Page 11 of Mafia Priest

Whisky runs down the wall as I slide the damp silk over my cock. Balls heavy and tight, my hand moves faster as I beg God to let me lick that sweet pussy every day for the rest of my life, beg him to make her my wife, the mother of my children—

Calling out her name, not his, I come into her panties.

Clutching her ruined underwear, I stand and fasten my belt. I stuff the panties back into my pocket, unable to throw them away. Picking up the tumbler, I eye the bottle of scotch.

I’m pouring a fresh glass when there’s a knock on the confessional door. Frowning, I glance at my watch. Bianca left over an hour ago. Who the fuck…

“I can see the light, Father. I know you’re still in there.”

Bianca’s guard. Franco Moretti. Fuck.

“Come in, Moretti.” I school my features into a mask of neutrality as the door opens.

“How’d you know my name?” he asks, not crossing the threshold.

Because I’ve made it my business to learn every detail about my angel.

“I’d be a shit priest if I didn’t also keep track of the more wayward members of my flock.”

He turns red. “Who you calling wayward? I attend Mass!”

“Only because the don makes you. You haven’t confessed once in two years,” I observe, deciding a strong offense is the best defense.

“I have nothing to confess. I’m on security now, not an enforcer.”

“There are sins other than murder.” Sighing, I finish my drink and pour another.

He closes the door. “Anything I say is confidential, right? Even if they aren’tmysins?”

I’m not sober enough for this. But at least he hasn’t brought up how long Bianca spent with me. “Sit. I’d offer you a drink, but I only have one glass.”

“I’m not too fancy to drink from the bottle. And unlike you, Father, I’m off duty.”

I pass him the bottle. “What do you want, Moretti?”

He takes a swig of the whisky. “I knew the don was trying to fix up Miss Mancini with Lombardi. She’s been in a snit all week. But now she says he’s making the bastard Elise’s guardian.”

Christ almighty. I told her I’dhandleit, and the first thing she does is blab her grandfather’s plans to her fucking bodyguard?

“I’m unsure why you’re telling me the don’s business,” I reply, face blank.

He stares at the statue. “Miss Mancini tried to cover for you, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I repeat my earlier question. “What do you want?”

“To talk you out of running off with her!” He shakes the bottle at me, then takes another drink. “You can’t abandon Miss Elise to that pervert just because you’re screwing her sister.”

I squeeze the glass so hard a thin crack appears. “Watch your mouth.”

He pales. “Forgive me, Father. But my concern stands. You know why Lombardi’s in California?”

I take another drink of my scotch. “I try to stay out of family business.”

“This ain’t no family business, at least not the family I know. The fucker is running a human-trafficking ring—with the don’s blessing. It’s some sick shit. Girls no older than Elise.”

“And yet you haven’t quit, so it must not bother your conscience that much.”

He rolls his eyes. “We aren’t all born into mafia royalty, able to buy our way out. Or at least I assume that’s how you got the Church to turn a blind eye.”

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