Page 23 of Mafia Priest

“And Iknewbecause this pussy is mine. It belongs to me, was made for me.” His fingers dig into my hips, effortlessly lifting me up and slamming me back down.

“So you forgive me, Daddy?” I murmur, thrilled when I feel him grow harder. “I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid you’d try to stop me.”

We move faster, perfectly attuned to each other, and his next words wash over me, the absolution I never thought I’d find.

“Bianca, don’t you understand?Youwere made for me. More than I ever dared dream. Why the fuck do you think I tried to repent? Every time I ordered a hit on a bastard who deserved it, my cock would be as hard as this pussy is wet. It’s not healthy, not sane, but it’s the truth.Ourtruth,” he growls, his thrusts more erratic. “I tried to deny it, tried to shield you from that part of me, but you pulled it out, dragged me back into sin.”

Desperate not to scream, I bite his neck as his seed floods me, triggering my release. For several heartbeats, we stay like that, entwined, panting, and nowhere near sated. He’s still inside me, still hard, and I want to stay like this forever. But then the breakfast bell rings and the outside world crashes in.

I feel a pang of loss as we separate and fix our clothing. Gingerly, I touch the bruise already blooming on his neck.

“How bad is it, princess?” he asks, voice amused.

I wince. “Bad enough that you might want to use my concealer.”

“No need.” He pulls a clerical collar out of a pocket. “Knew there had to be some perk to this goddamn costume.”

“It’s not a costume,” I say as he fastens the collar. “You’re a real priest.”

He shrugs. “Technically, for the moment.”

“No, you are,” I insist. “And you’re going to marry me and Guido.”

Ten

Salvatore

They’ll excommunicate me.I’ve gone far beyond breaking my vows and am about to go farther. But Bianca is worth it. So when the bell rings, I step forward and play my part. The bridal party enters next, the bridesmaids and their escorts filing into the first two pews. Lombardi remains standing at my side. We face the pews. Waiting.

The music shifts and she appears. The sway of her hips as she approaches the altar has me rock hard. God, she’s fucking perfect, more gorgeous than a bride has any right to be, and more ruthless and cunning than I ever dreamed.

Still, I pray she can pull this off. Yet so far, her performance has been flawless. The perfect spoiled mafia princess. She’s strung Lombardi along for weeks while we’ve lined up the pieces, insisting she needed time both to mourn and to plan the wedding her grandfather would have wanted.

It’s a chilling act. But then sheismourning, just not her grandfather. When she insisted on walking down the aisle alone, claiming the only man worthy of giving her away was dead, most assumed she meant Mancini. But when she lifts her veil, I see the truth in her eyes. Behind her calm facade are oceans of pain, waves of sadness with rip currents of rage. Yet beneath it all is pure steel.

I worry I’m corrupting her, leading her down a path of ruin and pain. But she took the first step into this life on her own and enjoys this as much as I do. The past two months have been the best sex of my life. Last night, she was insatiable, and I have no doubt that her hot little pussy is soaked right now.

Yet even this new side of her is making me a better man. She has a moral fiber men like my father lack. Every hit has deserved it. She refuses to kill over money, refuses to kill innocent men. But however noble her principles are, this is audacious. There are simpler—safer—ways to take out Lombardi. But for Bianca, I’ll take the risk. I can’t bring her parents back, but I can give her this.

So I recite the opening prayer, the last one I’ll ever say. Then gesturing for the bride and groom to kneel at the prie-dieu in front of the altar, I perform my last Mass.

* * *

Bianca

My knees ache, but I welcome the pain. Both because it’s necessary and because I know Guido, forty years my senior, is suffering more.

Today, he’ll learn the real meaning of pain. His death will make Nonno’s appear peaceful. But before he dies, I’ll take everything from him. Because this isn’t just about avenging Papa—it’s retribution for the girls he hurt. And more than that, it’s the display of strength needed to ensure my grandfather’s men accept a Romano as his successor.

The liturgy drags on, but my wait is almost over. The last few weeks have been tough. I miss Elise, but she’s safer locked away in the convent with Salvatore’s half-sister, Rena. I felt bad leaving her behind, but New York is too dangerous.

When we returned, we began quietly taking out those loyal to Guido, staging the hits to look like rival gangs—or accidents. After several of them, Salvatore snuck into my bedroom, unable to wait until after morning Mass to fuck me.

I thank God for him every day. He keeps me sane. Grounds me. Physically, spiritually, emotionally, he knows what I need—whether it’s a spanking, his cock, or his voice on the phone, whispering in my ear, reassuring me, praising me, telling me how he wants me to touch myself.

I could live a thousand lifetimes without finding a man like him. A man who understands me, who shares my dark desires. A man who will help me remake our corner of the world according to our rules,oursense of right and wrong. Maybe that’s why this last hit terrifies me when the others didn’t. Standing on the altar, Salvatore is a sitting duck if our plan fails. And it might.

Eliminatingallof Guido’s most loyal soldiers ahead of time was an impossibility. It would have tipped him off that more was afoot than rival gangs exploiting a period of transition. I wasn’t about to give him a chance to run, not after the lives he destroyed. No, he’ll pay for his sins.

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