Taboo Flames (The Sicilian Sins #2)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Giovanni

A urora looks like she’s deep in thought when I slip into her bedroom after Fabio and the rest leave. She’s leaning over her balcony, the hem of her dress riding up over her thighs.

I resist the urge to walk over to her, push the dress aside, and fuck her right there.

Instead, I stand there for a while and look at her, but she doesn’t notice. She’s staring so intently out over the horizon while biting her lower lip in the way she does when she’s worried.

What is she worried about?

“Hello, princess,” I drawl.

She spins around and looks at me with wide eyes. There’s a wary look in her eye that confuses me. I’m sure I’ve not done anything to put that look there, but just before I can ask about it, it’s gone, replaced by a naughty smile.

“Hey, Daddy,” she says salaciously.

“That’s a new one,” I reply as I approach her.

“Do you like it?”

“Let’s try it again when we’re both naked in bed.”

She giggles.

“Let’s go home,” I tell her.

“But this is my home.”

With an annoyed growl, I grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and start to make my way out of the house.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks. “Someone will see us. Oh my God, Gio. Put me down.”

“No one is home. I checked.”

“The helps are?—”

She snaps her mouth shut as we walk past a wide-eyed younger girl who resembles her as we exit her room. Her younger sister, if I had to guess. I smile wolfishly at the girl and continue on my way.

“You’re the worst, Gio. I’m going to kill you,” she seethes when I lower her down outside the house and open my car’s passenger side door for her.

“Get in,” I order. “Or do you want me to carry you in too?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ve had enough of you manhandling me for one day,” she says indignantly before entering the car. “You better pray I’ll be able to convince my sister to keep her mouth shut, or you’ll have one very angry Vitale on your doorstep.”

I want to tell her that, at this point, I don’t care, and I’m very sick of keeping our relationship under wraps, but I wisely keep my mouth shut.

This was neither the time nor the place for that conversation.

As usual, Aurora is silent for the rest of the drive home. She spends the whole drive fiddling with the car radio, flipping through different songs, and making my ears bleed.

Her taste in music is honestly appalling. It’s really just a bunch of people screaming into the microphone. It’s also a clear reminder of the age difference between us that I choose not to think about right now.

“Go upstairs. I’ve got something to do,” I tell her as I pull up in my driveway. “We’ll talk about that video and your text when I get back.”

“Yes, boss,” she says snidely before banging the door shut.

I have a very important meeting on the other side of town, and by now, very important people have been sitting in a warehouse for close to an hour, waiting for me to show up, and yet, all I want to do is go after Aurora and find out if the vibrator is still in her.

With a shake of my head, I turn the car around and drive off.

Every meter I drive away from her makes me angrier and angrier. I know I’m far too attached at this point, and there’s no use denying it.

I don’t listen to a single word anyone says throughout the meeting. I just give nods when I think they’re appropriate and reply with non-committal grunts. Fiore shoots me a worried look at one point, which I staunchly ignore. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll mind his own damn business.

I’m the first to stand up as soon as the meeting comes to a conclusion, and my car is already speeding away by the time the rest of the men are done getting their asses out of their chairs.

The over thirty-minute drive back home takes me about twenty-five. I park haphazardly across the driveway and toss my keys at one of my men. Then, I race up the stairs like an eager schoolboy, just to come up short when I don’t find her in my bedroom.

It’s at that moment that I hear music blasting through the house. I follow the sound to the kitchen and find Aurora singing and dancing around, a spatula held to her mouth.

I smile at the show she’s unknowingly putting on.

She’s in one of my white button-up shirts. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and the hem falls down to the middle of her thighs. I can see the hard points of her nipples from the shirt.

I clap slowly, and her head snaps up to meet mine. “I’m going to need an encore.”

“I only take orders from men with nine-inch dicks. Sorry.” She gives me a mock, apologetic look.

“You’re going to make me go around with a tape, decapitating people,” I tell her with a growl.

She shudders in horror. “You’re a psychopath, and I’m not letting you eat the cookies I’m baking.”

I walk forward until I’m standing a hairsbreadth away from her, then I grab her by the collar of her stolen shirt and pull her to me. “I like you in my clothes.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Good,” I purr before I slant my mouth over hers, tasting butter and sugar on her tongue. “Now, about that video.”

“What video?” she asks coyly.

I dig my phone out of my pocket, open the video, and hold it to her face. The sounds of moans and gasps fill the kitchen, and I see the apples of her cheeks turn red.

“This one.”

“I don’t remember making that video,” she says. “I must have sent it to you by mistake.”

“Hmm, and let me guess, your threat about finding some other asshole was also a mistake?”

“Nope,” she answers, popping the P. “That was completely intentional.”

With a growl, I open the camera on my phone and prop it against the knife block.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, looking at the camera.

“Getting myself a feature in your movie.”

“You didn’t even audition,” she huffs.

“What do you think I’m about to do now?”

I don’t let her respond. Rather, I just drag her forward and kiss her. The kiss is rough and hard and messy, our lips, teeth, and tongue battling for dominance. And as we kiss, I wrap my hand around her neck and squeeze lightly, making her moan.

When I trail my fingers down to the junction of her thighs, I find her soaking wet and ready.

“Fuck me already, Gio. I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she pleads as I push two fingers into her.

“I’m going to let slide the fact that you just gave me an order,” I grouch. Spinning her around, I push her down until she’s bent over the kitchen counter. Then, I push the shirt over her back and kick her legs apart until she’s bared for me.

Her juicy, wet, pink pussy on display.

