Becoming the Street Boss: A Zanetti Famiglia Novel

by Faiman, Hayley

  My mouth twitches as I bring my hand up, touching her lips with my fingertips, gliding her wetness along them—painting them.

  PIPPA

  Tasting myself on my own lips is foreign, but I can’t deny that I like it. This is all new, almost forbidden, and I’m excited for what’s to come. I may have been married for five years, but I’ve only had sex a handful of times. I still feel like the twenty-year-old girl I was when Massimo went away.

  Sinking to my knees, I lick my lips at the sight of his hard length, tasting myself again. Raising my eyes to his, I’m unsure of how to do this. I’ve never actually done it before. I want to make him happy, I want this to be good for him—so good.

  Touching my mouth to the tip of his cock, I kiss him there. My eyes stay focused on his, looking up through my lashes. He smirks, the blunt resting between his lips as he reaches down with his hand and cups my cheek.

  He takes the blunt away from his lips, blowing the smoke down at me, his other hand moving from my cheek to the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. I part my lips as he tugs my head back. His eyes never leaving mine, they focus on my own as he slowly sinks down my throat.

  Massimo drops his chin, his lips curling into a grin. “Fuck, you feel good, dolcezza.”

  Pride bursts throughout my entire body at his praise. I want to make him feel good, I want to show him that we can work, that this will work, always. Massimo growls as his hips work faster, his cock sinks farther down my throat with each thrust.

  “Fuck,” he growls, stopping.

  He’s still down my throat, my lips stretched wide as I continue to look up into his eyes. Sliding one hand up the inside of Massimo’s thigh, I gently begin to massage his balls. My other hand, I slip between my legs and start to touch myself.

  “Fuck,” he repeats before he shifts his hips, taking a step back from me.

  I lose him from my mouth, my hand falling from his balls. I open my mouth to say something, to ask if I’ve done something wrong, but he must read my question before I ask because he shakes his head.

  “Keep touching yourself, I want to watch.”

  “On the floor?” I breathe.

  There’s a moment of silence, then he reaches down and picks me up, carrying me over to the bed before he sets me down on my feet, my legs wobbly.

  “Turn around, bend over, I want to watch you from behind while you make yourself come.”

  “But I want to look in your eyes,” I whisper.

  His lips curve up into a small smile. “You will next time, this time I want to watch and I want this view. This time it’s for me, next time for you.”

  “Next time?” I breathe.

  He lets out a chuckle, leaning forward, his lips brushing mine before he speaks. “I want five before we leave here, Pippa. One for every year I was away and couldn’t make you come on our anniversary.”

  “Massimo.”

  “Turn around, dolcezza.”

  Slowly, I do exactly what he asks, reaching for my dress, I pull it up the rest of my body, throwing it to the floor, then unhook my bra and let it fall down my arms until I’m completely naked. Leaning over the side of the bed, I slip my hand between my legs and tilt my hips back.

  Licking my bottom lip, I slide my fingers through my folds, dipping them inside of myself before I circle my clit. I do that over and over until I feel my body’s desire to just focus on my clit. I forget about standing, about being watched, about everything as I search for my climax.

  My hips jerk beneath my touch, moving with my fingers as I climb closer and closer toward my release. It doesn’t feel anything like it did while I was alone and touching myself over the years.

  With Massimo watching me, I feel sexy, wanted, desired and although I can’t see him, I know without a doubt that Massimo is enjoying every moment of this. All thoughts of sexiness, of desire, they completely disappear as my hips take over, my body almost not my own as I come.

  My thighs shake, moans and whimpers escape my lips before I let out a short cry. My arm trembles as I attempt to continue to hold my body up. Massimo is immediately behind me, one of his arms slides around my waist to hold me up and support my body. At the same time, he buries himself inside of me to the hilt.

  My head flies back as I let out another cry, this time because he’s stretching me, filling me expertly full. His other hand wraps around the front of my throat, pulling me up, forcing my back to arch while his hips move.

