Page 119 of Wounded King
Grinning, I hold my fingers apart to show a thick stack. "About… this much."
She fishes in her purse and pulls out a wad of napkins, pretending it's a wad of cash. "Here. Don't spend it all in one place, sweetheart."
Bosco claps his hands. "That was pretty good."
We grin and bow, while Alejandro shakes his head. "Doesn't sound like something I need to watch."
"It's a classic mafia movie," Bosco fills him in.
"Whatever," Alejandro shrugs. "Where to now?"
"We need some beach clothes," I tell him.
Marcello was right, Alejandro knows just where to go. Without hesitation, he leads Pippa and me to a store that is just as high-class and exclusive as the others. It gives off beach vibes without looking cheap.
An hour later, as I hand the little black card to the sales lady, my brain tries to point out that there is probably a lot of blood on that card. I say shut up and drop another ten grand on swimsuits, summer dresses, and yes, sunglasses and flip-flops. The champagne helps suppress any guilt: both the blood kind and theOMG, I just spent probably three hundred grand of Marcello's money in this building.
It's dark by the time we get back into the fully packed SUV—the one following us holds only slightly fewer bags.
Pippa begins to fidget the closer we come to the skyscraper that holds Marcello's penthouse.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Is it wrong to be this attracted to a man I just met?"
A small snort escapes me. "You're seriously asking me that? The woman who is about to marry a man she's only known for a few months, and half of that time, he was in a coma?"
"Never mind," she chuckles. "I suppose when it comes to mafia men, normal rules don't apply."
"Rules?" Alejandro scoffs from up front, making me regret ever involving him in our personal lives and conversations.
"Yeah, that's probably true," Pippa agrees.
"You going to be okay?" I ask her when the elevator stops at Luciano's floor.
"As soon as I get my hand on his cock." She grins. This time, Alejandro has the good sense to not only stay silent but also to turn his head.
The guards open the doors for me when we reach the anteroom at the penthouse level.
"We'll be up in a few with your purchases," Alejandro announces and wishes me a good night.
The penthouse is dipped in twilight. Only a few lights burn low, and I wonder if Marcello is even home yet. Something stops me from calling out for him; the apartment seems too peaceful to disturb with the sound of my voice. Drawn forward like a piece of metal by a magnet, I make my way into our bedroom, and there I find him.
The sight of him stops my breath. His rugged stubble looks even darker in the shadows, which are playing with his sculpted jaw and cheeks. Only his gray eyes stand out, watching me like a predator, hypnotizing me like a cobra.
His vest is unbuttoned, as well as most of his shirt, partially exposing those hard pecs and a couple of his tats. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. God, that man looks like a god. He's leaned back on the padded chair, his sleeves rolled up, strong fingers resting on the chair's arm, holding a half-full glass of whiskey. His legs are spread, exposing the bulge between, clearly defined by the tightness of his pants. My heart hitches.
"Honey, I'm home," I try to say it lightly, but my voice is hoarse from the lump in my throat. A lump from being already turned on more than should be possible.
"I see that," he growls, his voice low and throaty, eyes burning with hunger. "Christ, you look delicious. Did you have fun shopping?"
"Hmm," I mumble. My mind is racing with naughty thoughts—things I've never done before. But the way he's staring at me through those hooded eyes makes me feel like a goddess. Makes me want to strip right here in front of him while he watches, nails digging into his belt.
Maybe I'm still tipsy from the champagne, or maybe it's how he's looking at me; either way, I stop where I am, twist my arms behind me, and unzip my dress. It's a tight black dress, one of my many purchases today. I let my arms fall to my sides, and gravity does the rest, pulling the dress from me and exposing lacy, deep-red underwear that's also new.
His eyes rake up and down my body, dark pupils dilating. He lifts a glass of Blue Label to his lips and swirls it. "Fuck, look at you," he rasps. "I want to bury my cock in you so hard it leaves you breathless."
I push my leg and hip out dramatically, swipe my hair back, and give him my best sultry look. I twirl for him, very, very slowly, swinging my ass.
