Married to the mafia boss Series

CARMELA

Matteo ran laps around the coffee table.

I stumbled as he crashed into my knees, upsetting the plate filled with cucumber and salami sandwiches. I groaned as one slipped off the edge and slapped the floor.

I sank into the L-shaped steel-blue couch as Matteo zoomed the living room. “Teo, settle down.”

“No!”

I cleaned up the mess and passed the snacks to Mariette, who glowered at Matteo. “Honey, we’re not watching the film until you sit.”

Matteo bumped into the table, knocking over the popcorn.

Mariette scowled at him. “You’re such a butthead.”

“Your face is a butt!” he shrieked, his eyes welling with tears.

White rained on Matteo’s head as she hurled fistfuls from the bowl. He launched. They tussled, Mariette subduing Matteo in a headlock.

I tossed a pillow at them. “Mariette.”

She released Matteo, who dug into the cushions for spilled kernels and stuffed them in his mouth.

I grabbed his hand. “Teo, don’t eat couch popcorn.”

“Put on the movie!” Mariette roared, bouncing on the cushion. “Is Daddy coming?”

“Not sure.” I frowned, glancing in the office’s direction. “I’ll get him. Mariette, watch your brother.”

I’d seen very little of Michael. When he was home, he shut himself in the office all day. He refused meals. He stared into space, jaw locked in a tension that kept growing.

My life would never be perfect.

It hit me at Mia’s place when Anthony Costa’s toothy grin flashed across the evening news. His disappearance had consumed our husbands’ lives; they’d temporarily put aside their feud to work together. Michael had deflected Anthony’s kidnapping like he did all Costa business. Everything was under control.

Nothing ever was.

I’d grown up surrounded by violence. Mia and I had attended so many burials that we were on a first-name basis with funeral directors. My father shot a man in the back of the head in our backyard. Why did I think I could have two kids and a loving, supportive husband who was not homicidal?All content is © N0velDrama.Org.

I grabbed a sandwich and entered a room with white floorboards and concrete walls. A built-in bookshelf took up the left side. His desk sat in the middle.

Michael lounged in a leather chair, wearing a black sleeveless button-up over dark jeans. I’d never seen him in denim. It suited him. The way the pants clung to his thighs pricked my chest with heat. His suits slimmed him, but these made him look like a soccer player.

I knocked on the door. “It’s movie night. The children are asking for you.”

“Start without me.”

His tone made me pause. Lately, he’d sounded so heavy. It was as though he exhaled lead. He frowned at the desk. His beard was overgrown.

“Brought you a snack.” I slid the plate over the desk.

His lips tugged into a brief smile. “Thanks.”

Michael barely glanced at it, which raised my alarm bells.

I took his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He peeked at my hand, and then my face. “Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because when guys refuse food, it’s because the world is on fire.”

“Not all men are the same.”

“Are you okay?”

“Thinking about Anthony.” Michael played with the sandwich. He grabbed a bite and set it down.

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not really.”

I didn’t know Anthony well, but I hoped he was all right. He’d seemed troubled but harmless. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah.”

“You seem upset.”

“I’m worried, but otherwise I’m great. I’m content with my life.” He pulled my wrist, reeling me closer. “Aren’t you?”

That was a complicated question.

“Not while bosses’ sons are being kidnapped.”

“Forget him. Are you happy?”

I shouldn’t be, but my honest answer was yes. Resenting him seemed petty, considering the facts. I’d already forgiven him in my heart. “I’d like to see my parents and sister more often.”

He glared at the floor. “Then do it. Just don’t expect me to tag along.”

“Why?”

“Because they hate me, and I hate them.”

“What do you have against Mia?”

“Nothing. It’s Alessio I have a problem with.” He soured, glaring at his desk. “He’s a coward. Left you to die.”

“I thought he was your best friend.”

“Not anymore.”

Michael’s arm hooked my waist, and he drew me onto his lap. Heat rushed into my face as he held me tightly, his anger vibrating through my back.

“He’s a dick. He abandoned you with that monster.” Devastation flickered in his bourbon eyes. “He didn’t give a damn about the consequences. He just left you there.”

“You’re being really harsh. I told him I was safe.”

“You weren’t, and he knew better. If you’d been my fiancée, I never would’ve done that.”

Honestly, I held zero animosity toward Alessio. We were forced into an engagement we didn’t want, and I’d run out on him. I’d fallen in love with another man. I’d had no desire to be chased by Alessio.

But flames licked my body when it was Michael.

I kissed him. Michael stiffened, and then he melted into me. Sparks danced across my skin as his fingers teased my waist. He slid me over the desk. His touch sailed up my dress, and he kissed me in long, torturous strokes that reminded me how much I loved being naked with him. It’d been forever-fuck-almost a week.

“Will we watch the movie, or are you kissing all night?” Mariette’s dry voice cut into the room.

We jumped apart as Mariette crossed her arms. Michael chuckled as he pushed the straps over my tingling shoulders. Then he took my hand, and we strolled into the living room covered in popcorn. He brushed kernels off the couch before we sat together. Matteo dove into the crook of his arm.

It was dark and peaceful. Michael’s heartbeat pulsed into my back. The swell of his breathing lulled me into closing my eyes. I sank into oblivion as he nuzzled my temple and whispered words that made my heart race.

“I love you.”

I STILL WANTED A BABY.