Feeling impatient, I groan as I push my pants down and bury myself into her, my knees almost buckling at the feel of her hot cunt wrapped around me like a vise.

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been inside her. Every time feels as devilishly good as the first time, and I wonder if I’ll ever get enough of her.

“Look into the camera, baby. Beg me to fuck you how you want it, hard and dirty like a two-dollar whore in an alleyway.”

“Oh God,” she moans loudly. “Please, Gio, fuck me.”

“Like what?” I taunt her.

“Like a two-dollar whore in an alleyway.”

“Good girl,” I praise.

I push back and rear into her, and then I begin to pound into her.

“Scream for me, princess,” I order her.

She lets out a loud scream as I pound into her. I want to pump her so full of my cum that she’ll be leaking me for days. I also want to watch her belly swell with my… No, I don’t let myself complete that line of thought. Because that thought path lies in madness.

Instead, I reach down, find her clit, and flick it. She writhes, going up on her tip toes and pushing her ass further back into me.

“Come for me, baby,” I command, and she shatters beautifully, her mouth open in a silent cry, her pussy pulsing around me, and her back tensed.

I thrust into her one last time, and then I cum too.

We both stand there, panting and trying to catch our breaths, and I’m hesitant to pull out of her. Eventually, I do, and with a grunt, I lazily reach for my phone on the counter and turn off the recording.

“Now I can watch you anytime I want,” I tell her. “Because you’re mine, and the next time you threaten me, princess, I won’t let you cum.”

She just rolls her eyes in response, clearly too tired to argue.

I’m about to say something else, but then I sniff the air.

“Something’s burning,” I observe.

With a horrified cry, she pushes away from me, shrieking, “My cookies!” She races to the oven, and I watch her bare ass bounce with her movement.

She pulls out the tray to reveal a mass of charred blobs of dough.

I grin and cock my head. “If you cover them with icing, I’m sure no one will notice they’re burnt.”

She hurls one of the burnt cookies at me.

Leaving Aurora at home to do a video call with some of the parents of her students, I drive off to see my next appointment. Many years ago, after I was orphaned and left alone on the streets of Sicily, Giacob Giordano found me, took me in, and made a man out of me.

I owe him far more than my loyalty. I owe him my life, and it’s a debt I’ll gladly spend the rest of my years repaying. He’s been more of a father to me than my sperm donor ever was.

His house is on the outskirts of the city, and it sits on several acres of land. It’s one of the most secure locations in the city as there’s twenty-four-hour, seven-day surveillance and a rotation of armed bodyguards.

I honestly think it’s a little bit overkill, but of course, I’m not going to tell him that.

Even though the guards at the gate know me, they still have to call in for me to be permitted into the compound.

Giacob is seated on the patio at the back of the house. At almost sixty, he still has the body of a man ten years his junior, except, of course, for the shock of white hair on his head, but as far as I know, it’s been that way forever.

He doesn’t look anything like a man whose name invokes terror in the city. He’s unassuming when he wants to be.

“Hello, son.” He smiles at me as I take a seat beside him on one of the wicker chairs.

“Giordano,” I greet and nod respectfully.

He chuckles. “Always so formal, Gio. I haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to? Keep an old man up to date.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you have eyes everywhere, old man.”

He shrugs and stands up. “You need something. What is it?”

It’s one of the reasons I like and respect Giordano. He’s a straight shooter, and I always appreciate that in a man.

“I haven’t played in a while.” He motions at the grass-covered yard. “The others can never keep up, and I’m tired of playing with amateurs. Let’s play.”

I go to grab the golf bag from the shed, and we make our way to the starting line marked by a white flag.

“So, what is it?” he probes, his eyes narrowing calculatedly over the distance.

“It’s about Miss Vitale…Aurora.”

“Ahh.”

My gaze sharpens. “You know something.” It’s a fact, not a question.

He shrugs. “Not much. Probably about the same amount of information as you.”

Positioning himself, he swings the stick, and the ball goes flying. I watch it land perfectly into the distant hole.

“You’re too good at this,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“I have far too much time on my hands.”

I position the ball and allow Giordano to speak. A man like him isn’t rushed, and I know he’ll talk in his own time.

We complete about three holes before he leans on the head of his stick. “I hear she’s gotten tangled with Il Sguardo Nero.”

“What do you know about him?” I ask.

“That he’s dangerous and should never be crossed. The same kind of bogeyman stories we hear about dangerous men all the time. I’ve never had an encounter with him, so I’m not personally familiar, I’m afraid.”

I sigh, frustrated by all the dead ends I keep running into.

“What do you plan to do with this man if you eventually find him?” Giordano asks. “Don’t tell me you plan to start a full-blown war because of this woman. Did I not teach you anything?”

“You taught me to protect what’s mine, so that’s exactly what I’m doing,” I say fiercely.

He blinks at me, then shakes his head with a chuckle. “You were always my favorite, Gio. It’s how even death doesn’t scare you.”

“He’s been sending her threatening messages. I have to do something.”

He nods before giving me an eerie smile. “I know you do. Good thing I don’t fear death either.”

After we land six more holes, we return to our seats on the wicker chair, and a blonde, blank-faced woman appears seemingly out of thin air with wine and glasses.

I raise an eyebrow when I read the label on the bottle. “The 1947 Cheval Blanc? What’s the occasion?” The cost of the bottle is in six figures.

He pours the wine into the glasses and passes me one. Then he holds his glass up, a smile playing on his lips. “To losing our heads.”

I hesitate, then sigh and clink my glass against his. “To losing our heads.”

Giordano described it better than I would have been able to. I’ve lost my head to Aurora Vitale…and I don’t want it back.