Top Dog_A Mafia Romance

by Rye Hart

  But her strength.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  She used to be so mild; well-tempered and quiet. Her voice had been a soft whisper in the wind compared to the forcefulness she used at dinner. I remembered her as a fragile dove, but what I got was a winged eagle, with talons bared and ready to fling whatever got in her way into the air to die a lonely, heartbroken death.

  She looked so fucking good.

  Our time together as teenagers had been fleeting; a few months at the most before we were found out. And my favorite memories of us were when we snuck out in the middle of the night. We’d joyride around the city and find mischief to get ourselves into.

  Late night walks in the park and horror movies that made her jump into my lap.

  Fuck. My cock was getting hard thinking about it.

  I stepped out of my bed for a shower. Removing my clothes, I crossed my bedroom and made my way to my shower. Not even bothering with the hot water, I cranked the cold all the way and stepped underneath the massive rainwater spray. The cold water fell onto my skin like needles, but I didn’t care to warm it up. I needed the cold and the sobering effect it provided.

  Instinctively, my hand drifted down to my massive erection. I closed my eyes and conjured her memory.

  Her soft skin grinding against mine in the backseat of my fucking car.

  It was my favorite moment with her. Out of all the times we’d snuck out, and all the times I’d buried myself deep into her wet pussy, that was my favorite.

  Because it was the first time she told me she loved me.

  And by my count, it was the night we had conceived Matteo.

  Her hair fluttered around her shoulders as I slammed into her. She jumped, her tits bouncing in my face as her pussy soaked my cock with its juices. I wrapped my hand tighter around myself. Stroking my thick dick and bucking my hips into my hand.

  Even the memory of her could drive me wild.

  A drop of precum breached the tip and I coated my skin with it. Fuck, I missed Julia’s mouth. I’d taught her how to take me. How to slide me all the way back and time her breaths with my thrusts. I’d loved fisting my hand into her hair and fucking her throat. Commanding her movements and watching those wide hazel eyes look up at me with tears in them. She would cling to my thighs, digging her nails into the backs of them and leaving marks.

  Marks I’d sit on the next day and grin at.

  “Julia. Fuck.”

  I stroked my cock faster as my hips moved in motion. I could hear her voice in my ear. Chanting my name and panting shallowly as her ass jiggled against my hips. That was my favorite way to take her. I loved watching her ass bounce for me. I had dreams of taking that virginal hole of hers. Of eating her pussy and teasing her to urgent heights before stuffing myself between her cheeks and filling her pussy with my fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut as my legs began to tremble and I felt my balls curling into my body, readying my cock for its creamy end as I pressed my forehead on my shower wall.

  “Julia. Shit. So tight for me. Oh, fuck.”

  Before I knew it, my balls were tight, and my body felt like it was dangling from a precipice. I held onto the wall in front of me and kept Julia’s face front and center in my mind as I sped up my movements, until my body finally erupted with one of the strongest orgasms I’d ever had.

  I pressed my hips into my hand one last time before my balls shot electricity up my dick.

  Then, I heard it.

  The softest voice on a whispered wind.

  I love you, Romeo.

  Once I was done, and she was still in my thoughts, I stood under the cold water waiting for my breath to return to normal.

  “Romeo? You in there?”

  Antony knocking on my door pierced through my fantasy.

  “Mom wants to speak with you,” Antony said.

  “At eight in the morning?”

  “Get your ass downstairs.”

  “Remember who you’re talking to,” I said with a growl.

  I shout off my shower, toweled myself off and padded to my closet. If I was upstairs, I could relax. But downstairs? That was business. No one was ever downstairs without being dressed for company, and I was pissed that I had to rifle through my damn suits at eight in the morning in the middle of the fucking week. I pulled on some boxers and a pair of black pants before reaching for another shirt. I chose a pale yellow button-down and tucked it in, then reached for one of my father’s more expensive watches.

  I wasn’t getting dressed to the nines, but I sure as hell was going to project confidence in case work came trudging through the front door.

  I went downstairs. The smell of breakfast infiltrated my nostrils. Mom was in the kitchen, per usual, cooking up a damn storm for a fucking army. She was whirling around the kitchen, cooking toast and frying bacon and scrambling eggs. Pads of butter melted on the toast already on the table, and Antony was pouring freshly-squeezed orange juice the chef had left in the fridge.

  “You know I hire a chef so you don’t have to do these things, right?” I asked.

  “Your chef doesn’t come until ten in the morning. Who eats breakfast so late?” my mother asked.

  “The man of this house does.”

  “Then tell him to get his ass out of bed and get downstairs at a proper time.”

  Antony chuckled as he sat back in his chair. He propped his feet on the kitchen table as he sucked down his juice. I shot him a look, and he gave me his little shit-eating grin, but soon something caught my peripheral.

  A spatula was flying through the air and landed right against Antony’s forehead.

  “Get your nasty feet off the kitchen table. What did I raise? Animals?”

  I threw my head back and laughed as I reached for the pot of coffee on the table.

  “I take it you slept well, Mom?” I asked.

