Sweet Prison: An Age Gap Mafia Romance (Perfectly Imperfect Book 10)

“No, I am not changing my mind!” Massimo’s roars carry all the way to the second floor. The dining room window was probably left open. Or not. His volume frequently hits this peak whenever he’s “talking” with Brio. My guess is the soon-to-be-former capo has paid Massimo another visit. Even at a distance, and with hair dryer going, I can still hear the unfolding discussion.

“Are you trying to blackmail me, motherfucker?”

Yup. Definitely Brio.

“Miss Zara.” Iris pokes her head into the bathroom. “Peppe says there are major delays on the way to the airport, and he thinks it would be best for Don Spada to leave a little earlier.” She winces as another round of shouts erupts on the lower floor. “Also, I just wanted to remind you that the contractor should be here in fifteen minutes to take a look at the roof.”

Damn. It took six tries to finally book an appointment with this particular roofing firm. If the tradesmen arrive while Massimo is still having a fit, they’ll likely just turn around and leave.

I shut off the blow dryer and glance at myself in the mirror. My hair is still damp, and all I’ve got on is Massimo’s dress shirt. My immediate impulse is to get dressed and deal with my hair to make myself more presentable before meeting with a capo, outbound or not. The etiquette and proper attire requirements have been engraved in me since I was barely old enough to walk.

Well, things have changed.

“Prepare some refreshments, please,” I say to Iris while heading out of the room. “If I’m not done in the dining room when the roofers arrive, find some way to distract them for a little while.”

“Sure. Of course. Um… and will you be able to calm the don down before they get here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s great. And… how are you planning to do that?”

I stop at the threshold and smirk. “By redirecting his vigor.”

As I rush along the hallway and down the wide staircase, several house staff throw surprised looks my way. Some seem amused by my wildly disarrayed hair, but most are perplexed by my choice of outfit. Massimo’s dark-brown shirt leaves my bare legs on full display. At least it’s long enough to cover my ass and hide the fact that I’m not wearing anything underneath. Not that I would care if it wasn’t. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, and I respect that, but I just don’t give a fuck what those are anymore.

It feels good. Liberating.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

“I can’t tell you how little I fucking care about the contracts you can secure for the Family, Brio! Schmoozing with the investors and your ability to kiss ass as you did at your party last night is not what this is about. You’re still out! If you’re bored already, find a hobby. I hear crocheting does wonders for keeping your mind sharp!”

The shouting continues to spread through the mansion like a wave. I glance at the crystal chandelier hanging in the entry hall, then edge along the perimeter of the room. Just in case. That thing might come down any minute.

When I reach the dining room door, I don’t even bother knocking. There’s no point since no one would hear it anyway. I just twist the handle and step inside.

Brio and Tiziano are on the left side of the long table, hovering in their seats and looking rather stressed. Salvo is across from them, leaning back in his chair and observing the chaos like it’s amusing to him. Massimo, meanwhile, is at the head of the table, his lips pulled into an angry sneer.

“And you!” he addresses Tiziano. “Who the fuck authorized you to fire the casino manager at Bay View? I gave you specific—”

Massimo’s head snaps up, his eyes darting to the doorway where I’m standing. “Shit, baby. Did I wake you up?”

“Nope.” Of course he did. Probably woke up every person on the Eastern Seaboard, along with me, not long after his meeting started. I finally dragged myself out of bed when falling back asleep seemed futile.

Our gazes lock as I casually stride across the vast room, feeling the other men’s eyes on me the whole time. Massimo slides his chair back a bit when I reach him, so I use the presented opportunity and straddle his lap.

“The roofing contractor and his men are coming in ten minutes,” I say. “Can you wrap this up quickly or, maybe, just tone it down?”

“I can try.”

“Yeah, we both know how that usually turns out.” My hands drop to his belt, fingers undoing the buckle.

A wicked spark ignites in his smoldering eyes. It quickly transforms into a raging inferno when I flick the button and start sliding his zipper down.

“What are you doing?” The low rumble comes from the back of his throat.

I smile. Then, slipping my hand inside his pants, I pull out his rapidly hardening cock. “Making sure your abundant energy is directed elsewhere, so you can finish your meeting in a more civilized manner.”

His eyes don’t leave mine for even a second as I lift myself just enough, and then slowly lower onto his straining cock.

Someone behind me clears their airway. “Um, perhaps we should leave?”

