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There’s no way he could be mine.Again, those words repeated themselves, echoing like some bad record over and over in my mind. My father had never truly loved me, and if the child Viviana was carrying was his, I could never love it, either. The potential son or daughter would be forever flawed and damaged in my eyes. I wanted an heir, more specifically a son. I wanted to be the father that mine never was, and I knew I could never be that to this bastard child of hers, no matter what the test results might say.
Leaning back in the chair, I pictured myself watching Viviana deliver my child, and one I knew beyond all doubts was mine. It’d be a son with the same dark hair and maybe even two different colored eyes like me. I’d groom him to take over everything I’d inherited, and everything I would continue to build. It’d all be his, and when the time came for me to die, it’d not be even the slightest bit regrettable. There’d be no violence... hatred... anger... There’d be me and my son.
After my mother had died, my father had wanted a new heir. He wanted one he could be proud of, and that was likely what led him to Viviana. Beautiful to a fault, she was also unfazed by the violence of our world. But how? I remembered her that night in the New York City alley, and it was hard to imagine she’d go from that to the temptress I met years later with my father.
“Where the hell did you go? And who the fuck are you?” I asked aloud.
She was a mystery, and perhaps that, combined with her fearless attitude, had been what drew my father to her. I’d known why she had gone for him. In fact, I am sure she even targeted him, but my father started to slip mentally. He’d fallen under her spell, and while she gave him the impression he was in control, it’d been the farthest thing from the truth. She might’ve had caved to his sexual depravities, and there were many. I couldn’t even count the number of times I had watched the two of them together. No matter what implement he wielded on her flawless body, she took every lash, strike, and more. And she liked it rough. God, she was perfect for him. She was perfect for me.
I sneered at that realization. I only kept her around to spite my father as he languished in hell, and because she could serve a purpose for me. Some women only got one chance at reproduction, women like my mother, and what if Viviana was the same? I could force her to get an abortion if she wanted to live, but after, she might be as useless to me as my mother had been to my father. If she couldn’t give me the one thing I wanted, the only thing I needed from her, then she’d be nothing more than a squillo. The very idea of someone else touching her body made me furious.
No, I needed to find out who and what she was, then use that information to my advantage. Viviana would heed to my demands, or else she would die along with that bastard growing inside of her. I’d see to it. In fact, I’d take her out myself. No one else would ever taste her sweet pussy... or feel her luscious lips wrapped around their cock... or lose themselves in her cold, dead eyes as they came inside of her. I’d kill anyone who dared to touch her, so she had two options only — obedience or death. There were no others.
I picked up my cellphone, then scrolled through until I found the number I was looking for. I needed to find out what I could about her, and after, I could devise a plan. When the other line picked up, I wasted no time getting to the point. “I need two things from you...”
VIVIANA
I’d cried off and on for almost three days, and that was when I wasn’t sick. Between bouts of nausea and heartache, I had begun to accept the inevitable. If I stayed here, Nazario would force me to undergo an abortion. I’d not even wanted a child, but now that it’d happened, I wouldn’t let him dictate what I could and couldn’t do with my own life.My body, my choice. It sounded cliché, especially in this world. My body hadn’t been my own when plotting on Stefano, and it certainly wasn’t my own when it came to Nazario. In fact, only with him had I been able to come and not have to imagine others to do so.
I’d learned over the years how to accept the pain... to harness it into pleasure... to use my body as weapon... but I’d never had to do those things with him. I didn’t have to accept anything. I craved it. Even now when I was furious at him, and wishing he’d been taken out with his father, my body still yearned for the touch only he could provide. Nazario was rarely gentle because he allowed emotion to control him. That reckless nature drove me absolutely wild. It aroused me like no one else ever had. While he’d proven he was his father’s son with his roughness in handling me, my entire body came alive like it never had with Stefano. I hated that damn man for ending my best friend’s life and stealing our future, even though his very own son had essentially done the same thing.
It was different with Nazario, though. Sure, there was hate, but there was also passion, and one I couldn’t fake even if I tried. The pool, wine cellar, mausoleum, and so many other places. The night of his father’s death, he had tied me up in his father’s torture chamber and lashed me with a whip as others removed the body from the room underneath us.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Viviana,”he’d told me as he lashed me with the single tail. The leather tip would whistle as it sailed in the air. Sometimes close enough to me to stir my hair, but at other times, just far enough to make my body shudder.
