by Bianca Cole
I try to detach myself from my thoughts, drowning instead in the unparalleled pleasure he so effortlessly coaxes from me. “Fuck, daddy,” I moan, warning him that I’m close. It feels less natural than before and forced.
Perhaps it’s because I know Milo will never feel anything for me. I’m nothing more than a fuck doll to him. He told me that much himself, and he’s never given me a reason to believe it will ever be different between us. I’m a fool to think there could be more between us.
16
Milo
Reality slaps me in the face as I step into my mansion with Aida trailing quietly behind me. Ever since I snapped and spoke to her cruelly in the cave off the beach, she’s barely looked me in the eye. It was a defensive reaction as I know she’s getting too attached to me.
The side of me I allowed her to see in The Bahamas isn’t real. It could be if I weren’t the man I am, maybe if I didn’t hold an empire’s weight on my shoulders. Ever since our tour around the island, she has looked at me differently. I would go so far as to say she looked at me with admiration. Something I needed to extinguish before it grew into something dangerous.
Aida is better off hating me and being forced to obey. She can’t develop feelings for me as a woman who wants more from me will only face disappointment. I can’t give her what she wants. Aida desires a tenderness that a man like me doesn’t have the capacity for.
The reality waiting for me is in the form of Piero standing to one side with his hands behind his back. The look on his face is one of concern, which means he has bad news for me.
I don’t know what it could be since they already dealt with Brandon Donatello the day after the wedding. We took payment in the form of two tons of his cocaine and killing ten of his guys. He’ll think again next time he decides to cross me.
“What is it, Piero?” I ask before he even greets me.
He looks at Aida and then back at me. “It might be best if we talk in private.”
I shake my head. “Whatever you want to say can be said in front of my wife.”
Piero swallows and nods. “We’ve run into some problems with the McCarthy clan since you left. They held up one of our drug deliveries at the port, and now it’s gone missing.”
“The fucking Irish.” I run a hand through my hair and try to think quickly. “You’re sure it was McCarthy?”
Malachy and I have a tentative agreement to keep out of each other’s way. I’m not sure why he’d decide to break that agreement unless the men worked independently of his orders.
“We know that three of the men on the watch that night were his guys.” Piero shrugs. “Two of them are in the basement and won’t talk, but we’re quietly confident they snatched the shipping container.”
I glance behind me at Aida, who has appeared broken since we got on the plane to return to Boston. The confident and fiery fight has left my angel, and it’s a little disappointing that she didn’t last a bit longer. “Aida, go to your room,” I order.
She doesn’t look up at me or say a word as she moves past me and up the stairs. It irritates me that she didn’t reply, but I haven’t got time to scold her.
“Take me to them, now.”
Piero turns and leads me down the corridor toward the stairs to the basement. I’m pissed off that anyone would dare steal a drug shipment from me. McCarthy may be Irish and an enemy for all intent and purpose, but he doesn’t strike me as an idiot.
He wouldn’t risk a war between his clan and my organization for two and a half tons of cocaine. It may be worth a small fortune to most, in the region of one-hundred million dollars, but it’s not a lot in our world. It still angers me, though.
“Do you know their names?”
Piero nods. “Yes, sir. One is Dillion Kelly, and the other is Sean Walsh.” He shrugs. “They’re low-level runners in McCarthy’s clan, as far as we can tell. We found footage of them taking the container away with a lorry. The driver hasn’t been found yet.”
I clench my fists. “Make sure we have all resources trying to find the driver and the container. Then I want you to set me a meeting with Malachy.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? Remember what happened last time you met.”
I do remember what happened the last time the two of us were in the same room. Both of us are too proud to back down, and we ended up in a fistfight, which Malachy won. He is, after all, Irish, and he’s an undefeated bare-knuckle fighter. His victory led to me agreeing to the tentative truce between his clan and my mafia.
“I’m sure. We need to find out if these guys were working independently from Malachy or not. If these assholes won’t tell us the truth, then it’s the only way.”
Piero looks uncertain, but he knows not to question me again. “Okay, shall I leave you with them?”
I nod in response and enter the holding cell we use to keep our prisoners locked away.
One man is hanging by his arms in the corner. The other is stripped naked and slumped in a chair in the center of the room. His face is beaten up, and there’s blood coating the floor beneath him.
I crack my neck and ready myself. This situation is the polar opposite of lounging in a villa in The Bahamas with my wife. Normally, I enjoy taking matters into my own hands, but it feels different after getting back home with Aida.
I groan internally, wondering if I’m going soft.
What has Aida done to me?
Our trip away together was the first time I’ve had fun since I was a kid. Even then, life wasn’t a picnic with an abusive father and a mother who couldn’t stand up to him.
My mother used to take me on outings, but my father would be angry that she took me out of the house when we returned. He used to beat her regularly in front of me. Maybe that’s why I’m so fucked up.
I shake my head, trying to focus my mind. There are torture implements on a table to the right, and I grab a sharp but small knife, twisting the blade between my fingers.
“Time to wake up, motherfuckers,” I shout, bringing the two assholes out of the stupor they’d fallen into.
