Theirs to Protect (Mafia Menage Trilogy 3)
“Yes. Yes,” he repeated, stilted and scared. “I’ll contact you as soon as I get word from Mr. Amato.”
“Thank you.” I extended my hand, and Mario shook it. Another good sign. Ciro must be making enough waves to piss off Elio, if his Italian associates were stressed by the mere mention of Ciro’s name.
I turned my back to him and strode toward the door, demonstrating my complete confidence that he wouldn’t attack me from behind.
I have nothing to hide. I’m not a threat. But don’t fuck with me.
The young chef stepped aside, allowing me leave.
Once I was outside, I waited until I was several blocks away to heave a sigh of relief. Nothing was set in stone yet, but that had gone better than I could’ve hoped. With any luck, Mario would make contact within a day or so. Then, I could start making plans with Elio to eliminate his brother. Ciro would never threaten my family again.
Chapter Eleven
Ashlyn
“Oh, Marco! This is so beautiful. Thank you, thank you!” Giddy excitement fizzed through my body. I could hardly believe Marco had found such a breathtaking place for us to stay. This hotel must’ve cost a fortune. Not to mention the last-minute, first class plane tickets.
I threw my arms around him, squeezing tight. “You spoil me too much,” I murmured.
He and Joseph were dressed in smart casual attire, formal enough to match the ruby red, form-fitting cocktail dress that I’d selected for dinner. Marco’s shirt was unbuttoned just enough to give me a tantalizing glimpse of his powerful chest, and Joseph looked impossibly gorgeous in a perfectly tailored blazer.
Marco brushed a kiss over my hair. “I spoil you just enough, princess.”
He gently grasped my shoulders and turned me around so that my back pressed against his chest. The view was awe-inspiring, almost too gorgeous to be real. We stood on a vast terrace that extended from the back of the Excelsior Vittoria hotel all the way to the edge of the craggy cliff that dropped down into the Mediterranean. The sea stretched out before us: clear aqua below shifting to darker shades of cerulean, then sapphire, then indigo as it reached the soft pink glow of the sunset on the horizon. Mount Vesuvius was a navy blue peak across the water, elegant and soft at this distance; a sleeping giant of a volcano that’d left an indelible mark on history.
I could hardly wait to visit in a couple days and explore the ruins of Pompeii at the foot of the mountain. Tomorrow, Marco planned to take us on a boat tour around Capri. This entire trip was like a wonderful dream. The threat of Ciro and my fear for my family seemed so far away now, unable to touch us in this beautiful place. Eventually, we would have to return to Boston and deal with our problems. But for now, I was more than happy to lose myself in this fantastical setting with the men I loved.
The first delicate notes of a string quartet floated through the air, and I turned awe-struck eyes on the musicians who’d set up their instruments at the far corner of the terrace. A few couples rose from their tables, where they’d been enjoying pre-dinner cocktails. They stepped onto the dancefloor, swaying to an instrumental rendition of Stay With Me.
Joseph held out his hand in invitation, and I found myself captivated by his multifaceted gemstone eyes. His tanned skin practically glowed like burnished gold beneath the sunset, and his dark hair fell around his defined features in perfect, glossy black curls. My fingers itched to run through the silken strands, to muss the curls while he buried himself inside me. My core fluttered, empty and desperate to join with my men in the most intimate way possible.
I tore my gaze from Joseph’s entrancing eyes and looked at Marco. I didn’t want to leave him alone by the balcony while I danced with Joseph. We were together, all three of us in a loving relationship. Marco didn’t really like to dance—I found his stiff awkwardness on the dancefloor endearing—but I didn’t want to exclude him from our perfect date.
He placed a palm on the small of my back, taking my other hand and placing it in Joseph’s. “Go dance, babygirl. I’ll be right here.” When I hesitated, he addressed Joseph but didn’t take his obsidian eyes off my face, as though he was memorizing every line and curve of my features. “Dance with her.”
Joseph chuckled and tugged me toward the dancefloor. “You heard your Daddy,” he murmured, low enough that we wouldn’t be overheard. “Be a good girl and dance with your Master.”
Heat pooled between my legs, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, suddenly needing support on my weak knees. He laughed again, a rich sound of delight that warmed me down to my toes. As we began to sway, his big, sure hands guiding my movements, his lips descended on mine in a tender kiss.