When She Tempts: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 2)
When She Tempts: Chapter 24

A small hand rests on my lower abdomen. Silky blonde hair tickles the side of my neck. Martina’s slow, deep breaths fan out across my chest.

I pull her closer to me, as if the feel of her body perfectly molded to mine will somehow make me forget about the consequences of my addiction to her.

Because that’s what it is—an addiction.

An out-of-control need that’s jeopardizing the entire reason she’s here with me in the first place.

All day yesterday, I tried to get myself in check. I practically meditated on the fucking phrase. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

All the good it did me.

I drag my hand down my face. Sal has me walking on a tightrope. Yesterday, Calisto called me on the don’s behalf. Sal had something he wanted me to move for him. I raced to Naples to pick up a small metal case filled with what I suspect is a few million worth of diamonds. I drove it to the closest secure vault in the area with one of Sal’s men tailing me. After I dropped the case off, I picked something out of my own personal stash to give to Martina, and then drove back here in the most roundabout way possible to lose my tail and make sure no one else was following behind.

The whole exercise felt strange. Sal’s drawing me out on purpose, clearly trying to track my movements. I need to check recent chatter on the recordings to see if he’s doing it to others, or if I’ve become the principal target of his scrutiny.

What could have put him on my trail? Damiano’s been careful not to mention my name to any of the men he’s been meeting. No one outside of Ras and Valentina know I’m helping him, and their loyalty is without question.

I need to get to the bottom of it before this location is at risk of becoming compromised.

Martina jerks in her sleep, bringing my thoughts back to her. I drag a soothing palm over the smooth skin of her back, savoring the feel of it.

My resistance had crumbled even before she offered herself to me last night. I simply can’t deny her, consequences be damned. Not when she’s so willing to climb into my bed.

And fuck, last night was everything I wanted and more.

Innocence and sin. Inexperience and eagerness. Beneath that young face are layers and layers of dimensions, and I’m afraid I won’t be satisfied until I’ve discovered them all.

I gaze down at her peaceful expression. Does she still dream of her friend, or have we managed to chase her ghosts away? There’s nothing of that empty girl I picked up from De Rossi’s in her now. She’s come alive. Flourished.

Come into her power.

And now she’s ruthlessly exercising it over me.

I drag my palm over my jaw.

She said she’d never tell De Rossi about us, and I believe her, but what I’m concerned about is if this thing between us can run its course before she leaves. Neither of us know when this war will be over. Will we have enough time to work out our desire for each other?

Because that’s what we have to do. We have to squeeze out every drop until there’s nothing left and we can return to our lives.

Mine.

My stomach turns. Staking my claim on her last night gave me a high. In the back of my head, I knew the words coming out of my mouth were a fantasy, but I couldn’t resist saying them.

They tasted so fucking good on my tongue.

Now, the thought of her with someone else makes me want to draw out the gun I keep in the nightstand and fire off a round into the ceiling.

Fuck.

One day, we’ll look at each other and feel absolutely nothing. We will.

We must.

The only way I can keep her is to marry her. De Rossi already said a marriage proposal is in her future, but I’m the last fucking candidate he’d consider.

Martina purses her lips in her sleep, as if disapproving of my thoughts, and uncertainty fills my chest. Letting her go now would be impossible, but with time, I’ll grow bored of her, as she will of me. And if it’s not boredom that deals us the fatal blow, it will be truth. When I reveal my secret to De Rossi, he’ll tell Martina. And when she knows who I really am, she’ll look at me the way my mother did her whole life—with barely hidden disgust.

It will be hard to say goodbye, but it will be even harder to see that in her eyes.

Careful not to disturb her, I climb out of bed and walk over to the window. It’s early dawn, the sky only starting to brighten. Bracing my palm against the window frame, I peer out toward the forest. I haven’t gone in there since being back, but now it calls to me.

The pines sway in the wind as if beckoning me into their shadows.

I should visit her.

No one else does.

Instead, I stand frozen in place for a long while until Martina stirs behind me.

“Morning.” Her voice is still hoarse with sleep.

“Morning, piccolina.”

She climbs out of bed and comes to stand beside me. “I like it when you call me that.”

I wrap my arm around her slim waist and draw her close to me.

“What are you looking at?” she asks.

“The sunrise, I suppose.” It’s beautiful. Pink and orange ribbons have unfurled across the sky, marbling against each other.

She gazes at the view and lets out a contented sigh. “I’ve been here for nearly two weeks now, and I’m still not over the beauty of this place.”

It is sublime. I wish I’d given myself a chance to enjoy the castello in earnest before I spoiled it with bad memories.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, peering down at her. “Sore?”

She looks at me from under her lashes. “A little.”

My hand tightens around her waist. “Let me make it better.”

We forget about the sunrise, and she falls back on the bed, spreading her legs for me and showing me something even more beautiful.

I drag my tongue over her hot flesh, gorging on her taste and the sound of her timid moans, which soon morph into screams.

Her fingers skate through my hair, and when I bring her right to the edge, she gives it a firm tug. “Giorgio,” she pants, her entire body trembling as her orgasm fights to take over her. “Oh my God.”

I wrap my lips around her clit and suck hard on it, at last making her explode.

When she comes, I replace my mouth with my fingers and lift my head so that I can take all of her in.

Flushed skin, bitten lips, tangled hair. She blinks at me and gives me a lazy, satisfied smile that breaks something open inside my chest.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful.

And she’s mine.

For now.

I drag my palms up her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, and stop to cradle her cheeks. She gazes at me with bright, sparkling eyes, her mouth slightly parted. “You’re going to get me addicted to this,” she whispers.

