I slipped into the restroom of the restaurant and sent him a picture. To thank him.
VITALE
Fuck.
I stared at my wife’s naked pussy. How could I both love and hate being married? Love because, well she was my wife. Hate because of all the fucking compromises I had to do to make her happy.
Fuck it.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and strode up to the door. Antonio looked at me from where he was sitting across my desk, a question in his gaze.
