The Rocchetti Queen (The Rocchetti Dynasty Book 3)

by Bree Porter

  Suddenly, Alessandro drew back. Guilt and pain on his face. “Forgive me, Sophia,” he said heavily. “You are still recovering—”

  Cold air blew against me, telling my body what had happened. It did nothing to cool down the growing ache between my legs, the kindling fire in my belly.

  “Alessandro.” My mouth had come back to life. “Fuck me.”

  He went very still.

  I was moving toward him, his skin and his smell and his warmth. He did not move as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Those dark eyes were wide with growing hunger and shock. I rose on my tiptoes, and moved his head down, pressing my lips against his.

  For a moment he was a statue, but then Alessandro’s arms were banding around me and pulling me to him. Our lips rolled and moved, soft and nervous and searching.

  Fire trailed from my lips and further down...

  I moaned against him.

  Alessandro, in one smooth movement, scooped me up and then walked back until I was lying on the bed. We sunk into the mattress together.

  “Alessandro,” I whined, my voice not truly behaving how it is meant to.

  Alessandro leaned over me, a domineering presence. “What do you want, Sophia?” he inquired, those lips of his coming closer and closer and closer—only to rest on my jawline. “What do you want, Sophia?”

  “You. Now.”

  That made him lift himself up, a look of pure animal hunger in his eyes, and then he was on top of me, kissing me into the bed. I wrapped my legs around his waist and took from him with just as much hunger. My body was getting so warm so quickly and I needed—I needed him so much.

  Those secret dreams that had been my only solace these past weeks were now awakening. And reality was so much better.

  “Alessandro,” I fiddled with his shirt, sliding it off him and tossing it to the floor. Then I went for his pants, but he trapped my hands, laughing.

  Just to taunt me, he rubbed himself on me, which just made me tighten. “So hungry, Sophia.” His tongue slid down my neck, not helping my case. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  I would not give him the satisfaction of having all the control. So, I said, “Hop off.”

  He paused and then brought himself back, detaching himself from me quickly. Those dark eyes were now mixed with worry. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. I was just getting too warm. I need to cool off.”

  I grabbed the bottom of my nightgown and tossed it over my head. My bare body gleamed in the darkening room and when I spread my legs, it became very obvious that Alessandro was completely ready to have me. He was gripping the bed so hard it groaned and his dick was pressing against his pants with an admirable force.

  I met his eyes. You should’ve known better than to go up against me, my love.

  I could see a ghost of a smile in the scant light. He said aloud, “Sophia.”

  “Mmm?” My fingers were trailing down my body, closer and closer to my ache. The closer I got the more energy Alessandro seemed to produce. He was vibrating with it. Then I touched the exact spot and let out a small cry. My fingers were brash against the wetness, making my heart pound and my stomach twist.

  “Sophia.” He didn’t sound like my husband anymore. His voice was guttered, a mixture of feral lust and need.

  I pressed myself harder. “What’s—what’s the matter, my capo? Cat got—got your tongue.” My tease would’ve been better had I not been so bloody hot and distracted.

  “Have you cooled down?” he asked. He wanted to touch me again.

  I shrugged. “Come feel for yourself.”

  As quick as a snake, Alessandro had me laying on my back, him over me, and his fingers had gone straight to me. I let out a cry, especially as he began to rub and pull and press and—Oh my God!

  His eyes seemed to burn with lust and he leaned down to get closer to my lips. But just before he reached them, he cocked his head to the side.

  “Look how much you like this,” Alessandro purred. Then pulled his fingers out of me. I let out another cry—very involuntary. But he had me only getting wetter and hotter.

  With a smile, he pushed a finger inside of me, which had me saying his name over and over. A prayer.

  I wanted his hand—I wanted him inside of me.

  “Oh, fuck, Sophia.” He pressed harder into me, which had me gripping his shoulders so tight I knew I’d leave scratches.

  “Get inside of me, Alessandro,” I said, the words hard to understand. “Now—now get in me.”

