Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance (7 page)

"Fuck," Matteo curses out loud. "You feel so good. Your mouth wrapped around my cock like that.... Fuck, you are beautiful."

I look up at him and our eyes connect again. His hand moves to the side of my face, wiping away a few stray tears. "Do you want me to cum in your mouth, princess?"

I nod fervently, pleading with my eyes for him to do it.

"You'll cum with me," he says. "No sooner. Only when I give you permission. Do you understand?"

I nod, swallowing my own spit. His cock slides even deeper in my throat, deeper than I ever thought possible, and he groans out loud. "Fuuuuck, Bianca! So close."

I know I won't last long if I keep touching myself, and I reach up with both hands to hold his cock, but he swats them out of the way. "Hands between your fucking legs, princess."

I obey, and he fucks my mouth relentlessly. I need this. I need his release. I need his permission. I choke on his dick, and for a second, he slides out of my mouth, which gives me a chance to speak.

"Please," I breathe heavily. "Please finish."

He grabs my cheeks and makes me look at him. "Where?"

"In m-my...in my mouth."

"Good girl." He strokes my face, and then he's inside my mouth again, and fuck, it feels good. I'm looking up at him, and I can only imagine my eyes are as glazed over as his. I'm begging, begging with my gaze alone.

"Cum for me."

My shaky fingers go back to work, and I feel him throbbing in my mouth, and it's so much, too much and I only need a stroke, and he only needs one lick, and then we're cumming, cumming together like a fucking storm brewing, lightning striking, souls connecting.

I almost faint when I feel him explode in my mouth, groaning my name as he thrusts for the last time. Warm liquid fills my mouth and I choke. Matteo's cum runs down his cock and I whimper, leaning closer, barely staying on my knees as I lap it all up and swallow.

S
he's fucking amazing
. I can't believe what we just did. It goes against every rule of my father's. He's going to kill me when he finds out what happened. I'm still reeling from my orgasm, and Bianca is on her knees, eagerly licking up every last drop of my cum.

"Such a good girl," I tell her, stroking her hair. I need her now. Need to be inside her more than I've ever needed anything else in my life. I gently pull her up by her hair and she gets on her feet, stumbling into my arms. Her eyes are glazed over, and she almost looks delirious.

I scoop Bianca up in my arms, holding her close to my heart. She feels so good there, like it's the one place in the world where she finally belongs.

I smooth down her hair and she shivers in my arms. Suddenly, her knees start giving out, but before she can fall to the ground, I lift her up. I gather her small, frail body in my arms and hold her close. She's whimpering.

"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly. She snuggles closer to my chest, seeking comfort I thought I'd never be able to give her...but this girl has been proving me wrong from step one.

"Need more," she begs. Her body is arching in my arms. So fucking beautiful.

"You can't stand up?" She shakes her head no and I hold her closer. "You need to rest now, princess."

"Please. Oh god." She's shivering.

"Are you still coming, princess?" I ask with a shit-eating grin on my face.

She's too far away to respond. Instead, she just arches her back, pushing her tits up in my face. God, she smells good. Innocence and taboo combined. I need to be inside her so fucking badly. Need to feel my cock hitting her center until she begs for more. Jesus.

Her arms wrap around my neck and I carry her into the bedroom. It's the only room I actually like in this stupid place. A huge bed is placed in the center, outfitted with soft 800-thread count satin sheets. There's a big box in front of it, its contents probably too scary for my vulnerable little princess.

I fight every fiber in my body and set her down on the bed. I want to be inside her so badly, but she's in no state to fuck the way I need her to. She curls up in a ball on the bed and I cover her up with the duvet. Bianca purrs with pleasure, her eyes heavy-lidded with sleep.

"Come here," she begs me, making space for me in my bed.

I do as she says; sitting down on the edge and watching her curl up in my lap. She's like a satisfied kitten, and I'm fighting the instinct to flip her over and plunge inside her with all my might.

"Was that your first orgasm?" I ask her softly, stroking her hair.

She looks up at me through heavy eyes, looking like she's pondering the question. "Yes," she finally replies. "I think so."

I move her hair out of her eyes. "You've never made yourself cum?"

She thinks for a second. "Not like that, no."

"Ever tasted cum?"

She blushes and shakes her head no.

"Did you like it?"

She looks at me for a while, her cheeks getting redder and redder by the second. "Yeah," she finally whispers.

"Good girl...." I'm grinning. I love the way she thinks about every question carefully. I don't want to tell her there are no right or wrong answers. It's too adorable to watch her trying to get it right for my benefit.

"Will you sleep with me?" she asks me, her head resting on my lap.

