Page 81 of Texting My Mafia Boss

Mara: So, am I getting a big sparkling ring?

Ettore: No.

I don’t know why, but his reply makes me laugh. He sends another text. I glance up before I read it, checking Sylvie is okay. She is, twirling, enjoying her freedom.

Ettore: I want something realer for us, something more genuine, something raw. I want the chance to try, Mara. That’s it. Just to try to make this work, to let it grow naturally. I WANT to claim you, to own you, to let the darkness take over and dominate you, to MAKE you mine. But I NEED to be realistic, mature… even if you’re the mature one. I need you to know I’m here, willing to work, to build something concrete. So that when that day finally comes, when I’m on one knee, you know we’ve earned it.

Tears fill my eyes. I let out a sob, shoulders trembling.

Livia walks up behind me, touching my arms. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I wouldn’t normally share texts,” I murmur. “But look.”

I show her my phone. A breath catches in her throat, and then she wraps her arms around me. “Jump in,” she whispers. “With both feet. This is something not any mafioso would offer. This is a chance at a life, Mara. Not to be a trophy. Not to be a pawn on the board. At a real, wonderful life.”

I text him back.

Mara: I want that more than anything. Now, come home to us.

I struggle to sleep, as if this bed isn’t my own. It’s like the bed at Ettore’s estate has become mine. I toss and turn, thinking of him out there in the city. In hushed whispers, Livia told me he has a lot to arrange. He needs to make sure that the Calvis don’t retaliate, square things away with the police, and deal with the families of his men who fell protecting the estate. It’s a lot for one man to carry.

He’s doing the right thing. But I miss him so badly. I ache for him, my heart… and everywhere else.

When I hear the door creak, I sit up, chest tight. I think it might be Sylvie sleepwalking, though she hasn’t done that since that one night. When I see Ettore’s huge silhouette, my breath catches.

He steps into the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. Moonlight shafts through the window, bouncing off his solid form. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and smells like he showered recently.

I switch on the lamp, just looking at him for a moment. He looks back at me, his jaw tight, looking emotionally drained. I jump to my feet and he pulls me into a fierce hug, clinging to me. He buries his face in my hair and inhales as if he’s been waiting to do that.

“Mara,” he sighs, kissing the top of my head.

“I missed you so much,” I say.

“I wanted to be with you straightaway,” he says huskily. “But business… it’s over now. It’s done.” He cradles my face in his hands, looking at me closely, our noses touching. “When I did what I had to do, the mafia world thought it was because of what he’d done. They thought it was about honor and respect andsetting a precedent. And it was, partly. But it was for you too. It was for what he took from you. It was because I care about you so, so much.”

Standing on my tiptoes, I press myself against him for a kiss. He returns it with passion, his hands gliding to my hips. He groans through the press of our lips, in that telltale way I’m starting to learn, like he’s been starving and now he finally gets to feast.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans between frantic kisses.

“I know.” I gasp, the pleasure sizzling, so much hotter now that there’s heavy emotion behind it.

“I don’t want to live without you,” he groans, kissing down my neck, his hands gliding to my ass and massaging in a way that makes me shiver. “Never, Mara. It’s me and you and our family now.”

We’re always on the edge of going too far. Of sayingI love you. Of jumping in with both feet even if we’re trying to hold something back.

“It’s just us,” I moan, sliding my hand down his body. “That’s all I need, baby.”

He snarls when my hand glides over his pants.

“We have to be quiet,” I whisper. “This house is small.”

“It’s big enough,” he says, but he bites down on his next savage groan.

I stroke my hand up and down the front of his pants, feeling him swell up for me. He grows in real time, getting thick and hard, his cock pressing against my hand. I keep stroking until he backs me up to the bed and I fall on my butt.

“I still remember the gym,” he snarls, grabbing my shorts and underwear in his hands and slowly peeling them down. “How fucking perfect you looked, with those wide hips, round ass, juicy tits, and gorgeous face, Mara. Your sassy eyes. Your wild hair. I still remember how badly I had to leave, because I was going to fuck you right then on the gym floor.”

His killer’s hands toss my shorts aside, leaving me bare, my core pricking in the cool air. That thought –killer’s hands– should break something in me. But I’m done living in the land of should.