Page 49 of Sins of the Son

Her eyes flared with rage as her beautiful lips opened to fire back a retort.

Before she could respond, I wrapped my hand around the back of her head and pulled her mouth to mine. My tongue pushed past her lips, tasting the whiskey I'd forced down her throat moments earlier. Using the jacket to shield my movements, I cupped her breast in my free hand. My fingers pushed back the neckline of her dress, searching for the warmth of her skin. It was all I could do not to tear the damn thing off her, even though we were standing practically in the middle of the piazza.

Milana whimpered as I deepened the kiss. Her hands gripped my shirt as her tongue swirled around mine. No matter how angry she was at me, she couldn’t hide her body’s response to my touch, my kiss. It might be a dirty trick, but I wasn’t above using every weapon at my disposal in our little private war.

I was fighting to win.

When we finally broke free, we were both breathless. I pressed my hand to her cheek and rubbed my thumb along her bottom lip. “When I get you home, I’m tying you naked to my bed and fucking this beautiful mouth of yours until you beg me to come on your tits. Then I’m going to lick your pussy until you come at least twice. And that’s just to get you warmed up,” I said with a wink.

Milana took a step back. Her dark eyes blinked up at me as if she were shaking off the remnants of a dream.

I reached for her. She leaned back, just out of reach.

I could see it happening. The wall of ice crystalizing in her gaze.

Someone from above shouted down, “Save that for the honeymoon!”

I looked up and gave a wave to the exuberant employee, who had poked their head out of the window to witness our kiss. Berating myself for allowing something so private to be witnessed, I wrapped my arm around Milana, pulled her close to my side, and hustled her around to the side of the building where my Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio was parked in a private lot.

After opening the passenger door and helping her inside, I got behind the wheel and put the car into gear, racing away from the center of town toward the winery.

Cavalieri land.

My home.

My sanctuary.

Home field advantage.

Milana hugged her arms around her middle and sat silently.

I was so alarmed, I briefly considered heading directly to the villa instead and pleading for Amara’s help but decided against it. If Milana needed someone, I wanted it to be me and no one else.

Still, I was worried.

Whether Milana was spitting mad with her claws out or curled up in a little ball feeling vulnerable and scared, the one thing you could count on was la mia piccola gattina selvaggia always still had some fight in her. I had never seen her with nothing to say. Ever.

I just needed to get her home. She was in shock from my announcement, but she’d warm up to the idea and realize all I was doing was hastening the inevitable.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t warned her repeatedly that she was now mine, and that I had no intention of ever letting her go. She had been fooling herself if she thought I was actually going to let her waltz out of my life at the end of the week.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Milana lean forward and pull the visor down.

She stared at her reflection in the small mirror for several seconds. I watched as she lifted her arm to run her fingertips over her now kiss-swollen bottom lip. She then touched the corner of her eye. “My makeup's all rubbed off,” she said. Her voice was eerily detached.

I looked at her, then back at the road. “You don’t need makeup, carissima, you are just as beautiful without it.”

She cocked her head to the right as she continued to stare at her reflection. In that same disjointed and strangely calm voice, she continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I never appear in public without my makeup on. People will talk. They’ll know.”

I frowned as I reached over and laid a hand on her left knee, squeezing it gently. “I don’t understand, baby. What will they know?”

Although she turned to look at me, it was like she was staring right through me. “That I’m trash. That is what Nonna used to say. A respectable woman ensures she looks presentable at all times. Always. No excuses.”

Milana looked down at her wrinkled dress. The dress I'd hopelessly crushed with my body when I'd pinned her to the sofa earlier. Her small hands looked pale and fragile as she tried to smooth the wrinkles out over her thighs. “As Nonna would say, only trash would appear in public looking like she just rolled out of some man’s bed.”

Her words couldn’t have hurt more than if she'd physically kicked me in the stomach.

Bile rose in the back of my throat as my stomach clenched and twisted. The horror of her words settled on my chest like a damning weight. All those times I'd scoffed when she accused me of being an arrogant Cavalieri who, through my own privilege, couldn’t possibly understand the reality of what she was experiencing and she had been right.

---