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“Two minutes and we’ll be in our room,” I remind him.
But he’s already made up his mind.
“When I want something, I tend to take it, Bella,” he rasps, and a tiny thrill zips along my spine. “And I want you, right now.”
With a yank, he shreds my dress open at the side seams, exposing each thigh. He pushes the fabric over my hips, and his large palms glide over my ass. He lets out an appreciative groan as he continues to study my flesh with his big hands.
He presses me against the railing.
Nudges my feet apart.
Lifts my hips higher.
Lowers his zipper.
It always amazes me how quickly he can recover from one orgasm and be ready for the next.
He takes his length in his hand. Spreads my ass with the other. Impales me with his insatiable cock.
I gasp and close my eyes, his fingers finding my jaw. “Open your eyes, Bella. Watch me fuck you.”
I lift my lashes. Watch us in the mirror. Watch him thrust his cock in and out of me. Lose myself in the rhythm of every stroke into my body.
“Good girl,” he rasps.
I bite down on my lip. His cock surges deeper into me. He reaches around and finds my clit with his fingers.
“Oh God…” I moan, clamping my hand around the railing to steady myself. My eyelids flutter.
He holds my hips, rocks deeper.
“Look at us, Bella. Look at how perfect we are together.”
For some reason, tears spring to my eyes.
It’s all too much.
Feelings come from nowhere.
A tear breaks loose to slide down my cheek.
I don’t know why I’m crying. But I suspect it’s the old me stepping aside so the new me can take the reins.
Behind me, Nico growls. His fingers circle my clit while his cock pumps into me.
“Nico…” I cry, gripping the railing harder, certain my legs are going to give way.
A broken moan falls from my lips and I come, falling hard and fast.
Nico follows, stroking hard until he jerks to a stop and shudders, jetting deep into my body.
He relaxes against me, panting.
Another loose tear escapes, followed by another.
When Nico sees them, he pulls out, turns me around, and takes me in his arms.
He searches my face, then silently leans down and kisses the tears from my skin.
“Did I hurt you?” The concern in his voice warms my heart. The part that has been dead to him for a long time.
I shake my head.
“Then why are you crying?” The back of his fingers are gentle on my cheek, as is the look in his eyes. In his voice, I hear how do I fix this?
It’s then I realize I’m afraid.
Afraid of these feelings for him.
Knowing he could break them apart and destroy me.
“Am I enough?” I ask.
His brows draw in. “What do you mean, are you enough? Bella, you are every-fucking-thing.”
I smile, hoping he will kiss the stupid off my lips.
But because I am married to a Mafia kingpin, he spins me back to look at us in the mirror.
He grips my jaw with strong fingers but gentle enough that it’s welcomed, and holds my face in place, making me look at myself.
"Look at her... she's a queen.” His words brush the soft shell of my ear in a low, luring rumble. “She’s my queen.”
I bite down on my lip.
He rasps, “Now let me hear you say it.”
I stare at the woman in the mirror and feel my strength rise and move through me.
“Say it,” he commands.
I meet his eyes in the mirror.
A renewed strength comes over me.
"I'm a motherfucking queen."
35
Bella
After returning to New York two days later, I receive a summons from my father to attend a formal brunch at his house.
We arrive just as Sophia, who is now in her late seventies and won’t retire, is removing a homemade parmigiana di melanzane from the oven.
“That smells divine,” I say as we enter the spacious chef’s kitchen.
Her eyes light up when she sees me. “My Bella.”
She hurries over to me and kisses me on each cheek.
When she sees Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous next to me, her eyes soften.
“Domenico… what a handsome man you are.” She reaches up and pulls him into her arms. “It’s good to see you, it’s been too long.” Their embrace is warm and long, and when he straightens, Nico’s jaw ticks with emotion.
“It’s good to see you too, Sophia,” he says, his voice thick.
When we were young, we used to spend hours in Sophia’s kitchen watching her bake and cook. She’d fix us whatever we wanted, which was always spaghetti, and she’d fuss over us with all the affection of a grandmother even though she wasn’t related. She was the grandmother neither of us had.
She returns her attention to me, her bony hand reaching up to swipe a curl from in front of my eyes. “You look good. You’re glowing.” A gleam shines in her old eyes. “Almost like you’re with child.”
