Page 103 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Oh, that was the wrong—right?—thing to say. His lips curled into a predatory smile as he pushed off the ropes and began stalking toward me. I could see the thickening of his cock in his thin shorts. “Mia piccola innocente, you’re about to get fucked in a boxing ring.”

* * *

Yawning, I zoned out as my Physics 2 professor droned on about wave optics. I liked this class, but I was too tired to concentrate today. Someone was keeping me up late every night—and getting me up early—with lots of sex.

I wasn’t complaining, though. Yes, sex was biologically designed to be pleasurable—it guaranteed the continuation of the human race, after all—but this was on another level. I felt drunk on Giacomo, a sex-crazed creature who was obsessed with my husband.

It didn’t help that I was currently sitting in his office, surrounded by his smell, and using his laptop. No wonder I couldn’t concentrate here.

The computer screen went black and I blinked away my brain fog. Whoops, class had ended a few minutes ago.

Just as I pushed to my feet, the old rotary phone on the giant desk rang. I froze. This phone hadn’t made a noise before. I hadn’t thought it even worked, to be honest.

The ringing continued and no one picked up. Was it sounding elsewhere in the house? Shouldn’t Sal be the one to answer when Giacomo wasn’t around?

The ringing stopped. Oh, well. That took care of that. I’d go to the kitchen and mention it to Sal.

As I walked to the door the phone started up again. After three rings, I decided to answer it. What was the worst that could happen? Maybe it was Giacomo trying to reach me.

“Pronto,” I said into the receiver.

“Who’s this?” It was a woman. She spoke in heavily accented Sicilian.

My stomach clenched as irrational jealousy swept through me. Why was a woman calling my husband? Was it Theresa?

Whoever she was, did she honestly think I was naive enough to give out unsolicited information on the phone? I was the daughter of a mafia don, raised in this secretive, violent world. I knew better than that. “Someone with the right to answer the phone. Who’s this?”

“Are you Mo’s wife?”

“No.” The lie fell awkwardly off my tongue, so I followed it up with an accusation. “Are you?”

She started laughing. “Dai, absolutely not. The thought makes me want to vomit.”

Not a mistress. A relative, then? This would explain the vehement reaction. For some reason the girl from the photo in his bedroom popped into my mind. They’d looked so much alike. Was this her? “Who are you? His cousin?”

“No, and you are definitely the wife. I can hear your jealousy. How long have you been married to my brother?”

Brother. What the hell?

It couldn’t be true. Giacomo would’ve mentioned a sister. This woman had to be lying to get information from me.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m not telling you anything until I talk to Giacomo.”

The woman on the other end kept going. “I know Mo married a Canadian girl, the daughter of some important boss in Toronto. Everyone is talking about it.”

“Everyone?” Was this true? I didn’t want this news to get out. If word of the marriage reached Naples or Siderno, I was beyond screwed.

“Yes,” she said, “so I wanted to call and reach you when he’s out. I had to speak to the woman who stole my brother’s heart.”

I ignored that comment. “What’s your name?”

“Viviana. I’m not surprised my brother hasn’t told you about me. I’m a secret.”

A secret? “Nice to meet you, Viviana. I’m Emma.”

“Emma! I love that name. You sound very sweet, just what Mo needs.”

“I’m neither confirming nor denying that I’m with him.”

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