Page 18 of Forbidden Mobster's Daughter

“Yes. Oh, fuck. Sienna,” I whisper between labored breaths. “Sienna,” I call her name like I’m at the edge of a precipice, about to fall. I need her. I’ve never needed anyone… but right now, I need her.

My core contracts, and sooner than I anticipated, I come apart. My legs tremble, my entire body throbbing, my heart about to leave my chest.

I spill my load into her mouth, and she takes everything. I let go of her hair and lift my hands to my head to keep it from spinning.

She disengages from my cock, leans over me, and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“You called me perfect. I don’t know if I’m perfect. When I’m around you, I feel like there’s more to me than being a mobster’s daughter. I’ll always try to remember that. Thank you.”

Then, when I’m brave enough, I open my eyes, but she’s already gone to her bedroom. Her words echo in my ears, and they hit me harder than the orgasm I’m still reeling from.

10

Sienna

“How’s your food?”my father asks across from me.

“Good.” Instead of eating, I’ve been playing with the seafood pasta on my plate.

We’re having lunch at the long table, with too many empty chairs on either side.

I chose to sit opposite where he usually sits, but to my surprise, he grabbed a chair next to me. His nearness is strange, and the awkwardness of having to talk to someone I should be close to is real.

“I hear you’re looking at some dresses today,” he says, smiling at me. “Are you sure you don’t want Clara to come along? Or any woman from the family? Your Aunt Teresa wouldn’t mind.”

I roll my eyes. I haven’t seen Aunt Teresa, his sister, in years. And Clara is friendly but also a spy. I can’t risk her noticing the attraction between me and Matteo. That could ruin my plans.

Hell, the attraction itself could also ruin my plans. Last night, when he told me all those things, I felt like we connected in a strong, meaningful way.

This is dangerous. Strong feelings can’t develop between us because, in three weeks, I’ll be marrying someone else. Or running. Or plotting my escape. And he’ll be gone.

“Piccolina?” Dad calls me, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh. I’d rather try dresses on my own. There’s no need to make this a big deal for everyone.”

He glances down at his plate. “Fine. I understand.”

Do you?I ask internally.

I need to toe the line between acting too compliant or too resentful. Either could signal to him my plan to escape, and I don't want to make it obvious whether it happens before or after my marriage.

“If it’s okay, I’ll go through some more of my stuff after lunch. Helps getting rid of the old to prepare for the… new.” I hope this time Clara won’t be breathing down my neck like she was last time.

“Sure. I like having you around the house.”

I stifle a laugh. “Given you sent me away for most of my life, that’s hard to believe,” I say impulsively, tasting the bitterness of my words. How can I not say anything? I’m trying to stay below the radar, but pretending he cares for me is too much.

He raises his gaze to me, and a bob makes its way down his throat. He looks at me in silence, and I don’t know if the emotion in his eyes is resentment, curiosity, or something in between. “You’re a strong, resilient, smart woman. Seems like I didn’t do such a bad job.”

“Because you didn’t. I was just a kid, Dad,” I say, drawling the word sarcastically. “I was eleven when my mom died, and months later, you sent me away to a boarding school. Away from my family, friends, and everything I knew. I had to become resilient. But the price I paid…” I shake my head. Emotion wells up inside me, and anger fills my chest. I lift the linen napkin from my lap and set it on the table. “Trust me, I’d rather be weak… and happy. Even the chance to be weak was stolen from me.”

“I… am sorry,” he says in a low voice.

I look away. I don’t care if he’s pretending to give a shit now. It’s too late for him to offer any minimal effort at parenting. Has this life he’s imposed on me hardened me so much? That I don’t even care about my father? Guilt stabs at me.

Not caring isn’t the right thing to do. But he’s not interested in doing right by me either.

I grasp the linen-clothed edge of the table and surge to my feet. “I’m done eating. I changed my mind about going through some of my things. I’ll do it tomorrow.” My mind is too stimulated right now, and between this lunch and wedding dress hunting later, there’s only so much I can take in one day.

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