  Alessandro’s fingers stopped suddenly. “Four weeks,” he breathed.

  “28 days,” I heaved back.

  “672 hours,” Alessandro countered.

  Our momentum slowly came to a stop, and we untangled ourselves from each other. I pressed my arm to my forehead, trying to catch my breath.

  My husband was breathing just as heavily, still poised above me. He didn’t come lay down though. No, he just rose up on his knees and watched me. He was admiring me, admiring what he had done to me. His tongue licked his lips.

  “What are you looking at?” I asked him.

  Alessandro grinned. “You.” He leaned in close. My body was instantly ready again for— “You know I’ve thought about having sex with you a thousand times. I have made up your noises and how you react to certain touches. But…I’ve never been able to figure out what you look like after.” His eyes rolled down me. “And I still don’t know.”

  “You can make a pretty educated guess,” I muttered.

  “Guessing is not as much fun,” he purred, his hand trailing down my bare skin. “If you look like a goddess, now I can only imagine...”

  I flushed. It was so vain of me but I couldn’t help my mind from darting to the pink lines across my breasts or the stretchmarks cast over my stomach.

  Alessandro didn’t seem to notice them as he leaned down into my chest, burying his face into my boobs. “Four weeks,” he groaned, his grip on me tightening.

  “I’m sure that is just a recommendation,” I offered. “I bet we could have sex before then.”

  He lifted his head, leaning on his chin. “Doctor’s orders, my love.”

  “Is my big scary capo scared to go up against a doctor?” I crooned, running my fingers through his hair.

  Alessandro snapped his teeth at me, but his eyes held humor. I couldn’t help but feel growing smugness at being the one to make him laugh, smile. No one else could manage to do it—or was too scared to try.

  My husband pulled away, sliding off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, lifting myself onto my elbows.

  He looked at me over his shoulder and groaned. “I’ve got to take a cold shower,” he muttered. “And think about my grandmother or something.”

  I looked over at Dante’s bassinet, but my son continued to sleep soundly. Thank goodness, I thought. If we had woken up Dante, I would’ve started crying.

  Again.

  I dressed myself once more, continued my night routine before settling into bed. Alessandro came out of the bathroom not long after, his skin still freezing from standing under the cold shower spray.

  He tucked me to his chest, arms wrapped strongly around me.

  “You’re so cold,” I murmured, pulling the blanket higher up on him. “Like an icicle.”

  He made a noise low in his throat, before burying his head into my hair, breathing deeply.

  Sleep tugged on my brain but the adrenaline and lust inside me had not dissipated, leaving me lying awake in the dark, counting Alessandro’s breaths and checking on Dante every three seconds.

  Lights flashed outside the tall windows, barely visible through the curtains. I could hear the rumble of cars up and down the street—probably some mafiosi returning home for the night.

  On the bedside table, my phone buzzed.

  So as not to disturb Alessandro, I awkwardly maneuvered over the bed, scooping up my phone and bringing it to my face.

  A message from Toto the Terrible (listed in my
phone as Fucking Crazy Father-In-Law, courtesy of Alessandro) popped up.

  FBI, SWAT, leave now!

  “What in the world, Toto...?”

  The house alarm begun, piercing and repetitive.

  Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open, hitting the ground with a bang. Dark figures swarmed into the room, guns aimed and little green lights highlighting their helmets.

  I screamed.

  Alessandro had his gun in his hand and pointed at the SWAT team before I could even take a breath.

  Not a second later, Dante began to cry.

  I scrambled over the bed, snatching my son from his bassinet and crawling back over to Alessandro. My husband pushed us behind him, gun still poised.

  “Don’t do anything rash, Alessandro,” came a familiar voice. Special Agent Tristan Dupont stepped forward, almost unrecognizable without his blue button-down and khakis. His hands were held up. “Your wife and son are here.”

  I rocked Dante, hushing him quietly.

