by Rose, Renee
“Cuore mio.” He walks toward me, his voice soft and dangerous, his tread like a panther’s. He picks me up by the waist and sits my ass on the desk. “It’s going to happen.” He pushes my thighs open and brings his thumb to my clit through my jeans. “The less resistance you provide, the greater the reward.” He pinches one nipple through my shirt and bra. His teeth graze my shoulder. “You give me trouble? There’s going to be punishment. The clock starts now. You have forty-eight hours to get your shit packed and ready. Every hour you delay after that? I’m going to make you pay.” He nibbles my earlobe. “Think about it, amore.” He cups my chin and kisses me, hard. “You need help packing, I’ll send some guys over. Just say the word. But this is happening.”
I blink up at him. Part of me wants to give in. What’s holding me back, anyway? But getting tangled up with Stefano feels way too scary. What happens when things go south? I won’t have my own place to live in. I’ll be out of a job.
He rubs my clit and tugs my nipple in time together and I spread my knees wider, needing more now. I reach for the bulge in his pants and squeeze.
Stefano works the button of my jeans open and pulls me off the desk to shimmy my jeans and panties down below my butt. He presses a finger inside me, then a second. I squirm as he resumes his torture of my nipple, thrusting his digits at the same time. When he brings his thumb to my clit, I clutch his hand, trying to shove his fingers deeper.
He withdraws them and puts them in his mouth, tasting me.
I wait, panting. I’m sure he’s going to fuck me now. Pull his cock out and give it to me rough and hard, like he always does, but instead he gives my pussy a slap. “No orgasm for you, and don’t you dare try to give yourself one. This pussy belongs to me.”
A spike of white-hot anger zips through me. Yeah, redhead. I glare as I yank my pants up. “Fuck you, Tacone.”
“Hey.” He catches my arm. I register alarm on his face, regret even, but I don’t care. It’s probably just the sexual frustration, but I’m pissed. Ready to knee him in the balls again, pissed.
Although I wouldn’t do that to him again.
“Hey.” He matches my intensity, spinning me around and pinning my arms behind my back. He pushes my torso down over the desk and smacks my ass.
“Stefano,” I grit through my teeth.
He smacks me again. “Yes?”
“You’d better fuck me now or I will seriously never speak to you again.”
He doesn’t answer, but starts spanking me, hard and fast.
It’s exactly what I need, the sharp slaps matching my fire, meeting me, channeling my fury into something more sensual. More satisfying.
I struggle, not because I want to get away, but because he’s right; I like to be held captive. I like to know I can’t escape, to feel his strength, to surrender to his will, which I know will leave me satisfied.
He doesn’t stop—not until my ass burns, even with the protection of my jeans. A mixture of triumph and relief rushes through me when he finally releases my arms and works open the button of my jeans, the bulge of his cock pressed insistently against my ass.
Flutters bloom in my belly. Stefano shoves my pants and panties down a second time, then slaps me between the legs.
I groan. I don’t even register the smack as pain. It’s all a means to release, to satisfaction. “Please,” I mumble. I guess all my bluster is gone. I’m his now—all it took was a spanking. Or the knowing I’ll soon get what I need.
I hear the crinkle of foil as Stefano makes sure to protect me, and then he slams in all the way. I gasp at the sensation of being nearly split in two. Stefano shudders, staying buried in me. Whether it’s for me to adjust or for him, I can’t be sure. One thing I do know—when he starts, he’s going to bring it.
He grips my hips and, as expected, backs up and slams in hard again. The rhythm he sets is fast and brutal. My hands fly to the desk to brace myself, lift my face off the desk before I get hurt.
I sink into the experience, surrender completely lost in the waves of sensation that cascade through me. The phone flies off the desk. A notepad, my phone charger. I both need to come and don’t want it to end.
Stefano changes to quick up-thrusts, changing the angle to fill me even more.
