Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance

by Isabella Starling

  Matteo looks up at me one last time, his eyes dark and lustful, but asking me for permission. Instead of answering, I break the rules and lower my hand to his and guide him inside me. He exhales in shock and pleasure as his tip drives inside me. Intense pain takes hold of my body, and I feel sharpness and stinging as he breaks through my barrier. My breath catches in my throat and a tear spills from my eyes, but then Matteo’s hands are on my face. He’s staring into my soul, and I feel his love, his devotion – I feel every emotion in his heart for me.

  And it’s so beautiful, I want to cry.

  We wait like that until my body adjusts to the intrusion, until my whimpers catalyse into moans. And then he starts moving, thrusting ever so slowly, stretching me and burying deeper into me.

  “Fuck,” I whimper. My back arches again. I need him closer. Deeper. Harder. “Fuck. More. Please more.”

  I can tell he’s holding back, and he grits his teeth as he starts shoving inside me. Every thrust of his hips is an effort because I can tell he wants to go so much harder. But he holds back as much as he can, until my begging becomes incoherent. He can no longer hold back and starts pounding me with a frenzy.

  Deep thrusts, hitting a spot inside me I didn’t even know was there. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he fucks me, and I look at him, mesmerized by our connection and the warmth I feel in my chest. I pushed him away for so long…. For so long I denied myself this closeness, without feeling him inside me. I feel bereft for everything I’ve missed out on because of my own stupidity.

  “Does it hurt?” he asks me softly.

  I close my eyes for a second and nod slowly. “It’s good…. You feel so good. It feels so right.”

  And he groans, as if those words were too much for him. And he starts thrusting harder. I can feel him growing thicker, throbbing in between the walls of my pussy, and I know I did that. It’s enough to push me over the edge. I feel myself losing control, my breaths are coming faster, and I need to feel his release.

  “Bianca,” he breathes into my hair. “Don’t cum without me, princess….”

  My breath hitches in my throat and I hold it, as if I’m holding the door closed on the feelings that are banging on the other side, so desperate to escape. A long, deep and loud sensual moan escapes my lips and I open my cloudy eyes.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  Matteo kisses me, a soft touch of his lips against mine, his tongue touching the tip of mine. “I’ve always loved you,” he tells me, and the door becomes harder to keep closed, so much harder. “Cum for me now, princess…cum for me.”

  I feel his cock throb inside me, and that pushes me over the edge. His fingers coil around my hair and he pumps faster and with less focus. A loud grunt escapes his throat, and I know he’s about to cum.

  I focus on the storm brewing inside me. It feels as if something’s ripping me apart, yet putting me together at the same time. I let myself go, and for the first time, it doesn’t scare me to fall to pieces. I know that together our pieces form one.

  We come together. His hands wrapped aroundmy hair and pulling my head into his chest, and my hands scratching marks into his back. In that moment, our fates are sealed. I am his, and he is mine. We belong to one another completely.

  One final thrust, one final look, and he finishes with a groan. I’m kissing him even though I feel like I’m about to pass out. Long licks with our tongues, moaning against each other’s lips. He bites down on my bottom lip and I moan as I feel his cock flinch inside me.

  “So beautiful when you let go,” he tells me. “So stunning when you give up control. I love you, princess.”

  16

  Matteo

  We wake up together, entwined in each other’s arms. I relish the moment when she’s still asleep, breathing deeply in my arms. My fingers trace her cheekbones gently as I remember the night we just spent together.

  Bianca is fucking perfect, right down to the parts of her that make me want to scream. And now I know I’ll never be able to let go of her.

  She wakes up moments after I do, and I watch as realization dawns on her as she opens her eyes. First she remembers her father passing and I see the tears gathering in her eyes. Then, she recalls our lovemaking, and this puts a spark in her eyes, and I fucking love it. I’m going to enjoy looking for that spark in her eyes every morning for the rest of my goddamned life.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her softly. She nods, cuddling up closer to me. I feel so fucking relieved. Part of me honestly believed she would push me away again…but after last night, how could she possibly do that? We belong to one another now. Always.

