PROLOGUE
MIRABELLA
“Oh, right there, baby,”I purr as the man whose face I’m currently sitting on flicks my clit with his tongue like Carlos Santana’s fingers on his guitar. “Don’t stop.” My hands grip the headboard, trying to steady myself. The pain from the man underneath me as he grips my ass cheeks—digging deeper into my flesh as I roll my hips, arching my back as his tongue slides into me—is driving me insane. One reason I continue to fuck this man is because he knows how to give me pain with pleasure. “God, yes. I’m about to come.” My core tightens as the release builds up and my breathing hitches as I come all over his face.“Maledetto!”I scream in Italian. I collapse my forehead onto the headboard.
“Don’t rest too much there, girlie. I’m about to fuck this pussy, making you walk bowlegged for days.” His cockiness makes me roll my eyes. The only man who can control me in the bedroom is my ex-fiancé, and when I left him at the altar two years ago I vowed never to let my heart get involved again.
“Tsk-tsk, Ragazinno. I call the shots in the bedroom,” I warn in a teasing tone as I glide my glistening pussy down his chest to his hard cock.
“Little boy, I am not Mirabella.” My hands find his and we intertwine them. He kisses me and I can taste my wetness on his lips and tongue. I moan as his hips and cock are poking at my entrance.
“Condom, Ragazinno. You know my rules.” I move off him and the bed for him to get the condom. As he does this, I watch his six-foot three-inch frame in awe. His brown hair is tousled from our earlier foreplay. Picking up my wineglass from the table in the hotel room we always rent, as no one comes to my house for sex, I stare at him.
“Like what you see?” His cockiness is a turn-on for me and he knows it. After he slowly rolls the condom onto his hard cock, I lick my lips before tasting the sweetest red wine I’ve ever tasted. “This is new from my vineyard. It’s from the Mirabella collection.”
“Oh, Enrico, are you going soft on me?” I wink at him.
“No, Mira. You inspired the wine when I was making it. It’s a new recipe. Once Mama had a taste, she said this was wonderful. Since Mirabella means wonderful in Italiano, it all came together.”
“Well, I’d better be getting cases of this wine delivered.” I set the glass down as I saunter over to him. “I might even stock it in my restaurant.” The restaurant was my mama’s dream. My papa brought her sister over from Italy after my mama died giving birth to me. My twin brother also died in childbirth. My papa wasn’t the same after she died, so he did everything to honor her dreams and wishes. MyZiadoes all the cooking while I run the restaurant. She’s teaching me the recipes which I hope one day to pass down. I lick his lips before running my fingertips down his chest. I lick each scar on his chest before moving to his back. “Now, are you ready to add to your collection?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, now, would I?” He hisses as my blade slices along his shoulder blade. It bleeds slightly, which I happily clean up with my tongue. Enrico and I met on an app I developed on the dark web, which started out as a way for me to avoid thinking about my jilting my fiancé on our wedding day. The guilt ate me alive, so it kept me busy at night. The dating app was also for hookups like this one with Enrico, for those who share in kinks that some find quite disturbing. I like knife play, have always had a fondness for them. I went through a phase where I would cut myself to get the guilt over killing my mom during childbirth and found that the knife was also a pleasure thing. Enrico likes to have someone give him pain to be punished. He’s a winemaker from Italy who flies to Miami about six times a year for business and has the weight of his family on his shoulders, so he enjoys being submissive but can’t help being a cocky bastard.
“God, I’ve missed this.” He hisses as I swipe again.
“Baby, I love the sounds you make under me, but I really need your cock inside me,” I whisper into his ear from behind, the blade along his neck. I don’t press hard enough to make him bleed, but enough to make it look like a scratch. In one swift movement, he’s burying his cock into me as he slams my back against the wall. Legs wrapping around his waist, my heels dig into his ass. My knife is still in my hand.
“Mirabella, give me what I need.” Enrico’s voice is pleading with me. He carries us to the bed as he lies down so I can ride him. My hips are rolling like I’m on a bucking bull at a rodeo. Enrico’s hips are matching my speed and my knife swipes once in a while, making him hiss, gripping my hips tighter. My pussy tightens and squeezes his cock, and I moan as my release works through my entire body. Enrico grunts his release inside me as I fall on top of him. “You’re beautiful when you come.”
There’s banging on the hotel door.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I climb off of Enrico, taking the sheet with me, wrapping it around my naked body. I grab my Glock and walk to the door. I sigh when I look through the peephole. “Stay in bed no matter what happens.” Enrico doesn’t know who my father is, and I keep things secret. He nods, covering himself with the blanket. “What the fuck are you doing here, and how did you find me?” I ask, my voice filled with anger.
“There is nowhere you can hide, Mirabella. You should know that by now.” I sigh as I stare at Faro, my dad’s right-hand man. “We need to get you to safety. There’s been a situation.” Faro looks over at Enrico. I block his view from in the room.
“What situation?”
“It’s your father. It’s bad.” I suck in air.
“What?” I demand.
“He’s dead. They’re all dead,” He tells me. I stumble back.
“No. He can’t be.” I cover my mouth. Enrico is standing behind me. His muscular hands knead my shoulders, steadying me.
“Go. Do what he tells you. I’ll call you in a few weeks to check on you.” He kisses the top of my head. I turn to go into the hotel room to get my clothes so I can leave with Faro.
How is he gone? And who are ‘they’?
ONE
MIRABELLA
Blinking back the tears,I look at everyone who is standing around the casket as it lowers into the ground. I still can’t believe my father is gone. He isn’t going to walk through the door of the house we share anymore. No more coffee chats in the morning or late-night talks while I cry over losing my great love.
I’m wearing sunglasses on this cloudy day—not to hide my bloodshot eyes but to watch those mourning Luigi, the underboss of the DeSantis Family in the Miami area. Not mourning the father or widower. I swallow hard, knowing these people don’t give a shit about me or my dad. Who is going to take his place in the family? What they don’t know about is the meeting that I went to last night. I try not to smirk because none of the soldiers or enforcers realize a new era of the DeSantis Family is upon us.
The priest drones on about life, death, and ashes. The hair on the back of my neck tingles when I feel eyes on me. Not just any eyes, but his eyes. The priest starts his prayer, and everyone bows their heads. I stay focused on everyone else. My Zia is a mess. She won’t stop crying, so my arm instinctively goes around her shoulders. In her late fifties, with black and silver hair, she’s a beautiful woman who is my backbone since my mama couldn’t be there for me. I never felt like I didn’t know her. I also know she’s had a fondness for my father all these years. I know today she is saying goodbye to a great love of hers, and it pains me that she’s hidden her love for him. I know how he felt about her, but she was too much like my mom for him to let himself truly feel something.