Dirty Mafia Sinner (Dirty Mafia Kingdom #2)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

SANDRO

My life has become a game of dodge-and-evade, with one glaring exception.

Conti’s dodged every attempt to locate him.

Renzo slipped past my men again, this time giving them a scenic tour of the Roman Colosseum.

My father’s been ignoring my calls, which means he’s avoiding the one topic on both our minds—Alessia Amato.

Even Don Lucchese, my godfather and the toughest old bastard I know, is hanging on by a thread, defying every prediction, ghosting death, and prolonging my inevitable fate.

The exception is my right-hand man, deadly enforcer, and occasional best friend, who’s been getting in my face and demanding if I’ve got any specific orders regarding Riley. Like the asshole’s read my mind and is daring me to finally do what needs to be done.

Passing on a hard scene or a good blow job, from a litter of willing women eager to get me off at this late hour, I instead head to the pool to burn off steam. Only to discover it occupied by the woman behind all my recent mindfucks.

I stop dead in my tracks.

She’s drifting in my pool, eyes closed, lounging on a pink flamingo float. The ridiculously tiny black bikini she’s wearing is doing a shit job of covering her luscious curves, and there’s a drink lazily balanced in her hand.

Jesus, the sight of her gets under my skin.

I resist the urge to shout for Tommaso. This is fucking unacceptable. She’s fair game right now. An open invitation to any man passing by—not that my men would dare touch what’s mine. But her gorgeous body … those tits … could tempt even the most devoted man to sin.

The beast inside me both terrifies and excites her—just as I intended. But she needs to be broken in. I won’t tolerate her looking at me with those wounded eyes, as if I committed a crime against her delicate sensibilities. She’s been doing it since dinner. I warned her I’d corrupt her. What did she expect, rainbows and roses?

Time she learned I am who I am.

And the thrill to be had from a good fucking hunt.

I drain my whiskey, the glass cool against my lips, before hurling it over my shoulder. Kicking off my shoes, I tuck my Rolex into one and toss them aside.

Fuck it.

I dive into the pool, sacrificing an expensive suit and four days of pretending she doesn’t drive me insane.

The flamingo floatie is less than an arm’s stretch away when I surface.

She starts paddling frantically, trying to escape, but the float flips, sending her crashing into the pool. She kicks out, hitting me in the thigh, then thrusts her other leg into my chest to push herself away. Wide-eyed, she treads water, staring at me, realizing the fun is over—yet completely unaware the real game is just beginning.

I throw out a hand, snatch her bikini bottom, and draw her in, then anchor an arm around her waist and haul her toward the shallow end of the pool.

“You dove in to get me.”

I ignore the unspoken question in her tone—the one that questions my sanity. With one arm beneath her knees, I lift her out of the water, carrying her across the pool patio into the casita.

“You ruined your suit.”

“That isn’t what should concern you right now.” I abruptly set her on her feet, and she throws out a hand, catching my arm for balance.

“But I guess you’re good at ruining things,” she continues, bitterness lacing her words.

My tone is low and threatening. “That’s right. And in a few minutes, my suit won’t be the only thing I ruin.”

“Why don’t you snap a finger and beckon a woman more willing to be bossed around?” She draws to her full height and glares at me. Not yet understanding the rules of the game, or even that it’s begun. The anticipation makes my dick hard, despite how I find myself wanting to play with her , when my needs can easily be fulfilled elsewhere.

It’s the question of the fucking decade. And I have to say, this self-imposed monogamy bullshit frustrates me. “A snap of my finger is how I like things,” I sneer. “You just need to accept who’s in charge.” She tenses further, so I lean in to slam the issue home. “I fuck who I want to fuck. Tonight, you’ll do.”

She chokes on her own breath, her shock palpable. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll do,” she repeats, disbelief in her tone.

“That’s right.”

A heavy silence falls between us, her chest heaving as anger vibrates through her body. I almost smirk, enjoying the fire in her eyes. Fucking hell, why does she have to be this gorgeous? Her wet hair curls against her cheekbones, the unruly mess giving her a just-been-screwed vibe. Her tan emphasizes those hypnotic green eyes—which now sparkle with an irresistible challenge. The sadistic part of me wants to squash her anger and remind her she’ll do as I command because that’s how our arrangement works. But the truth is, I crave her sweet submission.

I’ve fucking missed it.

Goddamn her.

Grinding my teeth, I force out the words, “You’ll more than do.”

“I don’t understand.”

Statement of the fucking century.

“What happened? Did you grow tired of them ?”

I scowl. Have I?

Jesus.