  “Touch your clit, I want to feel you come around my cock, dolcezza,” he growls against my ear, his warm breath washing over me.

  “Yes,” I moan.

  He hums, “You want that, don’t you? You want to come?”

  “Please,” I whimper.

  He laughs softly, his fingers tightening around my throat at the same time his hand around my waist slides down between my legs and I feel his fingers with mine.

  “We’re both going to play, Pippa. You’re so fucking hot. I’m never leaving you, not ever again, beautiful girl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  MASSIMO

  Pippa is completely sated, and snoring lightly when I leave her in the room alone. I lock the door behind me so that nobody can get inside to her. Though, they couldn’t anyway, not with the security that this place has.

  I left a note next to her so that she would know that I’m in Arlo’s office and to text me before she leaves so that I can come and escort her. Security has been notified and will be watching her door for any movement and alert me.

  I know that she’s safe in this building, Mia has cameras that cover every fucking square inch. However, I don’t fully trust anyone with her safety, not the way that I trust myself. Too much fucking shit has happened, plus there’s the little fact that whoever shot her is still on the loose.

  I’m hoping that when I get to the bottom of whatever the fuck Erin has going on, I might just tie up the shooting loose end as well. I highly fucking doubt that they aren’t somehow connected. I have bad luck, and so does Pippa, but nobody has luck that fucking shitty.

  Walking into Arlo’s office, I’m not surprised to see Erin sitting in the chair across from him. Arlo is behind his desk, his eyes focused on her. Mia is standing behind Arlo, her arms crossed just beneath her tits, her eyes narrowed on Erin.

  Erin’s body jerks, her eyes widening when she sees me. I hear a throat clear behind me as Brando slips into the room, closing the door behind him. Erin’s eyes widen, flicking her gaze around between all of us.

  Something in the way she looks at Brando doesn’t sit right with me immediately, but I shrug it off. Maybe she’s just confused because she doesn’t know who he is?

  “What’s this about?” she asks, her Irish accent, considerably less than it was five years ago, in fact, it’s pretty much nonexistent.

  Arlo clears his throat, his eyes finding mine before he shifts his gaze back to meet hers. “Why don’t you tell us, Erin. Because from what I’ve found, it seems you’ve been busy and I’m not sure to what end.”

  “Wh-What do you think I’ve done?” she asks, attempting to sound innocent by raising her voice a couple of octaves.

  Arlo shakes his head. “Why did you first stalk Massimo, send him messages and photographs, then later stalk his wife, for years?”

  Erin licks her lips, her eyes shifting around the room before she straightens her spine and lifts her chin in the air.

  “I stalked him because I wanted him for myself, at least for him to continue to visit me. Then, it turned into a fun game, watching his wife lose her shit. She was selfish for wanting to keep him all to herself and I think it’s funny that she got nothing. She didn’t deserve to have him, not like that. She was supposed to be like me, a whore.”

  “Why did you deserve to have a Made Man?” Mia asks, her brow lifting.

  Erin smirks. “I put in my time, why does she?”

  Mia leans down, pressing her index finger into the desk as she growls at Erin. “Pippa deserves to be the wife of
a Made Man for several different reasons, none of which I even have to tell you, but I will. She is the daughter of a Made Man and Arlo sanctioned it, to which, Gavino agreed and ultimately was the deciding party. None of which could ever happen to you or for you.”

  “Then I don’t feel bad for what I did. That cunt ruined my life, I was close, so close.”

  I can’t handle the bullshit for a second longer, walking closer to her, I clear my throat. Erin turns to look up at me.

  “Close to what? I didn’t even know your name until after I was married. You were a hole I paid to fuck. Nothing more, nothing less. If you thought otherwise, I feel bad, but you’ve taken this shit way too fucking far. What else have you done?”

  Her lips curl up into a snarl. “I wouldn’t tell you, not in a million fucking years.” She sneers.

  Shifting my gaze to Arlo, I arch a brow. “She’s done more or knows more,” I snap.

  Arlo nods his head once. “Agreed.”

