Page 58 of Claimed Through Deception

"You can’t exist without this," he whispers, leaning down to bite my jaw.

"Please," I sob, my hips thrashing upward, seeking maximum friction.

He withdraws his fingers. They are coated in my slickness. He brings them to my mouth.

"Taste it," he orders softly.

I part my lips. He slips his fingers into my mouth. I suck them, tasting my own salt and sweetness mixed with his skin. The filthy, degrading intimacy of the act completely obliterates my shame. I want it. I want all of his dirty, twisted demands.

He groans, the sound ripped from the bottom of his lungs. He yanks his fingers out, unzips his trousers, and frees his thick length. He grips my hips, hauling me to the edge of the seat, and drives inside me with an unforgiving thrust.

I scream his name. He fills me completely, stretching me tight.

The car hits a bump, deepening the penetration. Niccolò loses his mind. He thrusts into me with a desperate, wild lack of control. He buries his face in my neck, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

"Livia," he chokes out, his hips slamming against mine.

I wrap my arms around his neck, my nails biting into his shoulders. I feel the exact moment his iron-clad discipline shatters. I feel the tremor in his arms, the frantic, unchecked desperation in his kiss.

I am trapped in his world, yes, I am.

20

Niccolò

I sit behind my mahogany desk, staring at the locked safe in the corner of the room. The contract sits inside it. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of servitude.

It is a worthless piece of paper.

She gave me her submission in the back of the Maybach. She wept for my touch, chasing the friction, begging me to claim her. She is not a maid working off a debt. I will burn that contract. I will bind her to my name until death. I will put my ring on her finger, and no force on this earth will pry her from my side.

The oak doors swing open.

My father, Roberto, walks in. His face is a mask of fury. Enzo and Alessio trail behind him, their expressions guarded.

"You went to war with your inlaws," Roberto states, planting his hands on the table.

I do not stand. I lean back in my leather chair. "The treaty is void."

Roberto’s jaw locks. "You invite war with the Falcos. For what? That stray you dragged into this house? You humiliate Caterina for a waitress?"

"Watch your mouth," I warn with a lethal calm.

Roberto scoffs. "You think with your cock, Niccolò. You compromise the syndicate. I will not let a South Side rat dismantle decades of alliances. If you cannot handle your whores, I will have her removed."

I stand up and walk around the table, stopping inches from the man who gave me my name.

"You will not go near her," I say. The quiet in my voice makes Enzo step forward, his hand hovering near his holster.

"I am the Don," Roberto spits. "I give the orders."

"You should not have threatened her life. Even you, father, are not above my madness when it comes to her."

I pull my weapon from my waistband and set it on the table between us. It is a symbol. A transfer of power forced by a threat I will not tolerate.

"You are finished," I tell him. "Your reign is over. Step down, or I will bury you alongside the men who tried to kill me at the docks."

Roberto stares at me, searching for a bluff. He finds nothing. He realizes I will slaughter my own blood to keep her breathing.