The night air’s interrupted by her sigh. “Alessandro, why won’t you let me go? Don’t you know by now you can trust me? I won’t say a word. Living here with them is…”

Her voice trails off as I stalk over to the bureau and retrieve a key, before returning to where she’s standing, intently watching me. Dropping to my knee, I remove her ankle monitor and toss it aside. I make a mental note to replace it, now that it’s likely ruined.

“You actually listened to me?” Her tone is incredulous. “You’re releasing me?”

I straighten. “You get a one-minute head start.”

Her jaw practically hits the floor as she struggles to process that the game is fucking on.

I lean in, brush my lips against her ear, and enlighten her. “You better fucking run, Riley. But know, when I catch you—because I’ll always catch you—you’ll give it up like a good, obedient girl. I want to pound that pussy so hard, you won’t be able to run again.”

She shivers.

I begin counting off in my head.

Then, with a soft gasp, she’s off.

Let the hunt begin.

RILEY

I hit the pool deck at a dead run.

One minute to escape him, and then a lifetime to look back over the troublesome choices I’ve made.

If he doesn’t catch me.

If I can thwart his promise to do so.

Fear licks up my spine, but it’s tangled up with something else—exhilaration. He made love to me the last time he was inside me. Who’s to say this won’t lead to a more meaningful connection again?

No, Riley. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He promised a pounding. A domination of your body, not your heart.

I glance over my shoulder and spy him in the door. His wet suit molded to his muscular body. His expression firm with intent. He licks his lips like a hungry beast, and I nearly stumble. How can a man be this electric? How many times do I allow myself to get burned before nothing remains but ash?

Tonight, I’ll do .

My sprint takes on a new urgency. I’m not a housemaid, waiting on his beck and call. If he wants me, he can work for it.

I burst through the kitchen door. Cross the tile floor, bare feet sliding to a stop at the staircase. I won’t outrun him, but maybe I can outsmart him. He’ll expect me to head outside where freedom can be found through the gardens or at the beach. It’s a risky choice not to hide right away—or to put as much distance between us as humanly possible. But I make it upstairs, push into the last place he’ll search—his private suite of rooms—and then keep running, ignoring the closet and bathroom for the exercise room next door.

It’s dark inside, which works to my advantage. Pulse pounding, I duck behind a punching bag, and then try to rein in my thoughts and fail.

Will he punish me if he catches me? Take me over his knee like he’s always threatening to do and spank me? Or will he command me to press my tits together and offer my body up as a canvas for his seed? I bite my lip as excitement shivers through my body. God, why him? Why do I crave his darkness like it’s a naughty treat?

It’s so quiet I can hear my heart beating, and as a few more minutes pass, I’m convinced I’ve evaded capture.

But what now? Because if I wait too long and don’t escape the villa, he’ll return to his …

His voice cuts through the silence. “You can run and hide, baby…” I muffle my gasp because he’s close, like a few feet away. “…but I’m never fucking letting you go.”

Suddenly, the exercise room is flooded with light and my surprised reaction’s reflected from various angles in the mirrors lining the back wall.

Flashing me a sinister smile, he enters the exercise room.

I bolt for the door.

His footsteps quicken behind me.

I reach it but not fast enough, and as a shriek escapes me, he slams into my back and pins me against it. Bucking wildly, I attempt to dislodge his massive weight.

“Keep rubbing your ass against my dick like that and your pussy will weep when I fuck you.” He thrusts forward, and I feel every inch of his massive erection.

And then, spurred on by some inner demon, I slowly roll my bottom against him in response.

His hiss is music. Hard rock.

I almost smile because clearly insanity’s taken hold. But then I’m plucked off my feet, dropped facedown onto a long padded bench, and positioned to his liking before he straddles my hips, and with very little effort, pins my arms overhead.

Water from his suit drips onto the curve of my ass, and the bench beneath me vibrates from my pounding heart.

“How did you find me?”

He wiggles something in front of my face for me to see—my black bikini top. Oh, sweet hell. I’m so worked up, and because it weighs practically nothing, I wasn’t even aware it’d fallen off.

Given his breast obsession, why didn’t he roll me out on my back? I’m still beneath him, cognizant these aren’t the kind of thoughts I should be having right now.

“The beach would have been a better choice.” His voice rumbles. “More space to chase you down like a wild gazelle.”

My breath hitches, and I’m suddenly lightheaded.

“Ask me what I’d do next,” he murmurs darkly in my ear.

My voice quivers as I reply, “What would you do next?”

“Mark you. Claim you. Show you in every damn way imaginable that you’re mine.”

Everything around me pauses. My mind drifts, leaving my body to float in a sea of what-ifs. What if he really means it? What if our undeniable connection leads to something deeper, something lasting? What if he actually cares about me?

“Don’t fucking move, capisci?”

I nod.