"Shh." I stroke her hair, feeling her drifting off to sleep. "Get some rest, princess. I won't be far away, I promise you that."

Bianca nods contentedly, and I feel her breaths getting slower as she drifts off to sleep. Gently, I move her off my lap and make sure she's comfortable before leaving the room. I can't help myself though, I stop as I reach the door and look at her over my shoulder again.

She's innocence personified, but then again, there's something so dirty about that angelic face of hers. I'm already in deep, I realize regretfully. There's no way I'm letting her get away from me now.

I leave the room, quietly clicking the door shut after me. As if on cue, my phone rings in the kitchenette area. I pick it up, wincing when I see my father's name flashing across the screen. Do I have the energy to speak to him right now? I guess I don't really have a choice....

I answer and immediately a pissed off scream greets me.

"Where is she, you cazzo?"

"She's safe," I reply lazily. I can hear my father's heavy, angry breaths down the line. For once, I have the upper hand on him. And I fucking love the feeling.

I'm also damned grateful to my past self for never revealing the whereabouts of my apartment to anyone, not even to my father. I needed some privacy, a place where I could be by myself. And now, nobody knows where I'm hiding out with Bianca. Technically, my hounds have been here once, but I trust them to be afraid enough not to spill the beans. They know I'm a stickler for revenge, and one wrong word out of their filthy mouths will mean their end.

"Bring her back this fucking instant," my father bellows down the line.

"No." I grin easily. I love this. Fucking love playing him like he's played me his entire life.

I hear my father's frustrated groan, knowing I have him. He has no power over me right now. In fact, he'll have to beg if he wants to get what he wants.

"How safe is she?" he asks.

"Safe enough."

"Can you come to the house?"

I ponder his question. "Why?"

"I have to tell you...something. It's important."

"About Bianca?"

My father hesitates. "Yes."

I don't know if I can fucking resist that. I want to know why he's so intent on hurting her, why this whole goddamned vendetta against the Da Costas is so important to him. So before I can stop the words, I hear myself agreeing to his terms. We agree to meet at the house in an hour.

I only live a thirty-minute drive away, but my father doesn't need to know that.

I arrive at my father's place, feeling a strange case of deja-vu. Leaving my beat-up car in the driveway, I walk inside and am escorted to father's study by an assistant, even though I know the way by heart. I hate being treated this way, like I'm some stranger who doesn't even belong here. But I grit my teeth and take it, walking into the study where my father is waiting for me at his desk.

"How is she?" he asks me, his voice cold.

"Why do you even care?" Carelessly, I sit down in a chair on the opposite end of the desk he's sitting at. "Last thing I know, you were trying to kill her."

"Don't be so fucking crude," my father snaps. He sighs and rubs his temples before putting away some paperwork on his desk. My eyes follow his motions as he pushes a framed photograph from his desk towards me. "Look at this, Matteo."

I take the frame in my hands and turn it to face me. I've seen this photograph in my father's office for as long as I can remember. The picture is yellowed and old, and I've always assumed it was just some stock photo that came with the frame, and that my father was too busy to replace it. His walls are lined with photographs of himself with his many sons — with the exception of me, of course— but this one.... I don't know this one.

"What's this?" It would be hard to hide the genuine curiosity in my voice. I look at the black and white framed picture. It's of a woman, wearing one of those fake stock photo smiles. She has dark hair and eyes and she's stunning, as a model should be. Her expression looks forced as fuck, though.

"Who," my father corrects me. "It's Sofia."

"So?" I toss the frame towards him on the desk, feeling petulant. Instead of letting it go, my father jumps at me. It's a good thing the desk is separating us, otherwise those hands of his would already be on my throat. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Look closer," my father hisses.

Despite wanting to stand up for myself, I reach for the frame again and give the woman in it a closer look.

Beautiful, heart-shaped face. Soulful dark eyes. Beautiful wavy brown hair. A smile I've seen before. Yes, the woman is beautiful — there is no denying that. She is also hauntingly familiar.

As I slowly start to put together the pieces of the puzzle in my head, I look up at my father. "Who is she?"

"Sofia Ricci," my father replies simply. "Bianca's mother."

I knew I recognized those features. I look at the photo with newfound interest, examining her pretty face, pouty lips, the world of sorrow those dark eyes seem to be hiding.

"Why do you have her picture?" My voice is quieter now. I need answers.

My father sighs and gets up from his chair. He starts to pace the room, and for the first time in my life, I notice he is nervous. His fingers are twitching, his brows knitted together in worry. He begins to speak and I listen intently, needing more information from him.

