4. Giovanni

For the last twenty-two years I have done nothing but seethe in my own hatred and for the last twenty years, I’ve been plotting my revenge against Alberto Moretti and the Camorra.

A rickety bridge of peace might have been put into place with my marriage to Moretti’s only daughter, but it means as much to me as his life does. I have no intention of playing nice with the woman I am to wed.

They’re the reason I no longer have a twin sister, the reason my mother drinks herself into oblivion, the reason my father became even more heartless, and the reason Dom, my youngest brother, can no longer walk.

Play nice with the Moretti bitch? No fucking way. I plan on sending her back to the Camorra in tiny little pieces and igniting the flames of war once more. You don’t take from me and decide to offer a virgin as a sacrificial lamb. A pawn to ease the flames.

Sangue per sangue - blood for fucking blood. 

I had planned meticulously, calculating every detail, and anticipating each outcome, all to deal a decisive blow to the family that had wronged me so terribly. A family who ripped my own in two and grinned.

On my way to fetch my blushing bride, I envisioned her stormy temperament, arrogance written on her hardened features as they clutch at a marriage that could only end in ruin for her kin.

So why the fuck did my perfect pawn look like an innocent angel?

The woman who stepped out of the church was no storm, but instead, the embodiment of a serene spring day. She was dressed in a modest but ill-fitting white dress that ended just above her knees, hiding her curvaceous body.

Her eyes were the color of my favorite whiskey and flecks of green, framed by lashes that cast delicate shadows on her porcelain skin. With her hair hanging loose over one shoulder, I wondered how it would feel to wrap it around my fist and pull.

In that instant, it felt like my heart skipped a beat; the intense, iron-clad certainty of my plan seemed to waver, faltering under the weight of Lucia’s unexpected innocence. She’s a Mafia princess and I’ve fucked plenty of them, so why doesn’t she have that same arrogance to her?

The flight over was terrible, hyper-aware of the gorgeous as fuck woman sitting next to me. She fell asleep six hours into the flight, and even asleep, she looked beautiful. Four hours in and she rested her head against my shoulder, tempting me with that innocent rose and vanilla scent of hers.

Being stuck with her for nearly thirteen hours while my cock strained in my pants, itching to know how it would feel to have her full lips around it. If this isn’t hell on Earth, then what is?

I have never been more thankful for a flight to end and as soon as we landed, I shot up from my seat and readjusted my swollen cock. Damn, this woman. 

Jetlagged and tired as fuck, I need to get rid of my frustration as soon as we get back to the estate before I kill someone.

“Giovanni?” her soft siren voice calls to me and I breathe out a long sigh before turning to her. She’s wearing a confused and frazzled look, her eyes flickering around the inside of the plane. “Can you… Can you please tell me what happens now?”

I smirk at this. “Didn’t the nuns teach you to speak when spoken to? Tsk, tsk; I’d hate to have to go back just to put a bullet in Badessa’s head.”

A look of absolute terror crosses her face and it does nothing for my swollen cock, especially when her perfect mouth falls open in shock. I roll my eyes and face forward before resuming my walk.

“We go to my estate and you will stay there until our wedding day. Tomorrow you’ll be taken for a dress fitting and your closets will be filled since what you’re wearing right now is not befitting of a Vittori woman,” I explain as we walk down the steps and onto the tarmac. “Until our wedding, keep out of my way.”

“Understood,” she answers like a perfect Mafia wife should and her obedience immediately makes my cock deflate. Cristo, what the fuck is this woman doing to me?

She’s quiet on the drive home while I distract myself with returning calls I’ve missed. It’s after 3 am now and the entire estate is on high alert because the only Moretti heir is coming back to New York, the only one left with true Camorra blood.

I’ve had three cars and four motorcycles follow us on our way home but there have been no attacks on us. Not that I give a shit about Lucia, but the mere thought that someone could rip this kitten from me and put an immediate stop to my plans makes my veins burn hot with fury.

Who the fuck would disrespect my family like that, anyway? Who would dare?

Swallowing my anger, I relax slightly when the gates of my villa come into view. We approach the grand entrance, the wrought-iron gates, adorned with intricate designs and the Vittori family crest, open to let us in.

I always hated the cobblestoned driveway because of what happened to me when I was younger, but as soon as the wheels hit them, I feel like I’m home. My father moved out as he started grooming me to take over from him, so now it’s just me and my siblings who live here.

It is a majestic Italian villa, built with warm terracotta hues and adorned with exquisite stonework. Classic arched windows and balconies with ornate railings remind me of my mother’s favorite villa back in Tuscany.

I turn to see the look of awe on Lucia’s face and a flicker of pride blooms in my chest, but only for a second, because even as the place is beautiful, it was still built on bloodshed.

Leading her up to the door, I place my hand on the small of her back and she immediately flinches. “You can admire the place tomorrow, Micetta. I need fucking sleep,” I say as I walk her inside.

I wasn’t lying about being exhausted, because I didn’t get to sleep on the flight over. There’s already anger simmering under the surface and as much as Lucia deserves it, I am not in the mood for a fight.

Anna, the head housekeeper, waits for us in the entryway as we step inside and she walks towards us. “Welcome home, sir,” she says with a smile before turning to Lucia. “I will take care of the lady as you instructed.”

“Thank you, Anna,” I say before making my way upstairs to my bedroom to hopefully pass out. It’s not lost on me that in a few short days, the woman who gave me a thirteen-hour hard-on will be occupying the same bed as me.