I moan and whine, push my torso up so I’m leaning on my hands. I look over my shoulder at him, already sorry for my temper. Wanting to make sure he’s not mad.
He is. His jaw flexes, eyes are black and unforgiving. He catches my hair in his fist and pulls my mouth back to his, dragging his lips across mine. I kiss him back, eager to give now, wanting to speed his satisfaction so I get mine.
Need.
Must.
Please.
“Stefano,” I pant when he breaks the kiss.
“Tell me you’re moving in.” His guttural tones are hard, more a growl than words. His loins slam into my smarting ass with thrust after forceful thrust.
“Okay!” I surrender. “Yes, I’ll move in.”
“Now,” he demands. He’s totally pissed.
“Now, yes.”
Tears spike my eyes for a reason I can’t fully comprehend, but Stefano comes and he pinches my clit and a nipple at the same time so I come, too. I toss my head back on a strangled cry, my body bucking against his, pussy milking his cock for all it’s worth.
Stefano gentles, stroking a hand up and down my throat while still buried inside me. He kisses the side of my face and I turn away.
“I’m keeping my apartment,” I say, like I’m a child who has to win one small point.
Stefano pulls out and throws away the condom while I pull my pants back up and zip them. When he returns, he spins me around and cradles my head. He kisses me once, sensually, his lips gliding over mine.
“Okay. I get it. You need to know you have somewhere to go if this doesn’t pan out.” He watches my face closely and must see confirmation there, because he nods. “Fine. You do what you need to do. But if you think I don’t want to burn that fucking place to the ground, you’re delusional.”
My lip curls. “Why?” I demand.
“You lived there with your testa di cazzo ex. I don’t like you being there.”
I admit I’m surprised. Stefano hasn’t shown jealousy before. I figure he’s confident enough, he doesn’t have to worry. Maybe I read it wrong.
“It was my place before he lived there. I paid the rent. I cleaned. He was just an asshole who lived there for a while.”
“Okay.” Stefano still doesn’t sound happy, but he’s conceding. He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay?”
I give a wry smile. “Do you mean is my ass okay?”
“No, I mean us. Are we good?”
“Because you just railroaded me into what you want?”
He winces.
I inch closer to him, even though we’re standing toe to toe. “I don’t know. I feel a bit raw.”
He immediately wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. “Yeah, me too,” he whispers against my hair.
I lean into his strength, wondering how I became the biggest coward on the face of the Earth. Why do I have so many barriers up? What am I afraid of losing—my heart? My pride? Are they so damn important?
“You want me to help you pack?”
“Like you personally? Or you’ll send someone over?”
“Me personally. Me and you—packing your shit together.”
It sounds great, actually. A pain in the ass, but great. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He releases me from the hug to stroke my hair back from my face. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
Stefano
I’m cheerful as hell packing Corey’s shit that afternoon. Yeah, I was an asshole about it and I feel bad, but I won. She’s giving something more of herself to me.
And yeah, I still know our relationship is complicated as hell considering who our fathers are, but I don’t want to worry about that now. All I care about is getting closer to Cor
ey. Getting into her head. Having her near me at all times.
At four o’clock I get a text from Junior, my oldest brother.
Che due coglioni! I groan when I read it.
Corey twists from where she’s standing. “What is it?”
“My fucking brother.”
“What did Nico say?”
I growl and stuff my fingers through my hair. “Not Nico. Junior—the oldest stronzo. He says he’s bringing all the guys to Vegas this weekend for Nico’s bachelor party.”
Corey straightens. “I didn’t know Nico was having a bachelor party this weekend.”
“Yeah, he wasn’t,” I grumble.
Fucking Junior.
“Ah. It’s a surprise ambush.”
I flick a glance at her, surprised she gets it. “Exactly. And I’m supposed to set everything up.”
“This is the brother who tried to kill Nico when they were in Chicago?”
