Owned by the Italian Mafia Don: Chapter 10

It’s been three days of her ignoring me. She’ll fall asleep on the couch, so she doesn’t have to wake up in bed, but the jokes are on her. I’ve picked her up every night and put her into bed next to me. Granted, she makes sure to stay at the very end of the bed, so she doesn’t touch me.

Her restraint is impressive.

I do not have the same.

When she’s sleeping and the blanket exposes her shoulder, I drift my fingers up and down her spine, hoping somehow, someway, I soothe her dreams since I’m the nightmare she’s painted in her mind.

I’m captivated by her, if only she’d allow me to show her.

My phone begins to buzz, and I lean over, placing a kiss on my wife’s shoulder. She nuzzles her face into the pillow, sighing, and I roll out of bed, swiping the alarm off on my phone so I don’t wake her. My knees pop as I stand, and I hold in a groan because that felt so damn good.

I head to the bathroom, use the restroom, wash my hands, and strip out of my pajama pants. Rosie was insistent that I wore them to bed after I told her I slept naked.

It’s cute getting her fired up. Her cheeks turn red, and her curls bounce as she bobs her head left and right while she shuffles her feet because she gets so uncomfortable.

She gets so mad at me, but I know she’s only fighting what she feels. There is a massive connection between us, one that is powerful. When I’m near her, I only want to get closer. It’s lust, it’s desire, and it’s addictive. I want more of it.

But I’ll have to be patient while she works out her feelings. I’m a patient man. I have all the time in the world and so does she. She’s out of her mind if she thinks I’m letting her get away after a year.

I peek my head from the bathroom to the bedroom, checking on Rosie to make sure she’s there and is okay. She’s on her other side now and her arm is stretched across my side.

What if she was reaching for me?

In her sleep would be the only time the Tesoro would touch me.

I back away and reach into the shower stall, flipping the water on. I wait until it’s hot and then step in, rolling my head over my shoulders. I know she watched me last night. I felt the cool air from the bedroom enter the bathroom, so I closed my eyes and angled my body so she could see me. I wanted to put on a show. I wanted her to see what is hers.

Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll come in here again and instead of watching, she’ll join me.

I hang my head, leaning forward and catching myself on the wall, and let the water run over my back.

Is this how Carmine felt constantly when it came to his wife? Out of control and on edge?

Christ, it’s hard to fucking think when I ache for her. I want to lie Rosie down and adorn her body with kisses, finding the spots that make her gasp and her back arch. I want to make her so wet that she begs me to slide deep inside her, reaching depths like no other man has been able to. I’ll show her pleasure beyond what any man has failed to do for her.

“Fuck,” I curse, staring down at my cock.

I’m so hard, the ache in my shaft tells me it wouldn’t take long for me to come. “Damn it, Tesoro. It should be you getting on your knees and sucking down my cock,” I whisper under the hot spray of water, wrapping my hand around the base, I give it a good tug, and squeeze it a bit too hard until I feel a bite of pain.

I groan, pressing my forehead against the slick tile walls, fisting my free hand above my head. I lightly bang on the wall, my knees buckling as I stroke myself faster. I bury my face in my arm, the hot breath heating my skin as it leaves me in heavy huffs. My cock has always been sensitive when it comes to sex.

But what’s great is that I can come, then come again, and again.

I can keep going without flagging, which I’m thankful for or my sensitivity would be a weakness.

I trace the crown, my entire body trembling from how fucking good it feels.

“Fuck,” I curse again. “Oh, fuckkk,” I groan, tilting my head back as I think about Rosie taking me into her mouth, her tongue teasing me and bringing me to the edge. I bet she’d like that, the little troublemaker. I bet she’d love teasing me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Rosie,” I growl her name in warning as if she’s done something wrong as I paint the walls with my come, my orgasm going on and on.

I’m finally able to gasp for breath, shaking my head at how intense that was. I’ve never come that hard at the thought of someone. I don’t usually think about anything when I masturbate. It’s all about getting to the orgasm, but Rosie lights a fire under my skin and her rebellion swims through my veins.

