Home > Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(41)

Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(41)
Author: Bella Di Corte

“Got something to get off your chest?”

“Why? Are you gonna listen?”

“Isn’t that what husbands do?”

A huge bubble of laughter exploded from my mouth. “I might not know anything about being domesticated, but I know, know, that men are not good listeners. Selective hearing.”

“Selective hearing,” he repeated, a suspicious tone to his voice. “Where’d you hear that?”

I smiled. “Girl’s night.”

Rocco’s wife, Rosaria, had invited me to join her and the women of the Fausti famiglia for their girls’ nights. Some were just friends, but they were all mostly related by marriage. Rocco had three brothers. Brando, Dario, and Romeo. Brando was the oldest and the most intense. He barely nodded when I’d asked him if he liked the framed jersey his wife, Scarlett, had given him.

I had invited Keely to come with me one night, but she’d seemed jealous of how well Scarlett and I had gotten along. After that, I didn’t invite Keely again because I didn’t want things to get awkward.

When Scarlett first saw me, she said, “Told you I’d see you again!” And then she wrapped me in her petite arms and hugged me. She was a famous ballerina, and compared to her husband, so tiny. I couldn’t say what it was about her, but she made me feel lighter. She made me feel like I belonged with them. She and the other wives made me feel like family.

Girl’s night was always held at one of their houses (next weekend at ours, in the building next to the fire station), and that made Capo cool with it. After our wedding at City Hall, he had upped our security. I had three new Giovannis, which made four, and Capo seemed…a little on edge when we were out in public.

The nights out were fun for me, though. We talked about books we read, some of the girls crocheted or knitted, and at some point, we’d always end up talking about our men.

Our men.

My man.

Capo was mine.

The truth of those words stole my breath.

I was someone’s wife.

His.

I touched the ring on my left finger, a reminder. This isn’t a dream.

He stalked closer, pinning me against the counter, one arm on each side of me. His wedding ring clanked against the marble when he rested his hands against it. I reached up and tugged at the ends of his damp hair. Droplets ran down his chest.

“What were we talking about?” he asked.

I smiled. “See? Selective hearing. Girl’s night—oh.” I started laughing. “You’re messing with me!”

“You gotta speed up to keep up, Butterfly.” He kissed me on the forehead.

Butterfly. He had never called me that before. Only Mariposa.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice soft. “If I want to run with the lone wolf, I need to up my game.”

His mouth drifted from my forehead to my nose, his lips soft but firm. He kissed the bridge of my nose, once on each side and one on the center, before his lips met mine. As usual, I responded to him, starved for his touch. My hands reached out to touch him, to bring him closer, and I skimmed my nails along his side, over his ribs.

At the light touch, his eyes opened, staring into mine. When my nails moved toward his back, my touch harder, he made a wild noise in his throat and his eyes closed. His tongue moved faster, harder, twirling with mine, and everything around me seemed to fade.

Lifting my arms, he removed my t-shirt, a shirt I had worn because the color reminded me of his eyes. The kiss broke, but only for a second, not long enough to bring me back to reality. His hands palmed my breasts, his thumbs stroking my nipples. A soft, whimpering sound escaped from my lips. My nails sunk into his skin, wanting more.

He broke the kiss again, almost violently, his head moving down, the water from his hair cool against my overheated skin. I hissed out a breath when his mouth replaced one of his thumbs. He sucked me hard, making my lower stomach clench. The pulse between my legs burned, begging for relief. My underwear were soaked.

“Please,” I said, not even aware I had even said the word until after I did. I didn’t care. “More.”

“Say my name, Mariposa. The name you gave me.”

“Il mio capo.”

His hands made quick work of the button on my jean shorts. They slipped down my legs and I stepped out of them. I kicked them across the room. I did the same with my underwear.

Capo lifted me like a rag doll onto the counter, my ass against the cold marble. “Steady yourself.” He nodded to my arms.

Hardly breathing, I set my arms behind me, palms down on the counter. His mouth came at mine again, and it was a beautiful war between our tongues. A throaty moan came from my throat, and he seemed to swallow it down. Then his mouth moved down—making me lick my lips to taste him again while my head tilted back—and my eyes closed. He licked me from my neck to my belly button, then back up, and down again.

My entire body felt like it was about to explode. Shatter into a million pieces. The ache between my legs had no name. Not even starved seemed to be enough. My thighs trembled from expectation. The stubble on his face scratched my skin, his tongue the exact opposite, and the dampness from his hair still made a cool trail. He pushed my thighs further apart, and when his mouth closed over me down there, I had to press harder against the counter to keep steady.

Fucka me.

Fucka me.

Fucka me.

Nothing had ever felt so good.

The feeling was contained to one area, the area where his mouth and tongue worked its magic, but it sent shockwaves throughout my entire body.

I bucked against his mouth, not an ounce of shame, his name on my tongue. “Capo. That feels so…” I hissed out a breath when his hand came up and started twisting my nipple. “That feels sooo, sooo good, il mio Capo.”

He constantly made a liar out of me. I was traumatized by what Zamboni had done to me, but whenever Capo touched me, I responded to his touch without fear.

My breaths were coming fast, too fast. I was panting and making noises I’d never heard myself make before. If he stopped, violence would come from my hand and land on his body.

He did something to me, something with that magical mouth that sent me over the edge, spiraling out of control. He bit me, hard, down there. My arms gave out, but before I could go flying backwards, Capo caught me.

I kept my eyes shut tight. “I’m so dizzy,” I said. “Is that normal?”

He laughed softly, kissing the top of my head. “Yeah. When it’s good.”

“So good,” I whispered. “So, so good.”

We stayed that way for a while, neither of us moving. That was the furthest we’d ever gone. And even though I hadn’t made it to red yet, I was getting closer and closer to the fire. I wanted him more than anything, but there was something in me that stopped just short of going all the way.

Zamboni was the main reason, but there was another reason, too. I didn’t realize it until after I had moved in, and I found myself flirting with desire, so close to giving myself over to it. I wanted the connection to grow between us before I gave him my body. Love was not an option, he made that clear, but that didn’t mean everything else we agreed to couldn’t deepen.

A deeper relationship. A deeper sense of intimacy. A deeper loyalty.

Maybe even a deeper friendship.

Maybe I was a fool, but I needed to feel more from him, a little more warmth, so that after it was over and done, my soul didn’t feel so lonely. It would sound like total bullshit if I’d said it out loud, but deep down, I knew it was true. His cold nature could be so hard sometimes. Nothing could break it down, not even fire.

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