Page 151 of Dirty Mafia King
His eyes say it all.Mine.
I wipe a finger across the sticky mess, then lick it off.
His growl rumbles deep before he cleans up and returns to his seat.
Let’s see if he can ignore me now,I think, and do the same.
CHAPTER56
ALESSIA
Life is a series of journeys, though we’re under the illusion it’s only one. Family, education, jobs, marriage, children, love, and death. Each journey shapes you for the next, until it doesn’t.
And, as a tired and gaunt Don Lucchese is wheeled into his Tuscany kitchen, his vibrant soul mellowed by cancer, I wonder how many journeys he’s lived and if he considers all of them worthwhile.
Because, really, that’s all anyone can hope for.
“Alessia,” he exclaims, finally spotting me by his gourmet stovetop.
He insisted Bastian and I stay in a guesthouse on his estate. Separate rooms, of course—I’m engaged to Sandro, after all. Not that Bastian leaves me alone. It’s difficult to distinguish when one orgasm ends and the next begins. Last night, after we toured Don Lucchese’s vineyard, Bastian pinned me down in the dirt between two grape plants and fucked me senseless.
For three days, he’s constantly been by my side.
And every day, I fall deeper and deeper in love.
If Don Lucchese weren’t so frail, he’d notice. I’m struggling to reconcile the man I met at my engagement announcement and our host.
“If I were your fiancé,” he says, “you’d never leave the kitchen.”
“Sounds like a dream, Godfather.”
His face brightens. He loves when I address him this way. “What are you making me for breakfast?” He waves the nurse away, then rolls himself to the kitchen table, where I set three place settings.
I grin. “Why does it feel like you’re keeping us on your estate just so I cook for you?”
“I’m old but nobody’s fool,” he chuckles. “Of course I am.”
“I’ve made a crostata. Would you like a slice while it’s warm?”
“You use cherries? I like cherries.”
I shake my head. “No, Godfather. This crostata’s filling is Lucchese-grown grapes. I made grape jam, as well.”
His eyes fill with tears, and I pause in shock.
“You remind me of a girl I once loved.” He dabs his eyes with a napkin. “Still love,” he softly adds.
“Dante’s mother?” I ask, curious. Love isn’t the reason Don Lucchese is feared or respected. He’s a dangerous mafioso. But then our relationship is different, isn’t it?
“Not that witch. I loved a Napoletana named Lucia. She was beautiful and sweet. We would have married, but …” He swipes at his tears. “They killed her.”
“Who did?”
“The Lucchese brothers. My uncle and father.”
I place a hand on the counter to steady myself. “Why?”
“As you know, mafiosi custom is to marry strategically. Power. Money. Prestige. But I resisted, so they eliminated her.”