  I wrap her up in a blanket and pull her into my lap. She straddles me and her hair envelops us in a silky curtain as we kiss. Her pussy is warm against me, but I know she’s sore, so I don’t push for more. My arms wrap around her waist and I kiss her long and deep.

  “Thank you,” she whispers in my ear. “For last night....”

  I have my own doubts about what happened. Yes, it was beautiful, but the timing wasn’t right, or so I thought. Now that she sits in my lap though, I understand how badly she needed to have me inside her. And I understand. I’m grateful she shared that part of herself with me at a time when she was the most vulnerable.

  “Do you want to get some breakfast?” I ask her, and she nods. I leave her in the bed after placing a fleeting kiss on her lips, and get dressed. I head out of the room and order the cook to bring her breakfast in bed. Then, I head to the garden to catch a breath of fresh air. As desperate as I am to be back with her, I need to clear my head.

  I’ve never felt like this. Never, with all the women I’ve been with, have I felt such a desperate need to be with a woman. I’m realizing she’s it for me – the end point, the one. She’s the one whom I’ve been searching for my entire life, and was afraid of finding for as long as I can remember.

  Except letting go has never felt this beautiful. I was wrong about love. I thought it was the sign of a weak man. Now I understand it is the sign of a strong one.

  On my way back to the house, I cut a perfect pink rose from a bush in the garden using my pocket knife. I hand it to her once I’m back in her bedroom, and her pretty blue eyes light up. “For my princess,” I tell her. “Though it doesn’t match your beauty.”

  She smiles and kisses me. From now on, I will live for the moments when her lips connect with mine.

  A knock sounds at the door signaling the arrival of breakfast. We sit next to one another on the bed surrounded by croissants, pastry, eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. Bianca giggles as I feed it to her bite by bite, and I am grateful for being able to provide her with a small distraction from the reality of our current situation.

  Once we have finished eating, the female assistant from last night comes into the room. She blushes when she sees how comfortable we are, but she doesn’t comment. Smart woman.

  She explains what will happen with the funeral, and we both console Bianca as she cries. She has my girl sign some papers before expressing her condolences and finally leaving the room so we can be alone. I hold Bianca, stroking her hair, until she stops crying.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” I tell her, and I mean it. In the past few weeks, I’d grown to like Da Costa. No, we never became particularly close, but we understood and respected each other’s roles as important figures in Bianca’s life.. “I will make sure his memory is never forgotten.”

  “Thank you,” she says. She looks up into my eyes and I see a silent question there. But she’s too afraid to ask it.

  “What is it, Bianca?” I stoke her hair, my thumb rubbing her reddened cheeks. “You can tell me anything, princess. Just go ahead.”

  “I….” She bites her bottom lip, a sight to fucking behold. “I need to find my brother.”

  I consider her request. Of course, she’s talking about the little boy I was supposed to kill. In the past few weeks, I think my father and Da Costa resolved their grudge. I’m pretty certain the bo
y is safe now. “I know where he is,” I confide reluctantly.

  Her eyes widen, and I half expect her to start hitting me again, just like she did last night.

  “Why?” she asks instead. “Why didn’t you tell my father?”

  Time for the moment of truth. “I spoke to his doctors, Bianca,” I say with a heavy heart. “That trip would’ve killed him. It was too dangerous…. I wanted you to have as much time with your father as possible. I knew you wouldn’t get that had I told him where your brother was.”

  She stares at me for a long time. It seems as if she’s deciding how to react to what I’ve just told her. Finally, she nods, and I see she understands. For that, I am thankful.

  “I want to go see him,” she says, sounding determined. I nod right away – this is what I’ve been expecting all along. My plan was never to keep their family apart, but instead ensure Da Costa stayed alive as long as possible.

