Captured by the Mob (Bianchi Crime Family 2)

“We have apple or orange juice.”

“I’ll take apple.” I had orange juice for breakfast. He pours a glass and then hands it to me. Our fingers touch, and a little gasp passes my lips with a pleasurable shock. Nero quickly takes his hand away and goes back to cooking as if he didn’t feel that, but his hand is a little unsteady on the last of the raviolis.

His phone rings, and he sets everything down to answer it. “Hello, Aria.” That’s all I get because he goes into speaking Italian to her, which pisses me off. I get out of my seat, feeling an insane amount of jealousy. He ends the call just as I make it to the kitchen door and is on me before I get two more steps. Nero’s thick, muscular arms wrap around my waist and he spins me to face the wall outside the kitchen.

“Nice try,” he growls in my ear as his body presses into my back. “You’re a very bad girl. Just when I thought things were going well. I hope you got enough to drink because it’s time to go back to your room.”

“Why—are you worried your girlfriend will find me here?”

A deep, rumbling laugh rips through him. “I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend or anyone. That woman I was talking to is Dom’s wife, Aria. She wants to hang out with you, but I can’t trust you to behave and Domani won’t let you hurt his wife.”

“Why would she want to hang out with me?”

“Because you’re close in age, and she only has her son to hang out with most days unless her family stops by.”

“Oh—I don’t want to go back to my room yet.”

“I’m only going to give you one more chance.” His tongue dips out, licking my pulse while his cock grinds against my ass. I can’t bite back the moan as pleasure floods my pussy. “Don’t try that shit again, or I’ll forget my manners.” He nips at my ear, then pulls away and leads me into the kitchen.

I sit back in my chair and don’t say another word. My face is hot from both embarrassment and his touch. “So you’re barely nineteen. Where are your parents?”

“They died.”

“I’m sorry. When was this?”

“A year ago. What about yours?”

“My father was a piece of shit and died years ago. My mother lives in Italy, and we haven’t spoken in twenty years and she’s no better.”

“Wow. That’s rough. I thought most boys loved their mothers.”

“My aunt is like a mother to me. When I turned seven, my mother didn’t want anything to do with my father and me. She fled to Italy and married someone else. For years, I thought my father had killed her and lied to me, but then I saw her with her husband when I went to Italy for a vacation. She looked at me with disgust and then walked away with her nose in the air.”

“Why? Does she know what you do?”

“Oh yes. She left because my father wasn’t the Don and I wouldn’t be in charge. She wanted to be the queen of it all.”

“Oh shit. My bad about the whole joke earlier.”

“It’s fine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you knew all about me and how to stick it right to me.”

“So why did you hate your father?”

“Well, he wanted the same thing for me and for himself, but he was a coward and didn’t pull off the coup he wanted. Instead, he got a bullet.”

“Oh shit. I don’t understand how people you’re close to can be so terrible.” I choke on my own tears as I think about my parents’ sudden dismissal of me. They changed after my father’s heart attack, and they were never the same with me.

“Don’t cry, baby.” I feel his hand wiping away my tears.

“Sorry.” Our eyes lock and I feel the pull, but then my phone rings, and it’s not in my pocket. It’s in his.

“Hello?” he answers, keeping his eyes focused on me. “Never mind who the hell this is. Who the fuck are you to call my woman’s phone? CPD, you say? Your name and badge number. It sure as fuck matters to me.” He grabs his phone and types something in it before responding to the man on the other end. “Missing? She’s not missing. Who reported her missing? Her fiancé?” He stiffens and then relaxes. “Well, that’s nuts because she doesn’t have one. Have a good day. Don’t call again.” He ends the call and tosses it on the counter. “Fiancé?”

“I don’t have a fiancé. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

He stares at me with determination in his eyes. “That’s really good because I’d have to add another dead body to my count this week.”

“How many do you have this week?”

“Only the fuck you saw.” He continues working on dinner, dropping the ravioli into a boiling pot like it’s not a big deal. Hell, I’m not even acting like it’s an issue.