The guy at the front sees me and instantly pisses himself. My reputation for torture is renowned across the city. They may be Irish, but they’ll know who I am.
“That’s fucking pathetic.” I approach him and drag the small knife over his skin gently, teasing at what is to come. “I think you should tell me who you stole my drugs for before that puddle beneath you becomes blood rather than piss.”
He meets my gaze and doesn’t speak.
“I would start speaking if I were you.” I slice the skin from his arm, making him squeal like a woman.
“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t take this shit anymore. I’ll tell you who it was.”
The other guy hung up by his shoulders shouts for him to stop. “Don’t do it, Dillion. You know he will kill us for ratting him out.”
I laugh at that idiotic notion. “Neither of you are leaving my home alive. You can tell me now, and I’ll make your death quick and painless, or I can drag it out for many painful weeks.”
There’s a deathly silence that falls across the room before the guy who originally spoke nods. “Fine, we were working for Mikhail Gurin.”
Fucking Russians. I should have known they were behind this attack. My meeting won’t be necessary, but I’ll need to tell him I killed two of his men for fucking me over. Honesty is best on this occasion.
“Thank you for coming clean.” I walk around the back of his chair and slide my arm around his neck, snapping it quickly.
I had no intention of breaking my word to this man, but the other man is another story. He didn’t tell me what I wanted to know so that he will suffer a slow and painful death.
“You, on the other hand, tried to stop him from telling me the truth, which means your death will be torturous.”
The guy manages to open his busted-up eye and look me in mine. “Do your worst.”
He’s strong, unlike his friend. It is a trait I a
dmire, and it makes sense why he’s the one hanging up by his arms.
“At least you’re not going to die a coward like that sad bastard.” I nod at his dead friend’s lifeless body.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Never. I’ll die with my fucking pride intact, you sick fuck.”
I smirk at that. “Probably best not to insult the man that is going to take his time slowly torturing you.” I twirl the knife in my hand and approach him, recognizing the glint of fear that ignites in his eyes.
He is fighting to stay strong, but no man can hold out until the end. Malachy may not appreciate the murder of these two men, whose positions in his clan I’m not sure of. I grab his hand and slide the end of the thin knife into his fingertip.
“Motherfucker,” he growls.
I pull the knife out and stab it into his next fingertip. It’s one of the most painful points in the body because there are so many neurons. They are the perfect weak spot to exploit, but many people don’t think of using them while torturing.
You can’t put the body through too many serious injuries and sustain life, so finding areas of the body that provide the most pain with the least damage is the key.
He grunts as I thrust the knife into the end of his third fingertip. I’m surprised how resilient he is, as many men would be cracking from the level of pain.
The guy grits his teeth so hard I can almost hear the enamel grinding off. It’s a satisfying sound as I know he’s slowly breaking. I get to his next finger and stab it in as far as I can until I hit bone.
This time he cries out in a deep rasping expression of pain. By the time I’m through with each finger, he’ll be a mess. A flashback of my father committing the same torture to a young boy, no older than eighteen, after he fucked up a deal with a wealthy Italian family from New York, the D’Angelo’s, springs into my mind. I was about fifteen years old at the time, and my father stood where I stand now, teaching me the perfect way to inflict pain.
My father taught me his ruthless ways from an early age. First with his treatment of my mother, but later involving me in his work. It desensitized me to violence, but he also taught me to enjoy torturing victims.
“Stop, please,” Sean rasps, eyes wild with fear as he allows the pain to break his resolve.
I smirk at him, begging me. “Perhaps you’re a coward after all.” His fingertips are bloody, except for the last two on his left hand. He had pretty good stamina to withstand the torture to that point.
“Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head. “I didn’t fucking beg the first eight times.”
The guy is made of far sterner stuff than his friend. “True. You can rest for now until I decide to punish you more.” I turn away from him. Quickly, I turn back around and punch him hard in the gut. The guy grunts, unable to protect himself because he’s hung from the ceiling. “Don’t think I’m soft, though, you son of a bitch.”
He spits blood onto the floor, which is a satisfying sight. The torture my men already put him through has done some internal damage, which will mean his pain is continuous. I turn away from my victim without another word and walk out of the basement.
The Bahamas was a fun break, but this is who I am. I can’t forget that otherwise, my entire empire could fall if I can’t rule with an iron fist. I won’t let Aida get in the way of that. A weakness was trying to infect me, but I won’t risk everything my father built over some questionable feelings for Aida.
17
Aida
“How do you like this dress, Mrs. Mazzeo?” Olivia asks, holding up a stunning pale blue evening gown with silver lace detailing.
Olivia offered to help me get ready for the charity event, which we’re leaving for in an hour.
“It’s beautiful.”
Olivia smiles. “Why don’t you try it on? It will look even more stunning on you, Mrs. Mazzeo.”
I shake my head and place a hand on her arm. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Aida?”
“Sorry, Aida. It’s a habit that isn’t easy to shake.” She passes the dress into my hands. “I can’t call you that around Mr. Mazzeo, though. He wouldn’t approve.”