  Alessandro didn’t move. “What do you want, Dupont?” he snarled, barely sounding human.

  Dupont threw a piece of paper onto the bed. Neither of us went to touch it. “A warrant to search your home. You are suspected to have ties to organized crime.”

  “Is that so?” my husband growled.

  “Indeed.” Dupont gestured to me. “You are both required to come down to the station and answer a few questions.” A fancy way of saying under arrest.

  “Sophia stays here,” warned my husband.

  “Not according to that warrant, she doesn’t,” Dupont said.

  I placed a hand on Alessandro’s arm. He glanced at me. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. “Dita will watch Dante for us.”

  Alessandro nodded sharply and snapped his head back to Dupont. In one angry movement, he leaped off the bed. All the guns in the room immediately pointed at him, their little green targets trained on his body.

  My breath caught in my throat, but Alessandro did not look worried. He held his hands up, weaponless.

  Dupont gestured to me, and I followed after my husband.

  “Cuff him,” Dupont told the men around him, “and the woman.”

  “No,” Alessandro interrupted, holding out his wrists. “Not Sophia.”

  His calm tone made Special Agent Dupont hesitate. My husband’s eyes were completely black, but his expression was almost...lax.

  I knew in that moment that was the angriest my husband had ever been.

  Using his common sense, Dupont relented and gestured for only Alessandro to be cuffed. I hovered by him as he was cuffed, arms behind his back. Dante had paused his crying, his little face scrunched up.

  Like a herd of animals, the SWAT team escorted Alessandro and me out of our room. All the lights in the house were on now and I could hear people banging around, searching through all our furniture.

  I felt sudden relief that Nicoletta had moved into Don Piero’s home the day before with Ophelia. All this commotion would’ve upset her.

  We reached the top of the staircase, revealing the bustling foyer. All of the new inhabitants had FBI stamped across their chests.

  “It’s okay, my darling,” I murmured to Dante, kissing his forehead. “You will back to sleep in no time.”

  I paused by the top step, holding my son. Standing in the middle of my house, bulletproof vest and short golden hair was my sister.

  Like she felt my stare, Catherine looked up at me, light brown eyes gleaming in the light. Her face was set in stone, but her expression softened ever so slightly when she took me in. Nightgown, hair unbound, barefoot and holding my newborn son.

  The house seemed to quiet as Catherine and I took each other in. Two sisters, both on opposite sides of the law. We were like something out of a fairytale.

  “You don’t want to do this, Catherine,” I warned.

  She took a step toward me, causing Alessandro to tense. Dupont tightened his grip on him.

  “You broke the law, Sophia. And now you will be punished,” was her response.

  I made my way down the staircase, holding my head up high. The SWAT team followed after.

  When I reached her, Catherine’s eyes went down to Dante. His eyes were open and taking in everything around him, especially the sound of my voice. A strange look crossed her face, like she was seeing something she didn’t believe existed.

  Behind me, I heard the sound of clattering—most likely a piece of furniture hitting the ground.

  I gritted my teeth. “And how does the law view bombing? Or assassination?”

  Her eyes moved back to my face. “I suppose you’ll find out, won’t you?”

  A loud yell caught my attention and I turned to see a large agent stomping into the room, a white pompom furiously chewing on his leg.

  “Stupid dog!” he yelled.

  “Polpetto,” I called.

  Instantly, Polpetto let go and came trotting over to me. He whined and pressed himself into my legs, unsure of what was going on and who all the strange people were.

  To Catherine, I said, “I have to call Dita to come and watch Dante. You can wait.”

  Not even twenty minutes later, Dita arrived, hair in disarray. When she spotted Catherine, she made a disapproving noise, like Catherine had left her wet towel on the floor and not betrayed the Outfit.

  Once Dante and Polpetto were settled with Dita, we left.

  The entire gated community were on their lawns, hair still in rollers and slippers still on. I saw many mafiosi being led into trucks, hands cuffed behind their backs. Toto the Terrible had been muzzled, and the FBI agent who was leading him had a bloody fresh cut down the side of his face.