“Per favore,”I’d beg, only to be tormented more.
“You’re also so damn foolish. Cazzo!”The whip would contact my skin, the tip curling around my body and leaving a streak of fire where it’d hit. My toes would curl and my fists would ball tighter, but that aching inside my core would only intensify.“I’d told you to leave this place and never look back.”Another strike landed on me, and as he continued to rail against me for forcing his hand when it came to assassinating his father, I only grew wetter.
My body would arch as I tried to force the next blissful strike to my skin. Sometimes Nazario obliged, but on others, he’d laugh. That raspy chuckle still had the power to make me shiver. He was demented... unhinged... maniacal... but so damn sadistic that the masochist inside of me craved more. I wanted more pain... more anger... more punishment... more hate... I wanted what others feared in men like him, Stefano and the Catalanos. I wanted it all. I still did.
“Oh, Donna. What have I gotten myself into?”
After I’d returned to Napoli from New York City, I’d been a mere shell of myself. Nothing I’d wanted before in life mattered anymore. I’d sunk into a dark depression, and on a trip to Sicily, my entire life changed in a flash. I’d gone from having to remind myself to breathe, to thinking about someone else’s last breath instead. I’d been at a coffeeshop in Palermo picking at a croissant when a group of men came in. I hadn’t understood why at the time, but as soon as they entered, others fled. I had remained where I was, and did my best to ignore them when I heard one mention Stefano by name.
Had he been searching for me so he could shut me up? Donna’s father had been making a lot of trouble for organizations like his to thrive after her death, so maybe by getting rid of me, he could remove even more heat from him and his family. That was it, though. Only Nazario had known that I knew, and if he wanted to rat me out, he could’ve done it that night in the alley. There was also opportunity when we ran into one another in Naples a few weeks later. Our eyes had met across the crowded room, and I had stared into his, then lowered my head as if to tell him that their secret was safe with me.
I’d relaxed more fully as these four men talked, all while appearing completely oblivious as I sipped on my coffee and continued to pick at my pastry. I’d not been hungry, but I’d forced myself to eat a few bites so as not to draw attention to myself. It became clear, even with their broken Italian, that they despised the Vaccaros, maybe even more than I did. I didn’t let on, and when the men finished talking and got up to leave, I waited a few seconds before following them. I’d taken notice of what cars they got into and made sure to stick around that area as I waited for them to return. A few days later, they had, and the rest was my history, and mine alone.
“The weepy look doesn’t suit you,” Nazario said as he walked into the room.
“I’m not weepy,” I muttered.
I looked up at him as he shook his head. Seeing him shirtless and sporting a five o’clock shadow as well as dark bags under his eyes made me want to go to him to extend an olive branch of sorts. He hadn’t been sleeping, but he had been working out. Thinking about him exerting all that sheer power on the punching bags and various weight machines both aroused and saddened me. Usually, he would take his aggressions and frustrations out on me, and I would come so hard for him. Those orgasms were intense, and by the time he’d finish with me, I often was no longer even conscious. Most women would be glad to have been spared from him and that temper, but not me. I craved it terribly.
“The staff is starting to talk. Perhaps, you should go into town and stay in one of the hotels—”
“I’m fine,” I told him, and after his gaze moved up and down my body, he growled.
“You sure as hell don’t look it. You’re to check in to one of those places and I will tell them all that you left—”
He was trying to get rid of me so that no one would realize I was with child. I didn’t know how he intended to keep it secret once I actually started showing. I was about to ask him as much until I realized that he intended to never let me get that far along. In recent days, I had grown even more protective of this life growing inside of me, no matter who sired it. Nazario would end its life, and possibly my own if I didn’t do something, and soon. A thought struck me, and I reversed course.
“Actually, you’re right. I think some time away from here is exactly what I need.”
“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. Pack a bag and I’ll drive you to whatever hotel you want to check in to on my way to the club.”
“I-I don’t want to stay here in Napoli,” I told him, and he arched a brow. “My family and I used to stay at this bed and breakfast in Palerm—”