  “What do we do about that?”

  Brando clears his throat behind me. Arlo shifts his gaze from me to him, and I turn around so that I can look at him directly. He hasn’t said much, and usually on something like this he wouldn’t say a single word. But this is different.

  Judging by the way his lips are pursed together, he has something that he’s been thinking about, something that he needs to say. His gaze flicks from Arlo to me, then to Erin before going back and finally landing on Arlo.

  He doesn’t get a chance to say a single word. Pippa bursts through the door, her eyes narrowed on Erin. I take my phone from my pocket, checking to see if security sent me a text that Pippa was out of her room, but they didn’t. Fucking dicks. Nobody will watch my wife better than I can.

  “Erin needs to understand what she’s done. I don’t think that she comprehends it completely.”

  “How?” Both Arlo and Erin ask simultaneously.

  Pippa takes a step forward. “You want to be a Made wife?” she asks.

  She gulps, her chin jutting upward. “It’s better than being a whore, no?”

  Pippa chuckles, she’s dressed in her sexy cocktail dress from earlier, her makeup all but gone, her hair looking as though I’ve thoroughly fucked her, and I have. Basically, she looks sexy as fuck.

  “No,” Pippa grinds out. “Being the wife of a Made Man is the same. Except the freedom that you have now, it’s gone. You can’t go do whatever the fuck you want when you want to. You can’t even walk down the street without fear of being shot at, but you know that about me, don’t you?”

  “Pippa,” I warn.

  She shakes her head, taking a step past Brando, then another toward me, stopping right next to my side. Perhaps I should be offended by her words, how she’s describing being a wife, being my wife? I’m not. She’s one hundred percent correct in her description of what it’s like to be the wife of a Made Man.

  Erin opens her mouth, but Pippa doesn’t let her speak. She jerks away from me, getting far too close to Erin before she leans down, her face directly in front of Erin’s.

  I can’t stop my gaze as it slides down to her ass, taking in the gorgeous shape, thinking of the way she brought herself to climax in just this stance a few hours ago. Licking my lips, I try to tear my eyes from Pippa’s ass, but I just fucking can’t do it.

  “Who the fuck shot me?” Pippa snaps, her voice hard and full of fire. My cock twitches, wondering where this part of her has been, it’s sexy as shit.

  Erin growls. “I wouldn’t tell you.” She sneers.

  “You haven’t been sitting around waiting for five years because you are somehow in love with a man who didn’t even know your name. This is bigger,” she points out, saying exactly what we’re all thinking.

  I watch as Erin’s gaze flicks up to Brando’s, then mine before it shifts back to Pippa’s. “You’re right,” she says with a simple shrug of her shoulder. “But I’m still not telling you. Massimo was just the icing on the cake and he’s a good fuck, although I’m sure you already know that.”

  PIPPA

  Erin is holding on to something big, something that I don’t think any of these men could guess. It seems silly, that she would be so obsessed with me, with Massimo after five years. They were never anything more than client and whore. She knows he’d never be with her, and I don’t think she ever really wanted him to be.

  This is bigger than that.

  “You’re from Ireland?” I ask.

  She narrows her eyes at me, but I see the lie for what it is when she nods her head. “Of course, I am.”

  Straightening my back, I stand tall and look over my shoulder at Massimo. His brows rise, clearly reading my doubt. He looks over to Brando, who is staring at Erin, but it’s with an expression that I can’t quite read.

  It’s obvious that this is a man who likes to figure out the puzzle. And maybe Erin is a puzzle all by herself that he’s trying to solve.

  “You’re not,” Brando announces.

  “What?” Arlo, Massimo, and Mia ask at the same time, their gazes flying to meet Brando’s.

  He snorts. “It was exactly what I was getting ready to tell you before the beautiful Mrs. Ferrucci burst in here.”

  “You were?” I ask, spinning around to watch him, my lips parted in awe.

  “Erin wasn’t born in Ireland, in fact, she was born right here in New York. Please explain to the class how you ended up working for the Zanetti famiglia.”