  “That new mattress you bought is way too firm,” she said.

  “And yet you have the energy of five bulls.”

  “I usually have the energy of seven,” she said.

  “Good morning,” I said as I walked over and kissed her cheek.

  “That’s more like it,” she said.

  When my father died, Antony and I moved in with my mother to look after her, make sure she was okay. My mother was full-blooded Italian. Most of her extended family was still back in Sicily. My father flew her out two times a year to see them, but I was hoping to up that to four. She was getting older, and her family was dying off faster than we all anticipated. She was one of nine children, but only four remained.

  And with my father gone, I could see the toll all this death was taking on her.

  “I have your ticket purchased for Sicily,” I said.

  “I’m not supposed to go for another few months,” my mother said.

  “Romeo and I talked,” Antony said. “We think you should go see them in a couple of weeks.”

  “And when were the two of you going to tell me this?” she asked.

  “When we were shoving you through customs with your suitcase thrown across the line,” I said with a grin.

  “I swear I’ve raised a pack of animals. You want to know why I want grandchildren before I die?”

  “So you can take a second stab at raising children who aren’t animals?” Antony asked.

  “I’ve got more spatulas,” my mother said.

  I sipped on my coffee and watched as my brother blew my mother a kiss.

  I wanted more than anything to tell her about Matteo. I’d been very discreet with the resources I’d used to track Julia down. To keep tabs on my son. I knew it would make my mother’s world to have a grandson. I knew she wanted her and my father’s house filled with the comforting sounds of children’s laughter. It was on the tip of my tongue. Swirling around in the darkness of my coffee. I helped my mother carry everything to the table so we could sit down to eat, and as I swallowed the last of my coffee, I swallowed the urge to tell her.

  It wasn’t enough to tell her about him.


  I wanted to be able to introduce her to him.

  “It was time for you to get out of bed. You sleep too late. Both of you,” my mother admonished, while she spooned eggs onto her plate.

  “I lead a hard life,” Antony said with a mocking sigh.

  “Your brother’s life is harder,” my mother said.

  She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t fair of her to hold my brother to that standard.

  “Mom, Antony works hard. And mostly during the evenings. Give him a break.”

  “And if he wasn’t working during the evenings, Romeo, he could be dating.”

  “You mean giving you grandchildren?” I asked.

  “That, too. But when he’s married. That’s how this family operates.”

  “That’s why I wrap it,” Antony said.

  A spoon went flying at my brother’s head.

  “Watch that mouth of yours,” my mother said. “No wonder women don’t stick around with you.”

  “Not my fault they can’t handle the animal inside,” Antony said as he laughed.

  “You two are hopeless,” she said.

  “Hopelessly in love with you, Mom,” I said with a smile.

  She put her hand on my shoulder and massaged it, communicating all the love in the world. That was what she did. She was as hard as they came when raising us. No tears. Harsh punishments. She was heavy-handed with the spankings. But when she put her hand on our shoulder and looked down into our eyes, we knew. All the words she never said because of the hard life she’d lived alongside Father, and all the things she had to keep silent on because my father had done this family a disservice, it had marred her. Scarred her like it had all of us.

  But that one gesture reassured me that she was there.

  Our mother.

  Strong. Mature. Dominant. Protective. A guiding light in our family.

  Julia had reminded me of her last night.

  “Now you boys eat up,” Mom said. “You’ve got long days ahead of you.”

  “Yep. A long day of napping before my shift starts at seven,” Antony said.

  “I have to get out of here within the hour,” I said.

  “See? Ten o’clock is useless for a chef,” my mother said.

  I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my eggs before I felt my mother looming over me.

  “Did you roll your eyes at me?” she asked.

  Antony chuckled and shook his head as I wiped my mouth off with my napkin.

  “Never,” I said with a grin. “I love you too much.”

  “Uh-huh. Eat. You’re a big boy. Nourish yourself.”

  And I did as ordered as Antony shot me a look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Not here.”

  I furrowed my brow and squinted my eyes as Antony got up from the table.

  “Thank you for breakfast, Mom. But it’s time I take a shower.”

  “Good. You stink,” she said.

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  “And grab a biscuit to go! I made too many of them.”

  “You want me to eat a biscuit in the shower?” he asked.

  “She’s going to kill you,” I said.

  “Take a biscuit and get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “I’ll take care of this mess.”

  “Have you eaten, Mom?” Antony asked.

  I turned around and watched my mother pause.

  “Mom?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I looked over at Antony, and I saw him sigh.

  “Come sit down, Mom.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Please?” I asked.

  “I said ‘no.’”

  “Then let us at least fix you a—”

  “I said I don’t want to eat!”

  She slammed her rag down onto the kitchen counter, and I saw it. For the first time. With my very own eyes. The woman who raised me and clothed me. Who chased me around the yard and beat my ass when I stepped out of line. The woman who prayed over my life every morning and tucked me in at night with kisses was hunched over the counter of our family kitchen, crying.

  “Was this what you wanted to talk about?” I asked.

