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“Will you marry me?” I ask.
She claws at me, using her body to grind against me. “Just let me come,” she says as I thrust slowly back into her. “Please.”
“Will you marry me?”
“This isn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t. Say yes and I’ll let you come.” I thrust again, my fingers on her clit, stroking with a feather light touch.
“Yes, all right. I’ll marry you. Just please let me come.”
I grip her hips tightly, my thrusts fast and hard as I stroke her clit to the same rhythm. “Oh, yes,” she cries out, her voice hoarse with pleasure. “I’m there, I’m coming!”
With one last thrust, I bury myself deep inside her, my release building up within me, the pressure almost unbearable. And then, with a deep groan, I release, my cum filling her up, our bodies shaking with the intensity of the moment.
We collapse onto the bed, panting heavily, our hearts still racing with the aftermath of our passion. I untie her wrists, pulling her close, my arms wrapped around her, our bodies joined together.
My cellphone buzzes to life, spoiling the moment. I stand up. “One moment,” I say, collecting my phone and walking naked out of the room. I close the door before I answer.
“It’s done,” Tony’s voice says on the other end of the line. “We’ve found him. He’s expecting your call.”
“Give me the number,” I say, my voice steady, the command rolling off my tongue with the ease of a man used to being obeyed. “Now.”
The digits are recited, and I make a mental note. I look back at the bedroom door. She’s naked in there, filled with my cum, waiting for me to join her. But I can’t. I have something I need to do first. I walk away, punching the number into my phone.
It’s answered at once. “Hello?”
“Jonny Hennimore,” I say down the line. “I need to talk to you about your daughter.”
ELEVEN
Jess
The next day…
The church looms before me, a majestic structure of ancient stone. The armed men at the top of the steps are jarring next to such a symbol of peace.
The interior is breathtaking. Stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the nave, illuminating the pews and the aisle I must walk down. Yet, this beauty does nothing to ease the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
As I start my lonely march toward the altar, the air feels charged, the silence punctuated by my echoing footsteps.
The guests, a motley assembly of Alessandro’s mafia lieutenants and unfamiliar faces of wealth and influence, turn their gaze upon me.
I feel their eyes, heavy with speculation and judgment, scrutinizing my every move. A momentary thought flickers through my mind.
They’re disgusted by either my age or my curves. I’m the youngest one here by several years and all the women are stick thin in comparison to me.
But as I catch their expressions, I realize something. The women, draped in their finery, are not disgusted with me, they’re envious.
I wonder how many proposals Alessandro has rejected before. And the men, their fear is palpable, not of me but of the influence I’m about to wield as Alessandro’s wife. This realization injects a dose of confidence into my veins, and I straighten my back, striding forward with a newfound determination.
Ahead, Alessandro stands, a figure of calm assurance, his gaze fixed on me. My body reacts to him, a confusing mix of desire and fear churning within me. I want him, more than I should, given what he is—a killer. But I don’t see death in his eyes. I see a wisdom that comes from years I’ve yet to live.
The priest, an older man with hands that tremble ever so slightly, waits at the altar. His eyes flicker to Alessandro and he looks frozen by fear. Is that what everyone sees when they look at him?
Halfway down the aisle, I pause, seeking the familiar face of Emma. She stands off to the side, her smile bright but her eyes brimming with concern.
“You’ve got this,” she mouths, her voice a whisper carried across the silent expanse. “Be brave, Jess.”