Cazzo.

I press my lips to hers and taste the inside of her mouth while her hands drift low between our bodies. She wraps her palm around my aching cock and gives it an uncertain stroke. “Like that?” she asks.

A groan tumbles out of my lungs. “Just like that.”

She works me with her hand, growing more and more sure with her movements. I lick around her breast and then tug on her rosy nipple with my teeth, making her hiss. Her grip grows tighter, and my orgasm starts to build right at the base of my spine.

My mouth makes it up to the side of her throat. “I’m going to come all over you, piccolina.”

“I want you to,” she whispers, keeping a steady rhythm.

I fist her hair, and when it hits me, as hard as fucking truck, I bite her neck. God, she’s making me see stars. My seed spills all over her belly and chest, and she keeps stroking me until there’s nothing left.

I sit back on my heels and admire the view of her covered in my cum.

She glances down at herself, and a blush colors her cheeks. “Did that feel good?”

I drag my hand over my face. “Yeah, that felt fucking good.”

She laughs as I take her in my arms and carry her into the shower. By the time I’ve got her clean, my cock is hard again, and she whispers in my ear that she’s really not that sore, so I press her into the wall and take, take, take.

The morning passes in a blink, and while Mari returns to her room to finally get dressed, I go down to the dining room and have a cappuccino. I’m reading a newspaper—an old habit I doubt I’ll ever give up—when Polo walks in.

He looks disheveled, as if he’s running on only a few hours of sleep. According to Allegra, he’s thrown himself into work since the debacle with Martina, busying himself with projects for the garden.

It’s been a few days, but I’m still fucking furious with him for disobeying my direct orders and taking her off the property. His only saving grace is that I never told him what’s at stake. He didn’t understand the possible repercussions of his mutiny. Still, he works for me. I shouldn’t need to explain anything. It’s that damn temper of his that’s getting out of control.

Polo halts a few steps away, waiting for me to give him my attention.

Slowly, I fold the newspaper and toss it on the table.

He meets my gaze, but only for a short moment. He’s nervous.

As he damn well should be.

He licks his lips and says, “I want to apologize for my behavior. I was angry at you, and I took Martina with me out of spite.”

I lean back in my seat and link my palms together. I’ve been too soft with him. All it took was one direct threat for him to finally understand I’m not playing around on the matter.

“I won’t make that mistake again,” he says, glancing at me.

I study him.

An apology is a good start. He seems genuinely remorseful, and that’s something, given that he’s young, impulsive, and maybe…too ambitious to stay here much longer.

I would never allow him to work for Sal, but Sal’s reign is about to end. What about De Rossi? While he’s in Casal, someone’s going to have to run his business empire, and that person will need help. If Polo manages to get his attitude in check, he might make a good asset. He’s eager to prove himself, and he’ll be loyal to any don who’ll give him that chance.

I could put in a word with De Rossi.

Polo waits expectantly for my response, so I give him a curt nod and reach for my cappuccino. “Good.”

He visibly relaxes.

“But you still want to be made?”

Something flashes in his eyes. Longing, probably.

“Yes, but I won’t bother you with it anymore. I’ll wait until you think the time is right.”

Finally. He’s starting to fucking learn.

“It might come sooner than you think.”

He blinks.

“I’ve had a lot of things on my mind lately, Polo, but I’ve heard you. I understand you don’t want to spend the rest of your life here, and I can’t blame you for that. If I was in your shoes, I’d probably feel the same.” I prop my elbow on the edge of the table. “There’s more you can do in life than join the clan. If you want to start a business, I’ll be your first investor. If you want to study something new, I’ll pay your way through school. But if being made is truly what you want… Well, I promised your mother I would keep you safe, but I also promised her I’d try to keep you happy. Think about it for a few weeks and tell me what you decide on.”

His lips twitch. “I appreciate that, Giorgio. I’ll consider all my options first.”

“Good. Have a seat. We can eat together.”

Polo sits down, and Allegra brings him a plate just as Martina comes down the stairs clad in a pretty black dress with a bold floral pattern. Her ponytail swings with each of her steps, and when she gives me a coquettish smile, my hand flexes with the desire to wrap those silky strands around my fist.

She sits down to my right. “Morning.”

Polo glances up from his plate. “Good mo—” His greeting cuts off as his eyes fixate on something.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s looking at Martina’s neck.

Fuck.

There’s a visible red mark from where I bit her last night.

“Wow, it smells delicious,” she says obliviously and reaches for a freshly baked pastry from a basket on the table.

I tighten my fingers around my fork, watching as Polo takes a few seconds to put it together. Then his gaze narrows and darts to me.

My plan to introduce Polo to De Rossi grinds to a halt. Before I can do that, I’m going to have to ensure Polo doesn’t speak a word about this to him.

Another complication.

Another fucking problem to deal with.

What was Martina thinking? Did I not make it clear no one can know about us?

“There’s something on your neck, Martina,” I say, keeping my anger out of my voice even if it pulses at the edges of my vision.

She turns to me, her expression crumbling when she realizes what I’m referring to. She slaps a palm against the mark. “I burned myself with a hair straightener,” she says quickly.

Jesus Christ, Polo isn’t an idiot.

He purses his lips, and a muscle flexes in his jaw. “Didn’t know we had one.”

“I brought one from home.”

I pick up the newspaper. “You should be more careful next time.”

“Yes, of course.” She shoots me a worried look.

The anger settles in my gut and blurs the words in front of me, but it doesn’t take me long to redirect to myself.

I knew what I was getting into.

I decided she was worth it.

And now? The consequences are mine to deal with.