1
Dimitri
With my ass braced on the vanity sink, and my eyes locked on a white stick I’m praying like fuck will turn a shade of blue, I fold my arms in front of my chest. Roxanne is adamant I’m wrong. She is convinced pricks like Dr. Klein know her body more intimately than me.
Dr. Klein learned the hard way what happens when you hurt those I love. Tonight, I’ll add a heap of conviction to the belief I’d go to the end of the earth to protect my family. Whether snuggled in their beds like Fien and Matteo are now or growing in my wife’s womb, like I’m confident my next kid is, I will protect my family no matter what because family comes first of all.
They are all I live for.
Money, drugs, and power mean nothing to me anymore. Don’t get me wrong, all the above-mentioned are a part of my industry, they also ensure my family will never want for anything, they’re just no longer responsible for the circulation of my blood anymore. That honor belongs solely to Roxanne and our children.
When Roxanne was fighting for her life, I pledged that my girls would want for nothing. I’ve kept my promise. Unlike my father, I cherish my family.
I fight for them.
I work hard for them.
And I slice out the tongue of any stupid fuck who dares to sneer their last name in vain for them.
My wife and children give the Petretti name valor, and I won’t have an insolent prick tell them any different. If you can’t say my family name without a hint of pride behind it, it’ll do you best to keep your mouth shut. That’s the only guarantee you’ll make it out of our exchange alive. You don’t have to like the things my father did, you don’t have to agree with how I run my businesses, but you sure as hell better respect me and my family or it will cost you more than your life.
My half smirk that makes Roxanne’s head get into a tizzy years after seeing it for the first time drops half an inch when a shocked grumble escapes Roxanne’s lips. She’s staring at the pregnancy test Rosa purchased for her at my request, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It turned blue like I was hoping, and although I’m not overly familiar with pregnancies since Matteo was born a little over three years ago, I know what those blue lines mean. I did good, and for the first time in a long time, it’s taking everything I have not to shout it from the rooftops.
Can you blame me? Dr. Klein’s disclosure when he strived to discount Roxanne’s claims she was ever pregnant exposed she had a severe case of polycystic ovary syndrome. As far as he, and many other professionals since then have stated, Roxanne shouldn’t have fallen pregnant with Matteo as easily as she did. It should have been a long drawn out process like the past three years have been.
I wasn’t lying when I told Roxanne I’d have her knocked up with my kid the instant the trap I snared her with loosened its grip of her ankle. I killed her boyfriend, tortured her parents, and had threatened to kill her more times than I told her I loved her. I couldn’t risk the sheen on my bastard exterior fading enough she’d see the real me.
I’d rather steal the light from her eyes than ever see her with another man, and since there’s no fucking chance I’d ever do that, I had no choice but to keep the spark well-lit. Knocking her up with my kid again seemed like the next logical step.
She was already the perfect mother to Fien, but she knocked it out of the fucking park when Matteo was born. My woman is so strong, she birthed my child without drugs, at home, all because she knew of my wish to keep Matteo and Fien off my enemies’ radars.
I’d be lying if I said the strength of my woman doesn’t thicken my cock with adrenaline. I’m a cold-blooded killer, but even someone as hard as me can admit he has a soft spot for his woman.
Roxanne’s inclusion in my life hasn’t just kept my dick the most satisfied it’s ever been, she has also made me a better man, which in turn also made me a better father. For that alone, I owe her more than any amount my bank accounts will ever hold.
Lucky for me, possessions aren’t something Roxanne craves.
Possessiveness… that’s an entirely different story.
Just like I’ll never be a gentleman, my woman will never be a lady, but I wouldn’t want her any other way.
“What did I tell you, Roxanne? Your cunt is sweeter when you’re knocked up.”
She shivers when I step closer to her, eager to authenticate my claim. Our mid-morning fuck when she got hot and bothered watching me command our realm commenced my campaign to prove two and a half years of nonstop fucking finally produced more than nail marks down my back, but that hard and fast fuck on my desk was hours ago and I’m nothing close to being patient.
“And I’m about ready for a second helping of dessert.”
The positive pregnancy test, along with a heap of Roxanne’s cosmetics, fall to the floor with a clatter when I swipe my arm across the gleaming marble material. The scent I’ve snorted more eagerly than I did coke in my youth hardens my cock when I plant Roxanne’s backside onto the counter between the sinks of our master bathroom. I don’t need to touch her panties to know they’re drenched through. I can smell how aroused she is.
“Wider,” I say on a growl when she spreads her thighs wide enough my hand can slip between her legs, but nowhere near extensive enough I can drag my tongue up the slit of her greedy cunt. I’m starved of her taste, and I’m not a man who holds back on his drug of choice.
“Keep them there.”
After spreading her knees so far apart, her scant panties can be seen from the main part of our bedroom, I move for the door. I’m not just closing it so Smith’s perverted-fucking-self doesn’t get off hearing the moans of my wife, I’m hoping it will reduce the chance Roxanne’s shouts will wake Matteo.
Fien is so accustomed to the noises that rock out of the room I share with Roxanne every night she thinks they’re normal. Matteo still struggles with the belief he needs to protect his mother when she’s screaming like she is being murdered.
That’s my fault.
I raised him with the morals my father forgot to instill in me.
He won’t ever raise his hand to a woman, but he sure as fuck will when it comes to defending her. He only turned three two months ago, however, he had no issue putting a bully double his age and size on his ass at the playground last week when he pushed a little girl off the swing.
That punk-ass weasel should consider himself lucky. If he had treated Fien as he did the girl on the swing next to her, Matteo would have choked him out with the swing chains. That’s how fearless he is when it comes to protecting those he loves. He’s as ruthless and unhinged as his father.
I would have suggested he cool it a little if I hadn’t seen the gaga eyes his rescuee was giving him. She was smitten with him just as quickly as I was when I spotted Roxanne with black smears under her eyes and chunky, Goth-approved boots. It reminded me that not every story needs a hero. Sometimes the villain gets a lead role as well.
As I pace back to Roxanne’s side of the bathroom, I remove my belt from my trousers. Unlike the time where my anger got the better of me, she doesn’t tremble in fear that I’m going to beat her with it.
I’ve studied every inch of her body the past almost four years. I know every pore, every goosebump, and every imperfect flaw, so I’m more than aware the widening of her pupils now has nothing to do with fear. She’s turned on at the idea of being dominated, and I’m more than capable of fulfilling her every demand.