The desire grew into a full-fledged obsession by the time I’d left Mia’s house and arrived at our quiet, oak-lined street. It’d hit me hard as I’d played with my fourteen-month-old niece, who’d started walking.

The bubbles were almost gone. A floral scent saturated the lukewarm water. Heat lapped my neck as the soap fizzled. I’d disappeared into our bathroom, hoping he’d notice.

I didn’t wait long.

As soon as he put the kids to bed, the doorknob twisted. Michael’s Derby shoes slid into view, the rest of him hidden in the fogged mirror. The visual of my well-dressed husband stepping through steam tickled my skin with flames.

He approached the bath, wearing a smirk that licked my body.

The air was stifling, the bathwater boiling, and I couldn’t stand it. My toe snagged the chain blocking the drain and knocked it out of place. Michael grabbed a towel, taking his sweet time.

He held it toward me. I reached.

Then he jerked it away.

“I didn’t see that one coming.”

“Then why did you try to grab it?” Michael grinned as he dried me off. He patted my face and soaked the drops clinging to my shoulders. He wrapped me, kneeling as he wiped my stomach and hips. The cotton ran down my legs. Judging from the smile that turned feral, he assumed I was game for more than playful banter.

He was right.

Michael stood, the cotton sliding into my hair. He massaged my head. “You want to fool around?”

“I need more than fucking you once in a while, Michael.”

“We were going at it pretty often.”

“That was before I found out you were a liar. You’re not the man I was falling for.”

“Perhaps I am. I never pretended to be good. Ask me a question.”

“What?”

“You said you don’t know who I am, so ask.”

I couldn’t think while his pulse bumped my naked skin. “Tell me about your life.”

“I grew up poor. We didn’t have two nickels to rub together after my father died, so my brother dropped out of school to work. I returned the favor when I was older-trips to Italy, gifts, that sort of thing.”

“What were you like as a kid?”

“Like Matteo, but a lot meaner.”

“So, you were his opposite.”

“I was energetic. Always bouncing off the walls, causing trouble, wreaking havoc in classrooms because I couldn’t sit quietly.”

That side of him had passed on to Matteo.

Michael nudged me. “What about you?”

“My teenage years were uncomfortable. I had big boobs when I was ten, so I was fending off men from a young age. Dad never wanted me to date, so I didn’t. He told me to save my purity for my husband, which had never made sense. Why did I have to be pure? He sure as hell wasn’t.”

Michael laughed. “I stopped being pure at fifteen. Did it in the backseat of my brother’s car, which I stole to bang my girlfriend. He beat the shit out of me, but it was worth it.”

“Your brother hit you?”

“Yep. He resented quitting school to watch us. We fought constantly. When I was thirteen, he stabbed me in the thigh. I would’ve bled to death if he hadn’t wised up and called the ambulance.”

I rubbed his bicep. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“He was an asshole, but I still loved him.”

Thinking of my father, I nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Do you?”

I met his gaze, startled by his tone.

Did I love him?

He leaned in, the smell of him enveloping me like a fog.

“Michael, I want to keep trying.”

The towel slackened. It struck the floor with a wet slap.

His palms scooped my face. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“I just want a baby. I’m not saying that I-”

“I don’t care.”

His grip settled on my hip. The other brushed my hair off my shoulder, and a violent shiver ripped through my skin. A feather-light stroke sailed down my abdomen as his breath skated my neck.

I whimpered.

Michael’s chest and groin pressed into me. He turned my head toward him, fingers clasping my jaw as his other hand drifted across my legs.

I gasped as he grazed my clit. The gentle pressure slammed desire into a body that didn’t worry about Michael’s crimes.

His lips crashed into mine.

He rubbed my clit in brisk circles, sliding up and down my seam. I moaned, arching against him. He unzipped his slacks and took off the belt, which landed with a jingle. He pushed me onto the bathroom counter, rubbing me harder.

My hands smacked the mirror, my limbs on the verge of collapse. His cock slid inside. I groaned as he filled me.

It’d been too long. I needed this.

God, did he make me feel.

With Michael, surrendering never felt like giving up. Not when he ran his tongue down my neck and lashed my breasts like I was made of sugar. Or when he parted my thighs and drank from my pussy.

Pure bliss.

I felt worshipped.

He fisted my hair and fucked me. A thrill launched into my heart as I watched us in the foggy mirror. He was goddamned beautiful, a spectacle of masculine power as he removed his shirt. He lowered himself, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he transformed into a rutting beast.

He was so hard. It was like being impaled. I hissed, but Michael didn’t take it easy on me.

He yanked me upright, his hand wrapping my throat. Michael’s growl reverberated deep as he stabbed into me. He squeezed, and a lightning bolt of pleasure shot into me. My breathing ragged, I bucked against him. My muscles tensed. He hammered me faster. My hands slipped off the mirror. He caught me before I dropped. The last thrusts were like two swift blows as he groaned.

He let me go. The air flowed into my lungs. I came with a shuddering moan, the sound broken by his pounding hips. I slumped onto the counter, trembling. He dragged his knuckles through my hair. A rumble resonated in his chest.

“I fucking love you.”

My eyes burned.

I wanted to say it back, but I needed the warmth that accompanied those words without the sting of fear.

I kissed him before realizing my mistake. Feeding his feelings was dangerous. I had to stop.

Sooner or later, they’d turn him mad as they had with Nick.

Love had ruined him.

And Michael-it would destroy him.