Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I could have sworn I heard the low rumble of laughter after my door slammed shut.
10
Gio
My dick was like stone, and my ribs burned as I stared at the corridor where Emilia had just disappeared. I knew she had that knife, knew the second she started playing nice what she was going to do. I’d never been so eager for someone to stab me. She was everything I wanted to taint and tame.
She hesitated. Definitely wanted me.
I dished up a bowl of spaghetti and took it to her room, prepared to go in there and force-feed her if I had to. But I couldn’t. If I went in there right now, I’d end up trying to fuck her. Not before she begs. The image of Emilia on her knees had the ache in my dick intensifying. I put the bowl on the floor outside her door and strode to my office. My side was still bleeding, my shirt soaked through, but I had more pressing concerns.
I pulled up the camera feed for her room, and she was just standing there, looking shell-shocked. My bloody handprint was stamped on her throat, a crimson streak marring the smooth skin of her face. She’d never been more beautiful, and I’d never wanted to bury my dick in a woman so much. I unfastened my belt and fisted myself. My hand was still covered in blood, but I didn’t care. I watched as she sat on the edge of the bed, so innocent yet tainted by violence right then. I stroked myself hard and fast, ready to come in seconds. When I looked down, my dick was painted red and I groaned, imagining that was what it would look like covered in her virginity. I lost it, balls exploding, body jerking as I came over my own hand. Fuck. My chest heaved as I glanced at the mess on my hand. Blood and come; my new favorite combination.
I glanced back to the camera feed just as Emilia opened the door and picked up the bowl of food. Satisfaction poured through me when she took a bite. Good girl.
Picking up my phone, I called Tommy.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to come to the penthouse and stitch me up.”
“Who the fuck got you?” Fury tinged his voice, and I knew he was probably picturing some mob member putting a bullet in me.
“Just fucking get here.”
There was a beat of silence. “It was the girl, wasn’t it?”
I didn’t even get a chance to answer before he started laughing.
“Oh, this is great. Wait ‘til I tell Jackson.”
“Hurry the fuck up and keep your mouth shut.” I hung up and pushed to my feet. I needed to at least shower my own come off before he got here.
I was late, thanks to my little run-in with Emilia’s knife. The arches of the Brooklyn Bridge loomed behind me, the steady hum of traffic above blending with the music pulsing from inside the nearby nightclub. My nightclub, Vice.
This was my domain, my normal nightly routine before Emilia, where I straddled the legal and illegal parts of my businesses. There was something settling in the familiarity of coming here, a place I usually lingered until the early hours of the morning. Although I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t find Emilia’s company infinitely more interesting.
Vice was one of the glittering jewels in my own personal empire, each one lending to the image that I was a businessman, above reproach. And the further from reproach I was, the more it benefitted the Famiglia. The easier it became for councilmen and mayors and various other high-powered individuals to take my dirty money. Plausible deniability opened more doors than violence ever would. Nero had run New York through fear and blood, but I ran it through the very men who had once stood in our way. If I went down, we all did. It was a house of cards with me perched at the top, towering over them all.
Of course, not all my dealings in the club were legal, hence why I was here tonight.
The scent of trash and the briny tinge of the nearby river lingered in the air as I locked my car and cut across the narrow alley to the back door.
Inside, the walls hummed with each rattling vibration of bass as I moved along the narrow hall and ascended the stairs that led to my office. This corridor was private, used only for my less civilized dealings. The room had one glass wall that overlooked the VIP area and the club below. But my attention fell on the three men in the room. Jackson leaned against the back wall, a scowl fixed on his face. Two of the Pérez brothers were on the couch looking bored.
I took a seat at my desk. “Sorry I’m late. I ran into some trouble.” And its name was Emilia Donato.