  Even Salvatore Jr was being led out of his house, his icy mask barely concealing his anger.

  I sat next to Alessandro in the back of a Dodge Charger, Dupont and Catherine in the front.

  Dressed only in his boxer briefs, you would think he would be freezing, but perhaps my husband’s anger was keeping him warm, because he was still hot to the touch. I buried myself into him, trying to get rid of the biting chill nipping at my bones.

  I pressed my lips to his jaw, speaking softly, “What crime are they trying to link us to?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he breathed. “At the moment, they only have suspicions and circumstantial evidence—enough for a warrant but not enough for a sentence. They’ll try and make one of us talk.”

  “Do you think one of us might?”

  Alessandro’s eyes flashed. “If anyone does, I’ll make them regret it.”

  “Enough chatting back there!” Dupont snapped from the front.

  “Tristan,” Catherine said quietly but with enough bite that Dupont backed down.

  I eyed the back of my sister’s head. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who had found their match.

  The door to the interrogation room slammed shut as Dupont strode in, followed by a familiar FBI agent. It was the same woman who had been at the bank with Catherine and comforted her after I had left—the very first time I had been in this interrogation room.

  Beside me, Hugo del Gatto sat, his notes fanned out and his expression hard. He hadn’t become the lawyer to the Outfit by being a sweetheart, and the more he dodged their questions, the more I was beginning to see his true worth to the organization.

  “Here is your water,” Dupont gritted out as he passed me the glass. “Is there anything else you want?”

  Del Gatto looked to me. I shook my head.

  “My client is fine, thank you,” our attorney said.

  The other FBI agent sat down, giving me a polite smile. “I’m Special Agent Schulz. Agent Dupont and I just have a few questions for you and then you’re free to go. We will try to make this as quick as we can, so you can go home to your baby.”

  I smiled back at her. “I only hope I can be of service.”

  It became clear pretty quickly that the FBI didn’t actually have any solid proof. They were running off tips and circumstantial evidence. Both of them kept tryin
g to catch me out in a lie, but neither of them succeeded. If they got close, Del Gatto stepped in and they both immediately backed off.

  Throughout the entire interrogation, I only spoke about twenty words.

  When I went to leave, I asked about Alessandro.

  “We will keep him for forty-eight hours. Legally, we are allowed to,” Dupont told me snidely.

  I pressed my lips together, unhappy, but I left without a fight.

  As we prepared to leave, Hugo insisted we leave around the back. “There are cameras outside,” he told me. “News got out that half of the Chicago Outfit—allegedly, of course—was arrested and detained.”

  “Is that so?” I held out my hand. “Would you mind if I borrowed your blazer?”

  I folded up a torn blanket, tossing it into the trash.

  It had been two days since the FBI raid, and we were still cleaning up. The poor Palmeros had lost their fence and the Tripolis had lost a hedge of roses, so I didn’t have much to complain about in comparison. Furniture had been tipped over, doors taken off their hinges and cupboards completely emptied, but at least my garden was still intact.

  My mind had been numb as I had cleaned up the house and tended to Dante. Every time I heard a car drive down the street or a door slam close, I would rush to the closest window, expecting to see my husband. But each time I had been let down.

  Forty-eight hours.

  The FBI had bureaucratic rules they had to follow—they couldn’t be doing just anything to him. But also...the FBI was known for their ability to look away.

  I swallowed down my growing nausea and checked on the baby monitor. Dante still had another good forty minutes until he would need a feed and change.

  I continued to sort through all the mess the SWAT team had left, throwing away damaged items.

  Outside, a car door slammed.

  I lifted my head up. A familiar dark head of hair slipped out from the passenger side, expression fierce.

  “Oh!” I took off downstairs, baby monitor gripped in my palm and Polpetto following on my heels.

  Before Alessandro even stepped into the foyer, I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him tightly. His familiar scent washed over me, settling in my lungs.