  “You know all the answers, why don’t you tell them?” she snaps.

  Brando shakes his head, his lips pressing together. “I don’t know the why. You’ve tried to become part of the famiglia for some reason. You’ve tried and failed, you stalked a Made Man, then you stalked his wife for five years. You know who shot her, you know why, and you’re sitting there still breathing. Tell us what the fuck is going on.”

  Brando’s voice is a little too loud, his gaze a little too focused and it sends a chill down my spine. I’m afraid that he’s overcompensating for something, but I just don’t know what.

  “Or what? I won’t be breathing anymore?” she snorts.

  Shifting my gaze from Brando, I take a step forward, my eyes narrowing on her. “Exactly, bitch.”

  “Dolcezza,” Massimo warns.

  I ignore him. I’m full of fire and rage at this point and there’s no talking me down. If I had a weapon, this bitch would be dead. This bitch who knows exactly who shot me. This bitch who has been following me, taking pictures of me, this bitch who fucked my husband.

  Then it dawns on me. Erin has to know who was in the red sedan, the car that has followed me since before Massimo and I said our vows. She must know.

  I lose my shit.

  Completely and totally lose it. Lurching forward, I jump on her, my arms extended. Wrapping my hands around her throat, I straddle her in the chair.

  My jaw is clenched as I squeeze her throat. She lifts her hands, her fingers wrapping around my wrists as she attempts to pull my hands from her neck. Her eyes widen as she jerks away from me, but she’s stuck in the chair and I smile down at her as fear fills her gaze.

  Leaning forward, I press my lips against the side of her ear. “Tell me what the fuck you know, bitch, and I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless.”

  “Could you still taste my pussy when you kissed your husband on your wedding day?” she chokes out.

  My fingers flex and grip her neck harder. That is, until I’m wrenched away. Massimo wraps his arms around me, holding my back against his front as I kick and reach for her. Erin is smiling, obviously unfazed. I want nothing more than to kill this bitch.

  “Enough,” a voice bellows behind us.

  I freeze immediately, knowing that voice without even having to look behind us. Gavino is here. The Boss has come calling and I have a feeling that nothing good can or will come of this.

  “It seems we have a little issue here in the form of what? A girl?” he asks.

  I let out a snort at the same time Massimo chuckles
behind me. His grip on me loosens, but not too much, not enough to free me from his hold. I feel his lips against my ear, his breath is warm and I can’t help the small smile that plays on my lips just from his closeness.

  “It’s sexy as shit seeing you fight like an alley cat. My cock is hard as nails,” he exhales, shifting his hips so that I can feel the evidence of that hard length pressed against my ass.

  My breath hitches, but I don’t dare say a word. Gavino walks farther into the room, directly past me and stands in front of Erin who is rubbing her neck.

  A little shimmy of pride rolls through me at the thought of her in pain from my own hands. I shouldn’t like that I hurt her, but I do—she’s a fucking bitch. Gavino crouches down on his haunches and looks up at her.

  “You’ve got some explaining to do, zoccola.”

  He says the words softly, but I chuckle at the fact that he’s called her a whore, or in exact translation, a sewer rat. I want to comment on that, but I decide to keep my mouth shut.

  Gavino is calm, but I know that doesn’t mean shit, he’s a man that can flip faster than anything I’ve ever seen before. Not that I’ve seen him fly off of the handle, but working here and in his office building, I have seen and heard a few things and one of those things is that Gavino is really fucking good at staying calm—until he’s not.

  “That bitch tried to kill me,” she whimpers.

  Gavino doesn’t say anything, but I watch as his gaze flicks over to mine, his lips twitching into a small smile before he dips his chin and winks at me.

  “I’m sure she did. You’ve been stalking her, or maybe it wasn’t you? Maybe you were just the messenger?”

  Erin’s head jerks and that’s when I know that Gavino has hit the nail on the head. Erin’s gaze shifts over to us, then moves back to Gavino. Obviously he’s much better at looking at the bigger picture than we are.