  Being his only daughter, I understand Bianca will become heir to a vast mafia family. And I know it will be difficult for her. But I will stand by her side and give her everything and anything she wants and needs.

  “We can go,” I promise her. “I’ll plan everything. Get packed. Summer clothes.”

  “Where do they live?” she asks me curiously. I can tell there’s a million other questions she wants to ask me, but she’s holding back.

  I smile at her. “Palermo.”

  “Palermo?” Bianca looks confused. “I haven’t heard of that place,” she admits, making me grin like a fool. “Where is it? Arizona?”

  “Sicily, princess.”

  The flight is long, but at least it’s comfortable. My father lets us borrow his private jet for the journey, and we leave the Da Costa’s in the capable hands of the assistant, Carole, with whom Bianca has become quite close.

  It’s always been a dream of mine to visit Sicily. My father and Da Costa both grew up here, and I know seeing the island in person means a lot to Bianca, as well.

  She sleeps with her head on my shoulder for most of the plane ride, and I carry her off the plane once we land. We’re staying in a luxury hotel, so every need of ours will be met. My father organized the entire trip. I am still wary of him trying to make amends, but so far, Bianca has been gracious and accepting of his efforts.

  As soon as we disembark the plane, we’re hit by the hot weather, the sun beating down on our skin. I take Bianca’s arm and guide her to the car waiting for us. She looks beautiful in a floral dress with a corset top and a flared skirt. And she’s finally all mine.

  The drive to the hotel is but mere minutes, and I can tell by Bianca’s posture and behavior that she’s anxious to go see the boy right away. I have a crumpled piece of paper with the address in my hand, and her fingers shake as I hand it to her.

  “Do you know what’s there?” she asks, and I shrug.

  “Not sure. But we can use the car GPS to get there. Just put in the address.” I squeeze her hand gently, trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m sure it’s all going to be all right.”

  She nods and I lead her to the car as soon as we’ve unpacked our bags. We input the address, and a guard takes over at the wheel. I sit with Bianca in the back seat, and we admire the beautiful city through the tinted windows of the car.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she says.

  “First time?” I ask her, and she nods. “Me, too. We should come back.”

  “Maybe for our honeymoon,” Bianca suggests with a wicked grin, but as soon as she looks at me, she flushes deeply. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean it like that….”

  In a split second, I’m on top of her. “Didn’t mean it like what?” I want to know, breathing down her neck. She moans under my touch. “I will marry you, Bianca Da Costa.”

  Her body responds to me in ways her mouth never will. I am so fucking tempted to strip that damned dress off her, but before I can start working the buttons, the car’s already come to a stop in front of a large brick building.

  We slide out of the car along with the guards, who keep a respectful distance from us. I put my hand on the small of Bianca’s back and lead her into the house. There are children everywhere, and a big sign that reads ‘L’Orfanotrofio’. I think I realize what it means before Bianca does.

  A screaming middle-aged woman in a nun’s habit shoos some children out of her way and approaches us with a tired expression on her face. “Si?” she asks.

  “We are here to see a little boy,” Bianca speaks to her in Italian. I’m not sure the woman speaks English. I can feel Bianca’s body trembling lightly under my fingertips.

  “Who?” the nun wants to know.

  “I…I don’t know his name.” Bianca looks at me with defeat. I smile at her reassuringly and grin at the nun. She mellows as soon as she sees me.

  “His last name might be Da Costa,” I tell her in Italian. “But his mother’s last name was something else. Is this an orphanage?”

  “Yes,” she nods, crossing herself and saying the Lord’s name. “We have children from throughout Palermo here. They attend school and live here until they are eighteen. How old is the boy you are looking for?”

  Bianca looks at me for help, and I reply smoothly. “Nine, give or take a few years.”

  I pull up his pictures on my phone and show the nun. Her friendly expression changes in a second, and she says a quick prayer again.

  “Cristiano,” she says softly. “That is Cristiano.”

  “Yes,” Bianca replies enthusiastically. “Can we see him?”