He lifts off me, and movement rustles behind me. Anticipation tingles up my spine. “What will you do?”

His tone is downright sinister. “Toughen you up.”

Alarmed, I glance over my shoulder.

Oh God. His jaw’s tight with intent. His white shirt clings to his muscles and outlines every inch of his powerful frame as he rolls up his sleeves. The belt he’s holding sways in the air between us.

“Are you about to spank me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

The idea excites him. “Will it hurt?” Because my skin stung when I marked my breasts with the same leather belt, though his reaction to the sight was worth it.

“You need to be broken in.”

My eyes widen. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve been too fucking careful with you, and it’s time I stop holding back.”

My throat goes dry. He whipped those brunettes while I watched. Forced his cock down my throat. Choked me. And that was him holding back?

“Violence is who I am. I can’t have you casting doe eyes at me every time I knife some stranzo or worse. Tonight, you’ll dance the fine line between pain and pleasure.”

“And if I say no?” Because I should. Violence is who he is, and who’s to say he won’t actually harm me?

He stares at me blankly, his expression unreadable. So in control. So dominant. So beautiful, it hurts. And then, his lips lift into a maddening grin, and I’m thunderstruck.

It takes another minute to realize why he’s smiling.

He was waiting for me to say no.

Right here and now, my decision’s made.

“Mark me. Claim me. Show me in every possible way you’re mine as much as I’m yours.”

His smile vanishes. “Fuck.”

I grin, then turn away. “Go on. Punish me, then.”

The first lash makes me jump, and it stings a lot more than I anticipated. As do the next few lashes. I grit my teeth and brace for more, willing myself not to cry.

He surprises me by placing a palm over the burn. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

The reverence in his tone quickens my heart.

“Goddamn it.” He wraps his fingers around my ankles and tugs me backward until I’m hanging over the bench. “I hate how much I want you.”

“What?” His words sting in a way that’s ten times more powerful than his belt. A compliment followed by a low blow is like receiving roses only to discover nothing but thorns in the bouquet.

“I fucking hate how I can’t get enough of you. How I can’t follow through on one simple act and punish you the way I do the others.”

The others.

I kick him in the knee and, as he falls back with a muttered curse, spring from the bench. All my what-ifs crescendo into no-more.

“What the fuck?” he demands.

“You hate me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

We glare at each other. The tension between us grows thick enough that you can cut a slice of it.

“Get your ass back on the bench.”

“Let me go.”

He frowns in confusion, then steps closer and mutters my name in warning. “Riley.”

Before I can stop myself, the words spill out. “You hurt me.”

Alarm flashes in his eyes as he spins me around, and my heart skips a beat. He cares.

“Which blow?” he demands.

For someone so clever and controlling, he’s utterly clueless, isn’t he? I face him, take his hand and press it against my heart. “Here.”

He snatches his hand away like I doused it with gasoline and set it on fire. “What the fuck?”

If he truly wants me on a deeper level, he needs to toughen up. “You, with those others , hurts me.”

I brace myself, expecting him to throw his hired harem in my face.

“Go. Get out of here.”

I blink in surprise. “You’ll allow me to leave?”

“Leave?” He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “Not on your life.”

I hesitate, drawn to the wildness in his manner, like my honest confession has shaken him.

“Go,” he roars, loud enough to wake the entire villa. “Get out of my sight before I destroy my goddamn destiny.”

Perplexed, I follow his command and flee, wondering why—of all reasons to push me away—he chose destiny.

SANDRO

Paradise in hell is what this trip to Italy’s become.

I designed this villa to my exact liking—clean white accents, immaculately groomed grounds, and a staff handpicked to suit my every preference. It’s supposed to be my sanctuary, an escape from a world I’ve no control over.

But ever since Riley dropped her hurt bomb, I’m suffocating here.

I push Barbara off my lap and, once more, curse Riley beneath my breath. For two days, I’ve reverted to old habits. Women parade in and out of the casita, a sight any man would give his right nut for, yet none of them hold any appeal. A few favorites have tried—Barbara being the wickedest, touching me and even climbing onto my lap uninvited—but they’ve only confirmed my suspicions.

I’m completely, utterly fucked.

A change of scenery will clear my head. That, and catching Dante red-handed, doing whatever nefarious bullshit he’s up to in Sicily.

The hunt for Conti continues. Capturing Renzo is proving to be challenging, to say the least. Something’s got to give, sooner than later.

Barbara pouts as I sidestep her and exit the casita. I cross the pool deck and enter the villa, then find my way upstairs. Tense and troubled, I forget to fix myself a whiskey to help me sleep off my frustrations. It’s not until I reach the mezzanine level that I see Riley’s door is partially open.

Tommaso was told to lock her up tonight.

