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“Oh—my—Vincenzo,” he growls, his body shaking as his dick pulses with his release. His ass chokes my cock as I fill him with my cum, the orgasm such a sweet relief.
I press a kiss to his shoulder, slowly slide out of him, and glance down to see my work—my cum dripping from his hole. Something about it is so satisfying.
“Let’s shower,” I say through panting breaths.
Rafael gets off the bed, standing on shaky feet. I hear him pulling the soiled blankets off his bed before he joins me in the bathroom.
Rafael and I don’t cuddle, but we do spend time together afterward. Especially during the rougher sessions, which tonight wasn’t, but still.
“I’m not sure she’ll let me talk to her,” I admit once we’re in the shower.
He has one of the biggest ones in the house, fit with two shower heads on either side, giving us plenty of room to do what we need to do.
“She will.”
“How do you know?”
“We’ve chatted a few times. She’s angry and upset, but I think it’s because she doesn’t understand. I don’t know why she’s here, but if I was in her position…” He gives a little shake of his head. “I think knowing what’s going on will make her feel better.”
“Ruining her relationship with her father won’t do me any favors. She’ll make it my fault and never forgive me.”
“Then let him do it.”
I open my eyes and find him staring at me. I run my hands through my hair one more time to get the rest of the soap out.
That is a great fucking idea.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vincenzo
The papers aren’t signed.
I knew they wouldn’t be, but I can’t ignore the heavy feeling in my chest over it.
I told her she had a week, which ended on Saturday. I chose not to look at the papers until today, wondering if giving her a little extra time would make a difference. Clearly, it didn’t, but I’m not mad about it. No, mad isn’t what I’m feeling. Despondent, maybe. Her not signing these does nothing to make this more difficult. It changes absolutely nothing. Not legally, anyway.
I gather everything I need before Rocco and I leave the house.
Antonio is out for a week or two while he recovers. His vision is a fucking mess, thanks to Jordan’s freak out. I’d considered giving her a stern talking to about respecting my men, but all things considered, I don’t think it’ll matter. Jordan will do what she wants, regardless of what I say. And knowing her the way I do, I’m sure she feels bad enough about it. She isn’t a child. She knows she did something wrong. She doesn’t need me pointing it out. Giving attention to the situation will only make her more rebellious, and I’d prefer she give in to me sooner rather than later. This all started as a bit of greed, of selfishness, maybe even payback, but the more snippets I get of how our life could be together, the more I want it. The dinners, the quick sex in the kitchen or the movie theater, coming home to her after a long day, her smile—it’s all appealing.
Yes. Me, Vincenzo Bramante, is craving family life.
Rocco and I drop the papers off at the office of the marriage officiant I paid heavily to take care of this, and he assures me it will be taken care of within a few days.
There. That’s it. Simple.
In a few days, I’ll have a wife—officially.
When that’s finished, Rocco and I head to the restaurant, where I have a meeting with Dario Canvani. After the concern of my brothers on Sunday, I told them I’d handle it. And I plan to. Not only for them, but for me too. Though I’m not worried about Dario, the less bullshit I have to deal with, the better. So if I can nip this in the bud, I will. Dario isn’t happy with our arrangement, that much is clear.
Dario doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to starting turf wars, but with the rumors going around about my father, this would be a smart time to strike against my family. When people may assume we’re weak. Little does Dario know, we’re at our strongest. Now that we have fresh eyes and a new outlook, my brothers and I are ready to take over what our father has built. But Dario can think whatever the hell he wants. In fact, I hope he steps out of line, because I’d love nothing more than to put that ignorant fuck six feet underground.
The restaurant is a neutral place, one we use to conduct business. It’s one of many that started because the families couldn’t decide who got it, since it rests on a territory line. The ultimate response was to make it neutral ground, and that’s how it’s stayed, even after changing owners a handful of times since.
“Good evening, Mr. Bramante,” the blond hostess, who is here every single time I come in, says. I’m pretty sure she’s the owner’s granddaughter or something. She, unlike most women I come across, doesn’t look at me with little hearts in her eyes.
I give her a small tilt of my chin as a greeting and head through the diner-like restaurant, Rocco following closely behind me.