I nod. “Deal then, anytime we’re alone, you’ll call me Aida.” I smile at her. “If Milo is around, you can call me Mrs. Mazzeo.”
She sighs a breath of relief. “Sounds like a good plan.”
I’m thankful to have Olivia around as she’s friendly and the closest thing I have to a friend here in Boston. All my life Gia, Siena, and I have been inseparable. It feels like a part of me has been torn away when my father shipped me over here. I may not be able to speak so freely with Olivia, but I’m thankful to have someone to talk to.
“How long have you worked for Milo?” I ask, stripping my dressing gown off and unzipping the stunning evening gown to try on. It feels as expensive as it looks.
She clears her throat. “Seven years I’ve worked for Mr. Mazzeo. He’s a fair employer.” I get a hint of discomfort in her tone, talking about Milo at all.
I pull the dress up and turn around. “Could you zip me up?” I ask.
“Of course.” She rushes over and pulls the zip up on the dress.
I sigh heavily. “I find it hard to believe Milo is a fair anything. He’s certainly not a fair husband.”
Olivia gasps slightly. “Don’t let him hear you say that about him.”
I shake my head. “He knows my sentiments for him.”
I turn around to gauge Olivia’s reaction to the dress. Her mouth falls open. “Wow, you look...” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to put it into words.” She ushers me to the mirror, and I look at myself in it. She’s right. The dress looks good.
“Maybe that’s why you can get away with telling Milo what you think of him.” Olivia’s eyes widen, and she presses a hand to her mouth. “I mean Mr. Mazzeo.” She shakes her head. “In the seven years I’ve worked here, I’ve never called him that.” She laughs. “I think you’re a bad influence on me, Aida.”
I laugh at that. “Sorry, at least Milo isn’t here to hear it.”
“Isn’t here to hear what?” A deep, baritone voice speaks from behind us, making us jump.
Olivia pales as she turns around to face her employer, who she’s scared of. I guess it makes sense, considering he’s a mob boss. Most people must find it scary, but I’ve grown up around men like him my entire life.
I shake my head. “We were chatting about my dress.”
Milo’s eyes narrow, and he drags them down my body. The desire that ignites in his eyes almost burns me. It’s hot and passionate. “It’s a beautiful dress, angel, but you know I don’t like you to lie to me.”
I glance briefly at Olivia, who looks like she is about to pass out. “Fine, Olivia mentioned you’re a fair employer, and I said I find it hard to believe you’re a fair anything. As you are certainly not a fair husband.” I tilt my head to the side slightly as I notice his jaw clench. “She told me not to let you hear me say it.” I shrug. “Now you have.”
“Leave us, Olivia,” Milo orders, never once taking his eyes from me.
She bows her head and gives me a thankful glance. There was no way I would get her in trouble with this psychopath because she called him by his name.
I turn my back on my husband and look into the mirror again, making sure my hair is presentable. “You don’t look like you’re ready for the event tonight,” I point out since his hair is ruffled and he’s wearing the same shirt and pants he wore on the plane.
Milo appears behind me in the mirror, and the look in his eyes is deadly. “You don’t speak to my staff about me, do you understand?” He grabs hold of my hips hard, digging his fingertips in.
I glare at him in the mirror, hating the man who thinks he can take whatever he wants. The man who thinks he owns me. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since he fucked me in the cave. I hate having him touch me, but my treacherous body loves it.
It feels like I’m being torn in two by my mind and body, each wanti
ng different things.
He bites the exposed skin on my neck. “I asked you a question.”
I grind my teeth together before answering him. “Yes, I understand.”
A beast-like rumble rises in his chest. “Yes, what?”
Fucking bastard can’t leave it at that. He has to push me every step of the way. “I answered your question. What is your problem?”
He grabs hold of my throat from behind and pushes me hard against the mirror. “How many times do I have to tell you not to push me?” I feel his hand lift the skirt of my gown to expose my ass to him.
He spanks me hard, making me yelp. “Bad girls need to be punished, and you’re not following the rules.”
I don’t say anything, glaring at him in the glass he has me pressed against.
“I want to hear you say it.”
I know what he wants to hear, but my mind recoils at the thought. Although I called him daddy in The Bahamas and before, it feels unnatural because of how his words hurt me in the grotto. Sir is detached and clinical, but daddy feels too intimate with a man whose heart is made of ice.
“I understand, sir,” I grit out.
Milo nips my earlobe with his teeth. “We’re alone, angel, which means I want you to call me by a different name.”
“Oh, of course. Yes, I understand, you fucking pig,” I spit, feeling the anger for this man spiral out of control. He may have all the power here, but it doesn’t mean I have to make things easy for him. If he wanted a woman that would lay down and take everything he gives her without complaint, he should have married a hooker.
He turns me around and looms over me angrily. “You’re testing my patience, little girl, and I don’t have time for this.”
I shrug. “No, we’re going to be late, so why don’t you get dressed and leave me the fuck alone.”
Milo punches the mirror above me hard enough to crack it, making me jump. I glance up at the shattered mirror and see Milo’s knuckles are bleeding.
