He took over as head of the Families after his father died ten years ago, and ever since, he’s ruled the underworld with an iron fist, unyielding, unrelenting.His grip on power is absolute.His mother is still alive, but she has moved back to Italy, to her side of the family, only to come back to Boston when required.
People speculate, whispering in hushed tones about his very bloody deeds, but the man himself remains an enigma.Aside from the occasional official and social appearances, no one truly sees him.He is elusive, a shadow, secretive about every aspect of his private life.
His family’s mansion stands in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods, an imposing structure that reflects their power.He owns several office buildings, each home to businesses both above and below board, their legitimacy as murky as his reputation.
It’s common knowledge that he owns everything—and everyone—in this city.His influence hangs over it all, a dark, suffocating cloud that touches every corner, every deal, every transaction.
If he wants to change his mind and still have me silenced for what I saw, there is no one and nothing standing in his way.A shiver runs down my spine despite the sun shining through the windows.Would he send his enforcer after me?Or would he take matters into his own hands?
After what I have witnessed, I am positive thatIl Demoniowould not shy away from doing his dirty work himself.God, maybe he even enjoys it.
Would he slit my throat?Or would he snap my spine?Choke me to death with his big hands, wrapping his long fingers around my throat, cutting off the air?All the while gazing at me with his dark, dark eyes, like he could suck out my soul from my body with just one look.His big body caging mine in, his presence drowning out any resistance.
And his lips, my God, his sinful lips, would whisper dark, dirty things in my ear while his groin would grind into my lower abdomen, making me aware of the large bulk in his pants…
At that thought, my heart starts hammering.Tingles course down my spine and my nipples tighten to almost painful pebbles.And my pussy is definitely getting wetter by the second.
Shit, I am getting aroused by images of my murder.
What is wrong with me?
I need to leave this town ASAP, before he changes his mind about letting me live.And I vow that, until then, I will never cross paths with him again.
* * * *
In the afternoon, Daria is hosting a social tea like every other Saturday afternoon.It always is a success and the other families’ wives and daughters are eager to come to share gossip around tea and cake.Of course, Chiara’s and my presence are required.How are we going to learn to be perfect mafia wives if we don’t attend to such important matters?
By halfway through the afternoon, I’ve already inwardly groaned at least twelve times, and Chiara doesn’t seem to be faring any better.She sits beside me, her gaze distant, her mind obviously lightyears away from the endless gossip swirling around us.The discussions about who’s the most likely pair in our circle, who’s sneaking around behind whose back, seem to fade into the background like white noise pulling us into an endless stupor.
Maybe I should call the Devil so he can put an end to my suffering.I snicker quietly at that thought, drawing unwanted attention to myself.
Daria has that pinched look she always wears when she looks at me.“Lily, dear child, why don’t you go get us some more tea?”
Of course, in front of the other wives I am always her dear child, she being a saint to raise her husband’s mistress’ daughter.I obediently stand and collect the tray holding the teapot, sugar bowl and milk jug to head to the kitchen, almost fist-pumping for getting away for a few minutes.Chiara sends a jealous glare my way and I give her a secret grin and blow her a cheeky kiss in passing.
It takes a while for the water to boil.Well, I may or may not have put the kettle back to boil at least three times, to make sure the water isreallyhot.I pour the hot water into the teapot with fresh tea leaves.Then I top off the milk and sugar and put everything back on the tray.I can’t stall any longer, so I pick up the tray and go back to the sitting room where the conversation seems animated
“…wonder who he will marry?He should be thinking about having a wife.He is nearing thirty-five after all.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.As far as I am concerned, the poor unknown man can live his life alone with cats until he is sixty.Screw that, until he is crumbling to dust.
Life for mafia women is hard—we are always scrutinized, compared, judged and never deemed good enough.Apparently men are scrutinized too.But still, I have the feeling they have more leeway than us women and it bothers me to no end.
“Well, he always has a string of women on his arm, but not one holds his attention for more than a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe he hasn’t found the right one yet.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t like women,” I mutter distractedly under my breath, rolling my eyes.
Everyone jumps and turns shocked gazes my way.
Oops.
“How dare you speak like that of Mr.Santaluccia?”they screech in unison, and I am almost surprised they don’t cross themselves at the blasphemous words I just said.
Mr.Santaluccia?Double oops.
“Um…I mean, maybe he likes men, but doesn’t want to come out because of the backward society we live in?”I know I am digging my own grave, but I can’t seem to shut up.