It feeds me. The longer the back and forth between us goes, the more I hunger for it.

The more I crave it.

I wash away the evidence of wishing I could feel my wife’s mouth around my cock, then clean myself like I should have done when I got in here, but I got distracted.

When I’m done, I dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist, then brush my teeth.

I expect to see Rosie in bed still, but much to my disappointment, my Tesoro isn’t there. I hear pans clanking from down the hall and realize she’s in the kitchen. I get dressed, grabbing a pair of black slacks and a black long-sleeve shirt, using cuff links for the sleeves. Opening up the drawer, I snag a pair of black socks and sit on the bed, not thinking about anything other than wanting to see Rosie.

She’s quickly becoming an obsession.

I’m fascinated by her.

I slide my foot through one sock, only for my toes to show at the end. “What the fuck?” I mutter in confusion, lifting the other one in the air to see the ends have been cut. I chuckle, tossing the sock on the ground and opening the drawer up again to see all my damn socks have been violated with scissors.

The ends are gone from all of them.

Who does this? It’s another level of payback, honestly.

Again, I’ll play her game because I think her way of revenge is smart and clever, and honestly, she’s working through her feelings. I know this isn’t an easy position she’s in and I’m willing to wait until she realizes I’m not a threat to her.

For the hell of it, I slip my socks on, grumbling as I wiggle my toes on the floor, scoffing at how ridiculous I must look.

I don’t care. I want her to see that her attempts to anger me won’t work. I actually hope this little situation lasts throughout our relationship. It’s fun and it’s been a long time since I’ve had it.

Heading down the hall, the pads of my feet stick to the floor slightly and I can feel how cold the tile is. When I reach the kitchen, Gianni is there with Matias, both of them eating scrambled eggs and toast, bacon, cut-up fruit.

Rosie is at the stove and cracks a few more eggs into a bowl, throws in seasoning, and begins to whisk.

She’s making herself right at home.

I love it.

“She makes amazing scrambled eggs,” Matias says around a mouthful of food. “And the bacon is so crispy. It’s perfect.”

Rosie shoots a pleased smile his way. “Thanks, Matias.”

I want her smile directed at me.

Matias looks at me, the big grin dropping from his face when I give him an expression that could kill him.

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles under his breath, staring at his plate.

“You know, something happened to my socks,” I begin, inching my way to her, but she doesn’t take notice. She continues to cook as if I don’t exist.

Leaning against the counter, I cross one ankle over the other, then do the same with my arms. “Any idea how that could have happened?” I point to my feet, and she finally looks down.

The smallest twitch of her lips gives her guilt away, but if someone weren’t paying attention, they wouldn’t have seen it.

“I have no idea. I don’t know how that could have happened,” she shrugs, making two more plates of food without breaking character.

“Is that so?”

She begins to cut more fruit, placing them in a separate bowl. “That’s so.” She dries her hands off on a towel.

Gianni and Matias both lean sideways to get a glimpse of my feet and Gianni laughs so hard, he spews coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs. “I’ll clean it up. That’s hilarious. That’s amazing. Bravo, Rosie.”

Rosie pours two coffees and two glasses of orange juice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she states in a way that she knows exactly what we’re talking about.

“Right, of course.” Gianni is still chuckling after he cleans his mess off the floor. He and my twin brother share an amused look.

“So you didn’t cut my socks?”

“Nope.” She doesn’t look at me though; she decides to fuss with the bacon next, placing a few pieces on the plates.

I lean down, her hair tickling my nose. “I like your hair like this. All messy and untamed.” She has it up in a ponytail and those spiral curls are everywhere. I love it.

She finally pauses and turns to me. “Thank you.” Her eyes lock onto mine and her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the stove.

I can’t resist. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb along the hot flesh, then bend down to whisper in her ear. “You know this means payback, right?” I slide my hand across her cheek. “You’ve started a game you won’t be able to win.”

“I’ll guess we will have to see who the last one standing is, won’t we?” She slides a plate to me, then sets the coffee and orange juice on either side. “Here. Breakfast.”