Not to keep her in, but me out.

I pause in indecision, and then stalk toward her room and push inside.

She’s asleep on a bare mattress, naked and exposed, completely defenseless against any stronzo who might stroll into her bedroom and take advantage of her.

This is inexcusable. “Tommaso!” I bellow.

Riley jolts up, mouth open and eyes wide like a woman possessed. “What’s happening?” she exclaims, looking around wildly, her gorgeous body on full fucking display.

I rip my dress shirt off and toss it at her. “Cover yourself.”

She frowns but obeys.

Tommaso appears a few minutes later, dragging ass like I woke him up.

Probably did.

I point to Riley, who’s curled into a ball, and is staring at us with sad kitten eyes.

“Locked up,” I grind out. “That’s what I said.”

Brow wrinkling, he wiggles the door handle. “It’s unlocked.”

“No shit.”

We turn to Riley for an explanation.

She shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. “Your staff enjoy keeping me entertained.”

With a frown, I search the room. It’s completely bare. No chairs. No lamp. No goddamn bedding.

“Jesus,” Tommaso exclaims. “You said bad, not viciously bullied.”

“The service here sucks.” Her eyes narrow on me. “But you like that, don’t you?”

“Bullied?” I charge across the room to the closet, throw the door open, and find it completely empty. “Where are the clothes I bought you?”

“Did you think your fuckdolls didn’t notice?” Her voice is calm, her tone cold, and I almost don’t recognize it. “You favored me temporarily. They didn’t like it. And this is what I’ve been reduced to. While you were fucking them, they were fucking me over.”

“I wasn’t fucking anyone,” I grind out. Should have been. Every. Goddamn. Day.

She comes up on her knees, spitting fire. “Fucking, spanking, testing out your new chaise.”

“Easy,” Tommaso warns her.

Her attention snaps toward him. “Hard to get in his face …” She jabs a finger in the air at me. “…when it’s buried between another woman’s thighs.”

“Christ’s sake,” Tommaso mutters.

“If I want to eat pussy, I eat pussy,” I thunder. “If I want to fuck, I fuck. If I want my women crawling and begging for my dick, that’s what they do.” And like some limp dick stronzo, I’ve gone days without any of it.

“Must be lucky to have that freedom,” she sasses back. Her cheeks are flushed. Her gorgeous green eyes a shade darker in anger. Without an ounce of fear. No longer afraid of me, is she?

“Sandro …”

“Freedom,” I proclaim. “You believe you’re trapped? Join the fucking club, baby. If I had a choice, this…” I mimic her gesture and jab a finger between us. “…would be different.”

“Don’t,” she chokes out. She’s shaking, and I don’t like it.

Not. At. All.

“Riley…”

“I should have answered you during the car ride home.”

“But you didn’t.”

She glances down at her folded hands. “No.”

“Go on. Say it now,” I push. Except do I want her hatred? Or do I crave the opposite? That thought eases my anger better than yesterday’s joint.

“You’re cruel.”

“You’re goddamn beautiful.”

Tommaso clears his throat. “On that note…”

“Wait,” I demand. Calmer. “Staff meeting. Get them. ”

“Now? It’s close to 1 a.m.”

“Just do it.”

“Yes, boss.” Except he doesn’t immediately leave. “Tell him what they’ve been saying to you, sweetheart.”

I go rigid. “Sweetheart…”

He grins at me. “I love it when you prove me right.”

I wait for him to leave, and then for her to speak.

She rolls her lip between her teeth in that innocent way that makes me immediately hard, and she quietly studies me.

“What have they been saying, Riley?”

“I don’t know what it means … and perhaps it’s nothing…”

“Nothing, like the bullying? Nothing, like your feelings toward me?”

She draws a breath. “Sandro odia la sua fidanzata.”

The truth blindsides me, and I see red. This is my villa. My sanctuary. And they’ve soiled it with bullshit I can’t seem to escape.

“Alessandro, please,” she pleads, reading my reaction perfectly. “Don’t hurt them. They’re jealous, is all.”

“I’ll have my man pack a bag after he returns with your wardrobe. You’re coming to Sicily with me tomorrow.”

“If that’s what you want…”

I pin her with a look.

“Okay,” she squeaks, but then curiosity creeps in. “What does the expression mean?”

“Sandro hates his girlfriend,” I say, and feeling my night turning ass end up, shift the conversation. “Nine a.m. Be ready.”

She looks relieved, and I escape the room.

Italians use the same word with different meanings. Sandro odia la sua fidanzata ?

Even if Riley were my girlfriend, I couldn’t hate her. My feelings are not even close to hatred.

But what is fucking true?

Alessandro odia la sua fidanzata .

Alessandro hates his fiancée .