Page 13 of Gardener for the Mafia

I climb inside and thumb the pad, starting the ignition and surging out of the garage, the rumble of the engine nothing compared to the growling yearning of my heartbeat.

I’m glad that I don’t have to drive to the rundown shithole part of the city she was living in before. I direct a large portion of my earnings to charities that are supposed to improve those areas, but corrupt politicians and twisted alliances always somehow find their way into certain corners of the city.

It’s just another sign that the mafia is not as evil as some fools mistakenly like to think.

I drive to the most elite section of the city, home to glittering pristine skyscrapers and trendy apartment buildings. The streets are clean and the roads are smooth, the sidewalks free of drug dealers and criminals who might try and harm my queen … and force me to go feral when I find out what they’ve done.

I drive into the underground garage and then swagger to the private elevator, thumbing the pad and climbing inside the velvet lined box. I press the button for the penthouse suite and then thumb the pad again.

As I ride higher and higher, my body goes tight as my muscles bulge against my skin.

It’s like the primordial part of me is getting ready for my queen, because laying eyes on her is like charging upon the juiciest meal after weeks of starvation.

I have to hunt her, to take her, to claim her.

To make her mine.

The elevator doors open onto a sleek modern hallway, markedly different from the ornateness of my mansion. The floor is hardwood and, as I walk into the open plan living room, I see the floor to ceiling windows and the view of the city as the sun slowly sets.

Everything sparkles and shines.

But then my world is taken over when her singing drifts over to me, the notes go straight to my heart just like the first time I laid eyes on my queen.

Her voice is dim and full of echoes as it ushers out of the bathroom, but it’s unmistakably hers.

My woman.

With the voice of an angel.

She sings about how she’s been waiting for so long and, now that it’s here, she’s scared I’m going to break her heart. She couldn’t be more wrong. I’d savage any man who tried to hurt her in that way, completely tear him to pieces so that he learned what happens when you approach my woman with anything other than respect.

I walk down the hallway and peer around the corner, looking through the steam of the shower to find Lena standing in front of the condensation heavy mirror.

Her hair hangs down in wet strands that make me want to twirl it around my fist and guide her lips to mine.

She raises her hand to wipe away the condensation as her voice rises higher, filling the room with the music of the gods.

She catches sight of me in the mirror and immediately twirls around, a feisty eyebrow raised. “Jeez, Lorenzo, talking about sneaking a free show.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” I growl, walking into the bathroom and devouring her with my eyes.

She’s wearing a fluffy bathrobe, the same forest green color as her eyes. She’s tied it at the waist so that her put-a-child-in-me hips bump out delectably. Her cleavage just about shows at the top, begging for my touch.

“I’m so fucking angry I have more business to deal with this evening,” I growl.

Just because I get to leave the office at seven, it doesn’t mean my day is done. There’s still the Diego problem to deal with.

“Otherwise I’d take you out and treat you like a lady. And then, after, treat you like the sexy sinful minx you are.”

She parts her lips, a moaning breath escaping that sends bolts of electric right to my manhood.

“This place is amazing,” she whispers. “I keep waiting for the penny to drop. This all seems too good to be true. I keep waiting for something to happen to just take it all away from me.”

“Nothing’s going to take this away from you,” I tell her. I look closely at her, reading the anxiety in her features. “I know you’ve had a tough upbringing in the orphanage, Lena. I was raised on the streets. I know what it’s like, having nobody, only having yourself to rely on. I know you were probably tricked and betrayed.”

I move closer, reaching out and smoothing my hand onto the back of her neck. I pull her close and feel the pressure of her body against mine.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “You could say that.”

“But I’m never going to do that,” I tell her. “You can rely on me, always. From now on, it’s Lorenzo and Lena, got it?”

She giggles. “Okay, Mr. Serious,” she says. “Yeah, I get it. But, Lorenzo, can I be honest with you? I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to sound like a slut.”

---