I blink at the food, almost not believing her. There’s no way she made me breakfast. “You made me breakfast?”

“Doesn’t my husband,” she flicks the napkin so hard it pops after she says the word, “need breakfast?” Rosie sits down at the barstool, stabbing her eggs with the fork.

I nod my head to Gianni and Matias, telling them silently to leave. They both nod, taking their plates and coffee with them.

“Thank you, Rosie. It looks delicious.”

“I was cooking. It isn’t a big deal.”

It’s a big deal to me. It means she has warmed up to me, not a lot, but enough to think of me to make me a plate.

I call it progress even if progress means clipping the ends of my socks.

I want to take the seat next to her, but I opt to give her space instead and we eat in silence. It isn’t awkward, but I know she’s choosing to stay quiet.

The eggs are fluffy and have an amazing flavor. Matias was right.

I peek up at Rosie every few bites and when I do, she looks away from me. I smile to myself, liking that she at least wants to look at me.

I feel like a teenager again, hoping to get a girl’s attention, and it’s been so long since I’ve felt like that, I’m out of my element. I kill men. I torture them. I gather taxes from businesses that require our protection or owe me money from a loan. Sometimes, I smuggle drugs and weapons.

I do horrible things without blinking an eye. Those things do not keep me up at night.

But she does.

Making this work between us does.

Having her feel something other than hate for me, does.

When I’m done, I wipe my mouth, gather my plate, washing it off in the sink before putting it in the dishwasher. I do that with all of the pots and pans she used too.

“You’re cleaning the kitchen?”

“It needs to be cleaned, doesn’t it? You cooked breakfast, it only makes sense for me to do my part.”

“I figured you had someone to do that.”

“Mmm, my brother did. He has a wife and kids though, so he needed the extra help. I do most of everything myself. I like it and the other men who live here have responsibilities too. No reason to hire someone if I can do it myself, right?”

“Most men don’t do that,” she says.

I wash out the glass and place it in the top section of the dishwasher. “I’m not most men, Rosie. I hope you learn that in time,” I say gently. “I know how we met is unconventional. I know I only gave you so many options and you feel forced to be here—maybe that’s true—and I’m sorry about that. I know we both can get something out of this though, not just what we agreed to.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything, and when she is done with her food, I place the plate in the dishwasher, then clean off the countertops with cleaner and a towel.

When I’m done, I take my chances and walk around the kitchen island until I’m next to her. Grabbing the barstool, I yank her closer to me and she yelps. I spin her around until I can cage her in, one hand on either side of her. I want nothing more than to kiss her. This might be the moment, but she might regret it after and I don’t want that, so I’ll have to wait.

“Maybe, I’m not so bad, Tesoro. Have you thought that maybe I’m everyone else’s villain, but not yours?” I dare myself to wrap my arms around her, but I start with one hand draping over her back, my palm settling in between her shoulder blades. “Have you thought that maybe—” I lean forward until her legs are between mine “—That I could be the one thing you need?”

“Ari,” my name is shaken as she speaks, closing her eyes as she fights to answer me.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” She blinks up at me and I get lost in the skies of her eyes, reminding me of a cloudless day in midsummer. “But I don’t know what to make of it. You confuse me. You overwhelm me. My situation upsets me. I want to see my family and I can’t. I have taken care of them my entire life and it’s hard not to talk to them. They must be worried sick about me.”

“They aren’t. I told them you were fine. They know about everything. Your brother was harder to convince, but everything is okay, and they know to stay quiet. You’ll see them soon, I promise.” She doesn’t know I have a secret meeting to say goodbye to them tomorrow. I’m keeping my promise to get them to safety and to do that, they need to get out of the States.

A long gust of air leaves her and she lets all the weight go, sagging against my chest. She wraps her arms around me, and I do the same to her. I can’t believe she’s doing this.

I finally get to hold my wife.

The rage is gone for now, but I know it won’t be forever. She’s a candle, burning bright and strong, but when blown out, a spark is left only to reignite with vengeance.

This feels right. She feels right.

I don’t want to let her go.