Page 93 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Pocketing my phone, I found my keys and started for the door. It was time to get my wife naked. My cock twitched in anticipation of the night ahead. “See you tomorrow.”

“You know what I am looking forward to?” Zani called my back. “The birthday parties with D’Agostino and Ravazzani. Will you hire a clown and wear a tiny paper hat?”

“Vaffanculo, Francesco!”

I slammed the door on the sound of his laughter.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

Emma

“Sal, this is unbelievably good.” I twirled the spaghetti on my fork. “And I usually don’t like olives.”

“Simple ingredients,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “That is why Sicilian food is so good.”

I didn’t know if he was right, but I loved eating whatever Sal made. This pasta dish—sun-dried tomatoes, olives and capers, with breadcrumbs sprinkled on top—was to die for. “Have you always been able to cook?”

“I learned from my grandfather. He ran a restaurant near Teatro Massimo for years.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t take over.” I took another bite and almost died from sheer happiness.

“My father had started working for the late Don Buscetta by that point. Don Gero, everyone called him. Anyway, life is too short for regrets. Wouldn’t you say?”

Was he talking about my marriage and potential baby? “I’m not sure it’s the same thing. I haven’t had a choice in all this.”

“Fate, signora, is a powerful force. Never underestimate it.”

I didn’t want to argue, but this wasn’t fate. This was being forced to bring a child into the world with a man I hardly knew. It was terrifying to think about. “Will he be a good father?” I asked quietly.

Sal limped over, set his wine glass on the counter, and clasped my hand. “He is a good man, caring and compassionate. And he fights to protect those he loves. He will be an excellent father, bella, even if he did not have one himself.”

Something eased inside my chest, a knot of anxiety I hadn’t even known was there. “Thank you.”

“But,” Sal continued. “You should know that our world has rules and traditions. Not even Don Buscetta can skirt them.”

“What do you—?”

The back door opened and Sal straightened, letting go of my hand. I looked over and watched as my husband stalked inside the kitchen. His hair was tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his old t-shirt clung to the slopes and planes of his impressive chest and shoulders. Giacomo had a determined way of walking, all business in an effort to get from point A to point B, intent on the task at hand.

And right now that focus was squarely on me.

A rush of tingles broke out all over my body. He didn’t spare a glance for Sal, just continued toward me, and I couldn’t move. My heart thumped wildly in my chest, my breath stuck in my lungs. He was here.

And his intent was written all over his face. It was time.

He stopped beside me and put one hand on the back of my chair. The other came up to cradle my cheek. Energy poured off his frame to surround me, and he smelled like leather and the outdoors. “Have you finished your dinner, bambina?” he asked in a low rumble.

Swallowing, I nodded. The tiny lines around his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Va bene. You will need your strength for what I have planned for you.”

Bending, he scooped me off the chair and lifted me into his arms. I exhaled in surprise, then threw my arms around his neck to hold on. I wanted to say I hated when he acted like a caveman, but I didn’t. His displays of strength were super hot for reasons probably buried deep in my chromosomes.

Stupid genetics.

We went up the stairs. I expected him to take me to the gold bedroom where I’d been sleeping, but he went the other way. To the opposite wing of the big house. “Where are we going?”

“The first time I come inside you will be in my bed.”

Between my legs swelled, arousal now throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Yep, genetics. There was no other explanation for why I liked the idea of it. But I did. I was so turned on that my skin felt both hot and cold, my body buzzing with anticipation.

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