Massimo arches an eyebrow. Smirking, I shake my head.

“Stay put,” he growls.

I never expected that these shameless actions would be such a turn-on for me. Massimo’s dick isn’t even halfway inside my quivering center, and I’m already feeling the telltale signs of an overwhelming climax.

“I love your outfit.” Massimo glides his hands up my thighs. “Very convenient.”

“I kind of thought you might disapprove of me showing up nearly naked in front of your men.”

“You can wear any damn thing you want, Zahara. If I don’t like how other men look at you, I’ll just kill them.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

A corner of his lips curves up. “I know.”

He slams his mouth to mine, stealing the moan that rips from my lips when I sink onto his cock completely. The rest of the room disappears. Ceases to exist in this reality. In the back of my mind, I know that this is somehow wrong. Disgraceful, even. But I can’t bring myself to care. How can I when his hands are on me? Kneading my ass as we keep on kissing. Tugging me closer to his chest. How can anything be wrong when it feels so damn right? I rock, rock my hips with abandon. Utterly lost within this sensation. Feeling whole while Massimo is filling me.

“I didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, angel.” Words whispered against my lips as he trails his right palm to my chest. Slowly. Reverently.

“Me neither. As it happens, scandalous behavior seems to seriously excite me,” I pant. “Are they watching?”

“Yes.”

My pussy quivers. I throw my head back and moan. Loudly. Let them hear. Let them see how much he turns me on. Speeding up my movements, I ride him—hard—right there, in front of the Council. In front of the men who’d judge me. Their opinions, though, no longer matter. All I need is to be held in the arms of the man I love. The tremors in my core grow insistent, while Massimo’s chest rises and falls quickly under my touch. We’re close, but he’s holding back his climax. Waiting for me. Waiting to follow me as he always does.

In a lightning-fast motion, Massimo’s fingers wrap around my throat. Applying just the right amount of pressure, it’s like he hits a button, and I explode. I scream, soaring straight into nirvana, and, a moment later, he chases me with a guttural groan.

Cinching my arms around Massimo’s shoulders, I sag down on his chest and bury my face in the hollow of his neck. “Five minutes till appointment time. Wrap this up quickly.”

A gentle bite lands just above my exposed clavicle. His massive shirt slipped off my shoulder while I was lost in ecstasy. Then, a kiss follows before he drags his lips across my raised collarbone.

“So, gentlemen, where were we?” His facial hair tingles my skin as he speaks while nibbling the column of my throat. “Oh yes. Tiziano, you’ll rehire the casino manager. And, Brio, go sink your feet into the sand. You are all free to leave now, and I have a plane to catch.”

Massimo

New York

Naos, a club owned by Drago Popov

Any kind of construction development is a great opportunity for money laundering. The upfront costs for building supplies are enormous, and in most cases, those expenses can be paid in cash. Dirty cash. When the project is complete and the finished structure is sold, the resulting amount of squeaky clean revenue in your bank account is nothing to sneeze at.

An investment opportunity involving Manhattan properties, where real estate prices have surpassed the previous all-time high after a volatile decade, is a money launderer’s wet dream. The projected profits from the residential construction project I’m currently reviewing is nearly seventy million dollars. In terms of initial financing, I can pump at least a third of what I expect to earn to turn our dirty money into cold hard clean cash.

“It’s acceptable.” I close the laptop and slide it across the table toward the man sitting on the other side. “When are you planning to break ground?”

“Next spring, most likely. We anticipate a three-month lead-in will be needed to finalize planning and design, and to get all the legal and permit issues handled.” Arturo leans back on the white leather sofa and props an ankle on the opposite knee.

As far as I know, in addition to being the New York underboss, Arturo DeVille also handles Ajello’s drug operation. Based on his looks, however, I find it really hard to believe. Drug deals are a messy business, often taking place in remote, dirty locations. Weapons and blood are usually involved. Ajello’s right-hand man looks like a fucking fashion model, one who wouldn’t know what to do if a gun was handed to him.

Dark hair, perfectly slicked back as if he wasted an hour in front of the mirror just to tame every single strand. A custom-made black suit that shows not a single crease on it. The immaculately pressed black shirt underneath, with the two top buttons undone, offers a glimpse of the gold chain around his tanned neck. He’s wearing a fucking cross, like a good Catholic boy. And on his left wrist, a shiny gold Rolex.