“Not tried,” I correct. Junior doesn’t try. He doesn’t fail. He gets done whatever the hell he wants to get done, just like our father. “Threatened.”
“I’m sorry,” she says simply. “Family sucks.”
“Understatement.” My family lives and breathes by La Famiglia. Blood is important. Only family can be trusted.
Supposedly.
And it was family money that funded the Bellissimo, helped Nico generate millions. But when you’re afraid for your life just because you want to marry the woman of your own choosing?
That’s just plain fucked up.
So Junior bringing everyone out for a bachelor party isn’t to help celebrate with Nico. It’s using him at best. They’ll turn the wedding into every form of business tactic they need it to be. PR for the family, greasing wheels, a deadline for people who owe them money.
Nico will be expected to perform like a trained monkey. Act the jovial host to everyone, make a stand when needed. He’ll take it fine. He’ll do his part. And so will I, of course.
Because really—what other choice do we have?
Chapter 12
Corey
I stand in one of my red dresses, shuffling cards, waiting for the party to start. We’re in one of the conference rooms on the third floor, but it’s been set up as a private lounge tonight, with couches and tables. A buffet table of party food is set up against one wall and a bartender stands at attention behind a bar.
Nico called me last night, after Stefano and I finished moving all my clothes and personal items into one of the penthouse suites.
“I need you to do something for me,” he said, without any preamble. Stefano was out on the floor, working and I was still unpacking and arranging things. Nico hadn’t called me before, except when Sondra broke up with him and went home to Michigan. Then he rode my ass non-stop trying to get me to tell him where she was.
“Okay. What is it?”
“I need you to deal for a private gig tomorrow night. A bachelor party.”
“Your bachelor party?”
“Yes.” He sounded exasperated, but I didn’t think with me.
“Well, you’re the boss. Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll text you the details. I haven’t told Stefano yet, but I need you to be there.”
I try to read between the lines. Why does he need me? Oh. That’s freaking sweet.
“To put Sondra’s mind at ease?” I asked.
“Right. It won’t be pretty: strippers and prostitutes and cigars. I don’t want her worrying. Capiche?”
“No problem. I will be her eyes and ears. She can count on me.”
“Atta girl. Now just don’t let Stefano change your orders. I need you there, I don’t give a shit if he objects.”
He hung up before I could question why Stefano would object. It better not be because he wanted to party with strippers.
An uneasy sensation twisted through my belly because I could picture it all too easily. Stefano with an arm around a bimbo on each side. Stefano getting his dick sucked by one while he slapped the other’s ass.
But no. He was anything but excited about this bachelor party. And a man with his looks and personality wouldn’t ever have to pay for sex.
Nico was right, though. Stefano was pissed when he found out I’m dealing for tonight. Even now, as he walks briskly around, barking orders and getting things settled, I can see he’s uptight. He comes off as angry with me, but I’m trying not to take it personally.
I know how it is with family.
I’m never Miss Sunshine around my dad. Or my mom for that matter, even though I love her. Maybe I resent her for being a doormat to my dad—for marrying him in the first place. I don’t know what it is, but she drives me freaking bonkers, too.
The door bursts open and Nico comes in first, followed by a stream of Italian men—dozens of them. Most look older than Nico and Stefano, but there are some younger guys, too. They’ve been drinking already. Maybe they started at a bar downstairs.
“Stefano, where are the girls?” a guy about ten years older than Nico demands. He pronounces Stefano’s name with an Italian accent, so it’s STAY-fano instead of STEH-fano.
“Ten minutes, Junior,” Stefano calls back, his affable smile in place, even though I can tell it’s fake. He cranks up the music, lowers the lights and flicks his gaze to me. He’s been almost curt all evening, and now he scowls.
I give him a what? shrug and he shakes his head.
Two hours later, the party is totally out of hand. Topless girls in nothing more than G-strings straddle laps on the sofas and chairs. One of them got fucked right in front of the entire group.
