Bound By Blood Anthology (The Camorra Chronicles 7.50)

I picked up my mobile, seething, and called Luca. This was going to go over well. He’d blame me for Matteo’s mishap. After five rings, Luca’s gruff voice rang out, sounding as if I’d woken him.

“What did he do?” he asked, already pissed.

“He got himself arrested for beating the shit out of three idiots,” I clipped. The one with the swollen nose gave me a nasty look which I returned tenfold until he looked away. You’re playing with a big girl here, idiot.

“Where?”

“Brooklyn, the police station near Prospect Park.”

“I’ll be there soon.” Of course, Luca knew where that was.

Luca showed up forty minutes later. The moment he stepped in, all eyes turned to him, and how could they not, he was a goddamn giant and that in addition to the murderous look would make most people wet their pants. Behind him, a tall man in a designer suit and with brown, immaculately styled hair stepped in. The Famiglia’s new lawyer, a guy from a soldier family who’d used his intelligence to get a degree from Harvard.

The younger police officer asked in a less than friendly tone, “Who are you?”

Luca regarded him like one would a cockroach, then his gaze moved on to me, and didn’t improve.

The color drained off the face of the older officer. He obviously recognized the Capo and when his eyes flitted between Matteo and Luca, he got even paler.

The lawyer stepped forward swiftly, his face a mask of cold efficiency. “Francesco Allegri, I represent the Vitiellos’ legal interests.”

Luca came toward me and together we moved to Matteo’s cell. “I’m surprised you didn’t pull a knife,” Luca said in a deadly murmur.

Matteo grinned. “I can be sensible.”

I snorted. “He actually pulled it.”

Luca’s eyes slanted to me. “Where is it?”

“In my panties,” I said.

Luca shook his head, then narrowed his eyes at his brother who watched me with a predatory grin. If he thought I’d let him anywhere near my panties in the near future, he was going to be disillusioned soon.

“One day I won’t bail you out,” Luca muttered. “I thought marriage would make you reasonable. Of course, I’d hoped you’d marry a reasonable woman.”

“Hey,” I hissed. “It’s not my fault that the assholes over there touched my butt.”

As if that explained everything, Luca gave Matteo a nod. Of course, he would understand Matteo’s reasoning. Luca would have cut off the guy’s hands right on the dance floor if the idiot had touched Aria’s butt. Jealous mobsters were the worst.

I didn’t say a word to Matteo on our way home. The second we stepped into our apartment, Matteo held out his hand, palm up. “You can give me my knife back.”

“I can but I won’t,” I said angrily, and tried to stalk away, but Matteo gripped my wrist and tugged me back. Then he backed me into the wall, his arms to both sides of my head, and the predator look in his dark eyes went straight into my core. I couldn’t believe this was making me wet. Damn it. I didn’t want to be turned on by Matteo’s brutality, by his dark side, but I was.

“I could just get it,” he said in a dangerously sexy drawl.

“I didn’t give you permission to reach into my pants.”

Matteo leaned down, running his nose over my ear, then growling. “You’re my wife, Mrs. Vitiello. That gives me permission to put my hand wherever the fuck I want.” He pressed his palm to my naked stomach and my skin broke into goose bumps, my core tightening.

I bit his earlobe. “No, it doesn’t.”

Matteo drew back. He cupped the back of my head and brushed his lips over mine, then slid his tongue inside, and I almost moaned into his mouth. His hand slid a bit lower so his fingertips slipped inside my pants. He groaned. “Fuck, have you been sewn into these fucking pants?”

I laughed, couldn’t help it. Matteo lowered his other hand and popped open the button of my jeans. “Matteo,” I warned.

He met my gaze and slowly slid his hand lower. “You have something I want,” he said.

Oh fuck. My panties were drenched, the stupid bastard.

His fingertips brushed my pubic bone and then they found his knife, which was pressed up against my folds and embarrassingly slick with my arousal.

Matteo’s eyes dilated with desire and he groaned low in his throat. He pressed into me, breath hot on my lips. “Tell me, Gianna, are you turned on by bad boys?”

I glared up at him. “No,” I said, which was the truth in general. “But I’ll tell you a secret.” I made my voice the sexy whisper that always got him. “I’m always wet for a twisted, murderous gangsta.”

Matteo smiled in a way that tightened my core again. He cupped his knife but instead of pulling it out, he began sliding the smooth metal along my slit, back and forth.