“If there’s nothing else that we need to discuss, Don Spada, I’ll have our lawyer prepare the paperwork. My boss will bring the contract with him when he visits Boston to inspect the venues we’re buying.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I assumed that you, as his underboss, would handle all the bureaucratic crap.”

“Most times, that would be true. In this particular case, however, Don Ajello will take care of it personally. Take it as a statement of good faith, if you will.” A waiter approaches to drop off a new round of drinks, but Arturo doesn’t even spare him a glance and continues, “This is the first time two Cosa Nostra Families are entering into a strategic alliance of this kind.”

I wait for the server to depart before leaning closer. “I don’t think it’s wise to discuss such delicate matters in front of outsiders, DeVille.”

“Normally, I would agree. But as it happens, this place is considered neutral territory, and the staff here are sworn to secrecy. If anyone even breathes wrong, the motherfucker who owns this joint would gut them with a spoon or some shit like that.”

“You’re not a fan of the owner, I take it?”

Arturo’s face darkens. “Drago Popov. He’s my brother-in-law.”

“I didn’t know you were married. Did you get hitched to Drago’s sister recently?”

“God forbid.” Arturo practically swipes his tumbler off the glass-top table and throws the whiskey back, swallowing it in one gulp. “That hellion should be locked up somewhere, and the key lost where no one can find it. I’ve never met a more infuriating female in my life. We crossed paths just once, at my sister’s wedding, and the nutcase threw a jug of punch at me. And that was after she tried to slice my head off with a flying serving tray.”

His phone starts ringing on the table, Ajello’s name lighting up the screen. Their conversation is brief, but DeVille’s face shows more and more agitation by the time he hangs up.

“Duty calls.” He stands and offers me his hand. “Looking forward to doing business with you.”

Once Arturo leaves, I finish my drink and then take out my phone to call Zahara. The private plane is on standby to take me back to Boston, so I should be home in time for dinner. And dessert.

She doesn’t pick up, which isn’t that uncommon, since her phone often ends up left forgotten on the nightstand.

I try again as I’m leaving the club, and three more times in the cab while heading to the private airport in Jersey. With each missed call, heaviness settles like a boulder in my stomach. Something is wrong.

You’re getting paranoid again, the snarky voice inside my head comments. She’s probably fiddling with those puff sleeves on the new blouse.

“They are called lantern sleeves,” I correct. That gets me a strange look from the taxi driver.

Taking my phone out again, this time, I call Iris. She and Zahara are often hanging out together.

“Zahara isn’t answering her phone,” I snap the moment the line connects.

“Oh. She must have forgotten to take it with her, Don Spada.”

“What?” The bad feeling in my gut intensifies. “Where did she go?”

“Mr. Canali dropped by about half an hour ago. They left in his car. Could be that she needed to take final measurements for Mrs. Canali’s latest dress order, because I saw Miss Zara had a sewing pouch with her.”

“Who went with her?”

“Peppe. He followed them in his vehicle.”

I hang up on her and dial Peppe, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Fuck!

“Step on it!” I bark at the driver while dialing Peppe again.

No answer.

Peppe always picks up. I hear my alter ego mumbling in the back of my mind. Something isn’t right.

“Don’t you think I know that?!” I snarl, making the cabbie jump in his seat.

Next, I try Salvo. Three times. But his phone is off, too.

I pull my gun out of my holster and press the barrel to the back of the taxi driver’s head.

“If you don’t get me to that damn airport in five minutes, you’re dead.”

Zahara

Thirty minutes earlier

“And this can’t wait till tomorrow?”

“My mother is leaving on an unexpected trip in the morning,” Salvo says as he slides behind the wheel. “She won’t be back for two weeks, and the fundraiser is next month.”

As Salvo heads down the driveway, I spot Peppe in the side mirror, getting into his car to follow us. Typically, I’d insist that security isn’t necessary, especially since I’ll be with Massimo’s underboss, but ever since that bizarre conversation in the library, where Salvo confessed his supposed feelings for me, I’ve been feeling uneasy around him.

“So, you and Massimo caused quite an uproar last night.”

I steal a look at him from the corner of my eye. He’s got a light grip on the wheel, and the elbow of his other arm is braced in the open window. Whatever bitterness I thought I saw in him at Brio’s seems to be gone. “I guess we did.”