  Antony shot me a look before he strode over to Mom.

  I got up from the table and went over to her side. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close as Antony rubbed her back. There it was. The breakdown the two of us had been anticipating. Not once had we seen her cry, or lose it, or lose herself at all since our father had died.

  “Ssshhh,” I said. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

  “I miss him,” my mother said.

  “We do, too,” Antony said.

  “Why is he gone?” she asked.

  I led my mother into the living room and sat her down on the couch. Antony grabbed her a glass of water and held it out to her before sitting down beside her. I crouched in front of her and took her hands, bringing them to my lips to kiss.

  This was why I wanted peace between our two families. This was why I wanted to usher in a new era for the Martine family.

  Because we had lost enough.

  CHAPTER 3

  JULIA

  “Afternoon, Uncle,” I said.

  “Uncle Stef!”

  I watched Matteo run into the arms of my uncle as Stefano picked him up. He swung the small boy around as Enrico, my personal bodyguard, shut the door closed behind us. I looked back at him and his eyes connected with mine, and I saw a shadowed grin tick his cheek.

  “Afternoon, Enrico.”

  “Glad to see you up and about, Miss Bianchi,” he said.

  I knew the night before had flustered him. I’d left without his guidance and without his presence to meet Romeo, but I hadn’t wanted to go in there with intimidation tactics. Even if Romeo had come with them. And I knew Enrico wasn’t happy about Romeo carting around all those goons with him, especially to sit down with me.

  “How’s my boy?” Stefano asked.

  “Good. I slept so long, and I ate a really big breakfast,” Matteo said.

  “You did? What did Mommy cook for you?”

  “My favorite. Eggs with ham. And cheese. And onions. And red peppers. And olives.”

  “You know that’s exactly what your grandfather used to eat every morning,” my uncle said.

  “And I had toast, too. With jelly.”

  “And peanut butter?”

  “Ew. Peanut butter’s gross,” Matteo said.

  “Oh! My heart. It hurts.”

  I watched my uncle sink to the floor as Matteo straddled his stomach. The two of them began to wrestle, and I stepped back to stand with Enrico. He’d been with me ever since my father figured out I was pregnant. He was the only other person I trusted to always tell me the truth about things. Over the years Enrico had become my friend as well as my guard, and I was itching to get him alone so I could talk with him about what had happened with Romeo.

  Preferably not in front of my uncle.

  “So,” Stefano said as he lifted my son into the air, “how did your evening last night go?”

  I glanced up to Enrico and watched him clench his jaw.

  “Not as well as I would’ve hoped,” I said.

  My uncle’s eyes connected with me as he set Matteo down on his feet. He grunted to get off the floor, and I opened my arms for my son. He ran into them and I kissed him on top of his head, then I turned toward the door and opened it.

  “Why don’t you go play in your room for a second while I talk with Uncle Stef?” I asked.

  “Can I watch a movie?” he asked.

  “Of course, you can. How about you go pick one out, and I’ll come watch it with you once I’m through talking.”

  “Yeah! Okay, but hurry up!”

  I watched Matteo bolt out of the room and up the steps, then I turned back to my uncle as I shut the door behind me.

  “Romeo demanded to see his son, and I told him that wasn’t how this was going to work
,” I said.

  “Why not? Julia, that boy is the key to giving us the peace all of us deserve.”

  “My son isn’t a pawn, Uncle. And Romeo didn’t come with innocent intentions. I left Enrico here because you agreed with me that we needed to show a friendly and unthreatening front. But when I stood to leave, six Martine goons stood from booths all around us.”

  “What?” Enrico asked.

  “Romeo didn’t come alone like you thought he would. How in the world am I supposed to let a man like that into my son’s life when he doesn’t even keep his word?”

  “It was your job to open that door. Not close it in the man’s face. Above all else, he’s that child’s father.”

  “No. Above all else, Matteo’s my son. And his father chose to take over one of the bloodiest jobs in this city. I have a duty to my son to protect him. From anything and everything. I’m more than willing to help bring our families together in peace, but it won’t be under the condition that Romeo sees his son,” I said.

  “You don’t get a choice in that matter,” my uncle said.

  “Okay, I think we all need to take a deep breath,” Enrico said.

  “You shut up,” Uncle Stefano said.

  “No, you listen. I’ve been hired to take care of Julia, and that order came from her father. My only dedication is to her and that boy. No one else. You won’t come at her this way and neither can Romeo,” Enrico said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You need to think of Matteo,” my uncle said. “That boy deserves to know his father.”

  “When his father doesn’t have blood on his hands, sure, I’ll allow it,” I said.

  “And that won’t be possible until we can bring peace. And that peace starts with Matteo. You see how you’ve bound our hands in this?” my uncle asked.

  “Calm that tone of voice,” Enrico said. “Or this conversation is over.”

  I watched my uncle take a few deep breaths before turning his back. He walked over to his desk and cocked his hip, then crossed his arms over his chest. I knew he was in a tight place. I could see it written all over his features. But Matteo wasn’t going to be a pawn in some game. There had to be another way to do this.