Bound by Honor (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles 1)

He curled his fingers again and I whimpered. “Yes, Luca. I enjoy this.”

He flicked my clit with his thumb and I arched off the ground, but he pulled his thumb away despite my mew of protest and kept fingering me. “So you lied? Why?”

He was driving me insane with need. I wanted him to touch my clit, wanted him to finger me faster, wanted him to fuck me. “Yes, I lied!” I squirmed in his hold, wanting to free my hands to reach for his cock. He was already growing hard and I wanted to convince him to stop my torture, but he was too strong and too relentless.

“Why?” he growled. He paused his fingers and I wanted to scream in frustration.

“I lied because I hate that I love you, because I hate that you can hurt me without ever laying a finger on me, because I hate myself for loving you even though you won’t ever love me back.” Luca released my wrists, eyes dark and questioning.

I didn’t want to talk. I reached for his erection and gave it a hard squeeze. “Now fuck me.”

He grabbed my legs and pulled me toward him, my feet pressed up against his shoulders, and then he slid into me in one hard stroke and I came around him, my muscles clenching around his cock so tightly that he grunted. He fucked me even harder and I scratched my fingers over the wooden floor as my eyes shut tightly. I was coming apart from pleasure and emotions. My back rubbed against the hard floor, I was sore and my legs were stiff but I came again when Luca hit his release, and then I passed out.

***My entire body hurt. I groaned when I shifted and realized I was lying in our bed. Luca must have carried me upstairs last night. My eyes fluttered open and found Luca watching me with a strange look on his face.

“What did I do?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

I frowned, then looked down at myself. The blankets were pulled back, revealing the entire length of my body and the proof of last night’s actions. There were finger-shaped bruises on my hips and wrists. My throat and shoulders were tender where Luca had marked me and my inner thighs were red from the friction. I looked like a mess. I sat up and winced from the sharp soreness between my legs. Yet I couldn’t find it in me to regret anything. I didn’t always want it this rough, but once in a while it was a nice change of pace.

“Aria, please tell me. Did I…?”

I searched his eyes, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Self-hatred flashed on his face and then I realized what he thought. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember bits and pieces. I remember holding you down.” His voice caught. He wasn’t touching me. In fact he perched on the edge of the bed as far from me as possible. He looked exhausted and broken. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His eyes flickered to the bruises. “Don’t lie to me.”

I knelt and moved toward him even when he stiffened. “You were a bit rougher than usual but I wanted it. I enjoyed it.”

Luca didn’t say anything but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“No, really, Luca.” I kissed his cheek and lowered my voice. “I came at least four times. I don’t exactly remember everything. I passed out from sensatory overload.” Relief washed away some of the darkness in Luca’s eyes but I was surprised that he didn’t tease me for my comment.

“I don’t understand what got into you. You even attacked Romero.”

“My father is dead.”

I jerked. “What? How?”

“Last night. He had dinner at a small restaurant in Brooklyn when a sniper put a bullet into his head.”

“What about your step-mother?”

“She wasn’t there. He was with his mistress. She was shot too, probably because the Bratva thought she was his wife. Someone must have told them where to find him. Only very few people knew he went there. He was in disguise. Nobody could have recognized him. There has to be a traitor among us.”CHAPTER SEVENTEENThe sky over New York was hung with heavy clouds but it didn’t rain. It fit the occasion. For the funeral of Salvatore Vitiello, the elite of New York, the Familia as well as the most important members of the Chicago Outfit had gathered on the cemetery. The perimeter around it had been closed off and most of the soldiers of the New York mafia were keeping guard to make sure the Bratva didn’t disturb the funeral. A gathering of the most important members from both New York and Chicago at this time was a risk, but paying respect to the Capo dei Capi was more important.

Luca stood tall and stoic beside his father’s grave. He was now the new Capo and he couldn’t show a flicker of weakness, not even after the death of his father. Luca and his father hadn’t been close in the traditional sense, but losing your parent, no matter how cruel and cold he’d been, always ripped a hole into you. I could tell that many of the older men in the Familia watched Luca with a calculating look in their eyes.

Luca didn’t give any indication that he noticed but that was definitely an act. So soon after he’d come into power was the most dangerous time. I hadn’t known Salvatore Vitiello very well and I wasn’t sorry about that. For me the funeral meant only one thing: I got the chance to see my family again.

Gianna, Fabi and Lily stood with Father and Mother among the guests from the Chicago Outfit. They’d arrived this morning and I couldn’t wait to spend some time with them. Every guest shook Luca’s hand, clapped his shoulder and said a few words of comfort, most of them lies. How many of these men were waiting for a chance to rip the power from Luca’s hands?

When it was my father’s turn, I had to stop myself from attacking him for agreeing to marry Gianna off to Matteo. Instead I gritted my teeth and gave him a cold smile. Gianna pointedly avoided Matteo’s eyes. She’d lost weight and it broke my heart to see her so hopeless.