“Saying that the Family members were shocked would be putting it mildly. It’s all everyone’s talked about after you two disappeared. The spur-of-the-moment proposal was a particular highlight. But you know what I found especially interesting? Not a single person commented on how fucking outrageous this whole thing actually is. In fact, most seemed thrilled by the idea of their beloved Nuncio’s daughter marrying the new don.”

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. I expected everything but that.

“Hilarious, isn’t it?” He shoots me a smile. “Don’t you just love how Massimo manages to make people take his side without even trying? Even poor Brio… He showed up to this morning’s meeting—uninvited—and begged to be reinstated as capo. I just don’t understand what it is that has everybody so fucking enthralled with such a psychotic barbarian.”

I reel back, aghast at the amount of venom in his words.

“Even you,” Salvo continues, “a well-bred Italian girl, so innocent and docile.”

He looks at me then. A sly smile still dances on his lips, but his eyes are filled with malice. I can’t help but lean back, as far away from him as I can manage.

His smile drops, and with it, all his pretense is gone. “But, really, you’re nothing but his slut. Fucking your stepbrother in the middle of our meeting. Your father must be turning in his grave.”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Stop the car.”

“Did you just want to rub it in my face? Drive home that you don’t give a fuck about my feelings? Were you trying to show me that he’s still better than I could ever be?”

“Stop. Right now!”

“Sure.” He shrugs and steers the vehicle to the curb.

As soon as we stop, I practically leap out of the car and dash toward Peppe’s Jeep. He’s pulling up just behind Salvo’s black Porsche. With Peppe this close, relief hits me like a welcome rain, but in that same split second, awareness slams into me with the force of a hurricane. The stench of garbage overwhelms my senses. The sight of derelict buildings dissolves any notion that this is a peaceful street.

“Miss Veronese,” Peppe calls, sticking his head through the open window. “Everything okay?”

“Yup. Changed my mind, though. Wanna go back.”

Just as I’m reaching for the handle of the passenger door, the sound of breaking glass fills the nighttime air. I scream and jump back, staring at the red stain spreading across the front of Peppe’s white shirt. Shards of the shattered windshield are scattered all over him.

“Peppe!” I cry out, reaching for the door handle again. My fingers barely wrap around it when I’m grabbed from behind and yanked away.

“Shut the fuck up,” Salvo growls next to my ear as he drags me back to his car.

“Let go!” I yell, trying to break free, but he’s too strong.

Two more muffled gunshots follow. Peppe’s body jerks violently each time a bullet hits his chest.

“NO!”

“You’re getting back into my car, Zara.” The cold bite of steel butts up against my temple. “Shut your mouth and do as I say. You might live through the night if you do.”

Icy dread washes over me. The blood in my veins freezes. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. My eyes are the only part of me left remotely functional. Unfocused and blurred by a sheen of unshed tears, they flit all over Peppe as I slowly drown in the horror before me. A slight rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s still alive. Barely. I don’t think Salvo has noticed. What do I do? If I try to help, Salvo will just finish the job.

Fuck! What do I do?

“Okay,” I choke out. “I’ll come with you.”

“Maybe there’s some sense left in you after all,” he sneers and pushes me toward his car. “Move! Quickly.”

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and shuffle to his vehicle. It takes everything in me to keep my gaze fixed on the shiny Porsche and not look back to check if Peppe is still breathing. I haven’t seen anyone else on this street, but I can’t lose hope. Someone will find him. They’ll call 911. I can’t even think about the alternative.

Tears well in my eyes again, making it hard to see. Just steps from the car, my heel sinks into a crack in the sidewalk. I trip and nearly fall.

A brutal grip squeezes my upper arm. “Watch where you’re going!” Salvo snaps.

I cry out in pain. His fingers dig into my skin, crushing my flesh practically to the bone.

He pushes me through the still-open passenger door, and I collapse onto the seat in absolute agony.

“Where are you taking me?” I whisper, staring blindly at the road up ahead.

My words are lost in the rumbling of the engine as Salvo starts to drive.

“Why are you doing this, Salvo?”

He doesn’t reply.

I don’t actually need him to. The truth is as clear as day.

Massimo was right all along. The traitor is someone within the Family. Only… he never considered it could be his best friend.

I have no idea why Salvo took me, or what his plans for me are. Whatever his reasons, there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of—this isn’t about me. It’s about Massimo.

It always has been.