“You put your dick in a girl, you’re paying extra,” Stefano shouted to raucous laughter. “I’m only paying for the strip tease.”
Sondra will be relieved to know Nico hasn’t even looked at a girl. She’s not the jealous type, but she has a history with men who cheat, and then Nico failed to mention he had a marriage contract to another woman when they started dating, so it’s a sore spot.
The visitors are all having a grand old time. The guys I recognize from the casino—the ones who live here in Vegas—they’re unimpressed by the whole affair. They all appear to be working tonight rather than enjoying the event.
Nico’s big bodyguard, Tony, stands at attention the door, stepping up to interfere every time a guy gets too rough or handsy with a girl. I notice nobody gives him any shit back. Of course, he is monster huge. Considering how protective he is of the women, I’m guessing he’s actually a big softy. I’ve talked to him a couple times and he seemed like a stand-up guy.
I’ve been dealing for two hours straight and I’m ready for a break, but I don’t think anyone’s going to relieve me soon.
The guy at my right gets louder and handsier with each new drink, each passing moment.
“Hit me again, beautiful,” he slurs, and palms my ass. His groping is nothing new and I step back out of his reach. This time, though, he gets aggressive and lunges forward to slap my ass. “Don’t move away when I’m talking to you.”
I’m annoyed but not too worried. All I have to do is get Tony’s attention if the problem continues.
Fortunately, Nico appears behind the guy and grabs his shoulder. “Hey, hands off this one; she’s not a stripper.”
“Aw, come on. She’s perfect!” The jackass stands up and comes at me, grabbing both my breasts.
Nico pulls back on the guy’s collar, but Stefano arrives like a tornado, jerking the guy back and punching him with a wicked right hook.
I dodge his toppling body and he crashes into my side of the table.
“Whoa, whoa.” Nico throws an arm around Stefano’s chest and yanks him back. “Take it easy.” Stefano’s expression is a dark storm. His black gaze is laser-focused on my groper. He is nowhere near finished.
“Stefano!” I snap, hoping to bring him back.
He continues to fight for his freedom.
“Enough!” Nico counsels. “He didn’t know she belongs to you. Now h
e knows. Take a fucking breath.”
Belongs to you. That’s the way these guys think. Like a woman is a piece of property.
“This is your girl?” the guy sneers, pointing from me to Stefano. “Why in the hell would you have her as entertainment at a fucking bachelor party? She’s a whore?”
Stefano goes crazy again and Nico releases him. Stefano decks the guy, knocking him into the table again, then he holds his shirt and punches his jaw again. I swear Nico takes his time before he and Tony pull him off.
“Really, Bobby? That’s what you want to say to my brother when he already wants to shove your balls up your ass?” Nico says. He’s all calm and in control while Stefano’s a raging bull.
The guys all laugh.
“Apologize to her.” Spit flies from Stefano’s mouth.
The guy wipes blood with a stupid grin on his face.
Stefano lunges again. “I said—”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I’m sorry, Miss—”
“Simonson,” Nico provides.
“Simonson,” Tony repeats it like the idiot should recognize the name. I mean, he should, but clearly he’s drunk and probably stupid to begin with, so I don’t think he’s going to. “She’s the bride’s fucking cousin, and now you know why she’s in here, coglione.” Tony fills in. “She’s spying on Nico. So put your dick away and act like a fucking gentleman.”
“Get her out of here,” Nico says, finally releasing Stefano.
Fury still knotting his expression, he reaches out a hand.
I take it and allow him to lead me out of the room.
* * *
Stefano
I’m too pissed to see straight. That testa di cazzo had his fucking paws all over Corey, and I still want to kill him.
And I’m pissed at myself for losing my shit.
I didn’t want Corey to see me like this. Ever.
This is a side of myself I’d prefer didn’t exist—the Tacone temper. An inheritance from my father’s side, or perhaps simply nurtured into me through exposure to violence from a young age.