  The nun looks at us for a long time before nodding. She turns around and walks in a different direction, and we both fall into step behind her. I must admit, curiosity is getting the better of me, too.

  We walk through playroom upon playroom, all in this beautiful house, but there is no denying that the place has seen better days. The paint is peeling off the walls, and I’d rather not imagine how cold it gets here during the winter, as it’s chilly and damp even now in the heat of summer. I don’t express my worries to Bianca. She’s too excited, and I don’t want to worry her.

  Finally, we ascend a rickety wooden staircase until we’ve arrived in a tiny bedroom. It’s not even a room, really, more of a spare closet with a bed stuck in it. A small boy is sitting on the edge of the bed, drawing in a notebook. He’s the boy from the pictures, and I feel Bianca’s hand tighten around mine.

  “We had to move him up here,” the nun explains with no regard for the child, who is now watching us curiously. “Troublemaker, this one. Always fought with the other children.” She gives Bianca and me a curious look. “Who are you, anyway?”

  Bianca’s eyes are glued to the little boy as she speaks. “I’m his older sister.”

  The boy gets up from the bed and comes to stand in front of us. He is a handsome child with deep, dark and troubled eyes. I wonder how he ended up here, and how difficult his life has been compared to Bianca’s and mine.

  “You are American?” he asks in shaky English, and Bianca kneels down next to him.

  “Yes.” She opens up his palm and puts a photograph there. It’s a picture of her father when he was younger. “This is my dad. Yours, too. Have you seen him before?”

  The boy looks at the photo curiously, concentrating on the image before his eyes. “This man,” he says, pointing at Da Costa. “He is…Daddy?”

  “Yes.” Bianca has tears in her eyes as she looks up at me with a blissful smile. I already know she’s made up her mind. Whatever it takes, she’ll want to take her little brother home with us. “Have you seen him before?”

  The boy shakes his head no. “Mama die,” he says. “I live here now mama is gone.”

  “Would you like to come live with me?” Bianca asks him. The boy looks at her for a long moment before nodding solemnly. The tears start to fall freely from Bianca’s eyes as she embraces the boy. So easy, this whole thing. Almost too easy.

  As my girl engages in conversation with the nun, I steal glances at
the boy. There’s something in him, darkness that’s threatening to take him over. I only hope we’ve come early enough to stop that from happening. I know Bianca would never forgive herself if something happened to this boy.

  The nun seems eager to speak to us about taking the boy away. I assume it’s because the orphanage is overcrowded, and I let Bianca talk to her to make arrangements while I study at the boy.

  When he thinks no one is looking, he tears up the picture of his father, and I can see hatred in his eyes. He lets the pieces of the photograph float to the floor from his hand, and when he’s absolutely certain no one’s looking, he spits on the torn-up image.

  17

  Bianca

  The boy, Cristiano, will move into the house with Matteo and me. On the plane ride home, I admire his handsome little face as he sleeps, and squeeze my man’s hand lovingly.

  “Thank you,” I tell him honestly. “For taking me to him. God knows what would’ve happened if we hadn’t gotten him.”

  Matteo seems a little hesitant about the whole thing, but I’m too afraid to ask why. I’m too worried he’ll confess he thinks the whole idea is a mistake, because his opinion means a lot to me. But at the same time, I’m going to do what I want. And I want Cristiano to grow up with a real family, not some Sicilian nuns in an orphanage.

  “Why are you acting so hesitantly about this?” The words escape my mouth before I can stop myself, and I look at Matteo pleadingly. “Please, help me understand…. You don’t seem thrilled about this whole arrangement.”

  “I just…,” he sighs heavily, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know anything about the boy, and it makes me uneasy.”

  “Matteo, he is ten years old!” I exclaim, quickly looking in Cristiano’s direction to ensure he didn’t overhear me. But he’s still asleep, safe and sound in the big overstuffed chair of Abbate’s private jet. “How does he make you uneasy? Did he do something?”