"It's a long fucking story, Matteo — not one I'm too fond of telling anyone," he says gruffly. "I think the time has come for you to find out what happened almost twenty years ago."

Twenty years ago, when I was just starting school. "What happened?"

"I was happily married," my father continues, and I instinctively roll my eyes. Yeah, so happily married, in fact, that he slept with my mother every other night. I still remember his hushed nightly visits, pretending I didn't see him sneaking into my mother's bedroom.

"My wife passed away suddenly after being in a car crash," he says. I remember her — Donna Maria, a kind woman who always liked me. She fathered three sons for my father before passing away. "I was heartbroken."

"Don't remember that part," I hiss at him. "I mostly remember you tossing my mother aside like she was trash."

"Your mother was a whore," my father cuts me off. I stare at him blankly and he just laughs, a cold, soulless sound. "You didn't know, Matteo? Of course she was a whore. And I tried so fucking hard to fix her. But the drugs, and the alcohol, and the sex.... She was too far gone."

"So you just gave up on her," I say dejectedly. "Gave up on another woman in your life. And your son."

"How the fuck was I to know if you were actually my son?" he snaps at me. "She slept with a lot of men. All I had was her word for it, and it wasn't worth much."

We stare at each other. Finally, he's come out and said it. Finally, he confesses he never saw me as a son. He just used me, for my whole life. And I just let him like a total jackass.

"When your mother died so soon after my wife, I was left alone," my father continues, sitting on the edge of his desk. "I took you in, took care of you."

"More like trained me to be a killer," I spit out.

"Shut the fuck up and listen."

I fight every instinct in my body and do as he says, listening for the punch line.

"I had a friend," my father continues. "He was the best man at my wedding. We came to the city together, moved from Italy at the same time. He was my best friend. My rock. My brother."

I think about whom he could be talking about, coming up empty. But my father has plenty of friends and associates. It's possible he just drifted apart with the man he's talking about.

"This man was intent on helping me get better after the death of my beloved wife. He took me out to a bar one night, and we met her."

He points to the picture of Sofia.

"I.... It was love at first sight. She was singing, and my friend was playing piano in the bar. I saw the way he was looking at her, all eyes. He loved her." My father loosens his tie. "But she only had eyes for me that night."

By now, I'm completely immersed in his story. I want to hear more, so I nod for him to go on.

"Sofia and I began an affair. We were in love.... She was a Catholic girl, a good one. Also Italian. I knew she'd be my wife, and I knew I'd take care of her for the rest of her life."

"So what happened?" I ask.

"My friend happened," my father snaps viciously. "He was in love with Sofia. Madly. Deeply. Irrevocably." He picks up the framed photograph and his fingers shake as he strokes the woman's hair through the glass.

"I still don't know what happened," he says tiredly. "She came to me one night — we were engaged at that point. She told me she was pregnant. She didn't know whether it was mine or his."

I stare at my father as he puts down the frame, avoiding my eyes. "My friend's name was Nicolas Abbate."

Bianca's father. I wait for him to go on.

"He took my woman. He took the child I never had." He punctuates every sentence with a slam of his fist against my desk. "I knew she wasn't mine; I had a paternity test done. He took my life, my family, my future. He stole Sofia. He stole Bianca."

I can't even react, I'm frozen to the spot. Bianca.... Da Costa's daughter. Her mother, my father's lover. Finally, a reason for the year-long feud.

"Sofia was miserable," my father continues. "She wasn't allowed to see me. She wasn't allowed to let me see the child. The child I would've raised, even if she hadn't been mine. She took her own life."

My father looks ill now, pale and shaky as he turns his back on me to walk back to his chair. He looks like an old man in that moment, weak and hurt from the years of injustices that have happened to him.

"She left behind a daughter I never had the chance to meet. Da Costa hid her from me for her whole life. The child that should've been mine," he says, the pain evident in his voice. "So I started killing his children. One by one they all went down. Until there was no one left...but Bianca."

"And the boy," I say in a daze.

"The boy." My father looks up at me. "They boy who will die next."

"What about Bianca?" I demand to know.

"Bianca.... I don't know," he shrugs. "I need to have her."

I guess I understand where he is coming from. Another man stole his woman, and my father developed this sick obsession with owning the only thing she left behind in this world. It doesn’t make it any better, and it doesn’t make him any less of a sick bastard. But I find myself nodding at his words.

“You can’t hurt her,” I tell him. “I’m going to protect her life with my own.”

“Why?” My father looks puzzled. “She’s just a girl. Just a pawn. Nothing else….”

I lunge at him. “She is mine,” I growl. I’ve already started seeing her as my property, and I haven’t even been inside that sweet pink pussy yet.