Secret Baby For The Italian Mafia Don

Part 13

AVA POV:

Nico is a problem and a solution. The cure and the disease. Like
medication, he has a hundred disastrous side effects labeled on the bottle of
pills that I have to take just to stay alive. Even when his days start being
spent in the city, getting back into family business, he makes me take selfies
to prove I am being a good girl and keeping busy. No sleeping in or
doomscrolling for hours on end.
Whenever I lapse, he will drive straight back to the house and chase me out
of the room himself. Sometimes, he says I do it on purpose, just to get his
attention. Sometimes, he's right.
Nico and I haven't slept together again, but that hasn't dissuaded him any.
If sleeping with him made me crazy, then not sleeping with me is making
him crazy. I feel it between us, the sense that eventually, something will
have to give. I rub my thumb against my bare ring finger and tell myself
that it's him. He's the one who will have to either give me up or give in to
my demands and leave Marcel alone. I gave my word, and I will not go
back on it.
On a rainy Thursday morning, Nico finds me sleeping on one of the
couches in the house. The walls of my room crept in on me all night, one of
the little songs Vinny was always humming stuck in my head, and by 3
A.M., I dragged a pillow and a blanket to the sitting room just to sleep
somewhere impersonal and a little uncomfortable.
Nico drags me out of the house, but this time, we head into the city's
shopping districts. He gives me his card on the way there, dark and heavier
than any credit card I've ever felt, the front textured in a way that makes my
fingertips bristle.
"Nico, I have money."
"You have an allowance. I have money."
My mouth opens and closes, unsure if I should be offended when he's
probably right.
"Okay, whatever. What do you want me to spend your money on? Besides
the panties that you owe me."
"A new room," he says, no smile in his voice. It's not a suggestion, not a
spur-of-the-moment idea. He says it like he's giving an order. "Whatever
you like, you buy it. Everything new, top to bottom. We'll have it delivered,
and I'll drag out what's in there now. Hell, you want the whole thing
renovated, fuck it, we'll do that, too."
My heart pounds.
"Nico, no," I whisper, on the verge of a panic attack. "My room's fine,
really. It's not the problem, it was just one night—"
"You think I don't see the dust on all that shit?" he asks, not looking away
from the road. "You don't have a car, so those are his keys on the
nightstand, aren't they? They never move."
My throat is too tight to answer.
"There's a man's shirt always crumpled up by the dresser. You never touch
the mug next to the bed, and it's never got anything in it." I want to plug my
ears like a child as Nico goes on. "That's all his stuff, isn't it? Just fucking
rotting there. For God's sake, girl, have some mercy on him and let the man
rest. He has a headstone. He doesn't need another shrine."
When I don't answer in anything more than a sharp sniffle, Nico sighs,
bristling.
"I warned you, Ava, I told you I wouldn't just sit by and do nothing."
"It's okay," I whisper, still unable to look at him. "It's okay. We can...we
can change it. But can you...can you be the one to take out..."
"Yes."
He agrees before I even have to ask.
For the rest of the ride, Nico makes me look through pictures of what I
might want my new bedroom to look like. It hurts, like setting a bone, but
maybe that's the only way it can mend.
Nico spends the rest of the day buying furniture to bring my vision to life. I
don't know what kind of agreement Nico has with Sal, or if it's his own
bank account, but he doesn't mention the price even once. Whatever catches
my attention, Nico buys without question. He schedules all of it to be
delivered to the house the next day.
By the late afternoon, Nico is in an A-shirt and paint-speckled denim. He
tears my old room apart with his bare hands. He drags all the old furniture
out himself, not even letting me watch, much less help.
When I am allowed back inside, a fresh shade of Bungalow Breeze glistens
on the walls, creamy and warm. The room feels massive with no furniture.
Hollow. My heart clenches hard as I look for all those little signs of Vinny
and find that each one of them is gone. My pulse beats hard, my throat
closing quietly as I try to swallow any urge to cry.
Nico takes a box from the floor and shows it to me.
"I'm putting this up in the closet. Top shelf. If you need it."
My breath skips. All of Vinny's things sit neatly arranged inside, and I
nearly knock the box out of his hands in my rush to hug him, to throw my
arms around him in the dust and chaos.
"Thank you," I say, those long overdue words from that first night that we
reunited.
He just nods, as if this is all just nothing. Routine.
"These, too," I admit, picking up the pair of stuffed animals from the floor
and putting them in the box. "Vinny won them for me at a fair upstate. Well,
he didn't 'win' them. He tried to win them, and then he just paid off the guy
running the booth."
Nico grins.
"He was one of us," he says warmly.
For the first time, speaking his name doesn't hurt. The memory feels warm,
but not as painful. I can almost hold it in my hands without it burning me. I
put the stuffed animals back into the box with his other things, and there's a
strange comfort in knowing they're still within reach.
"What's going on?"
The voice makes me jolt back. Marcel stands in the doorway, his
apprehensive gaze wandering over the empty room and then, more
critically, the two of us. Nico turns statue-still next to me.
"I'm...I'm changing up my bedroom," I tell him.
But Marcel isn't looking at me. His eyes have paused on Nico, digging in,
burning as the two stare each other down.
"I can see that," Marcel answers softly. "And yet it doesn't really answer
the question, does it?"
"Nico offered to help."
"Who knew Nico had such a generous spirit?" Marcel smiles unkindly. It
sets Nico off like a wind-up toy, as predictable as anything.
"You got a fucking problem, maybe you should be in here doing this shit for
your sister."
"She never asked—"
"You think she asked me? Sometimes, people just need shit done.
Sometimes, you have to take charge. You think you'd know that, sitting
there at Sal's side all day. You can't man up for your own family, how the
fuck do you think you can do it for mine?"
"Shut up, both of you," I say, trying to get in between them before this can
spill into something much bigger than it actually is. "Do you need
something, Marcel?" I ask forcefully, wedging myself in the doorway
between them.
"I wanted to ask if you'd come to dinner with the family tomorrow evening.
Thaddeus will be there. If...you're still interested in that deal," he says,
very carefully. I know what that means. Somehow, Marcel is sidestepping
Salvatore's rules. Even with all his hatred for Nico, I can tell Marcel is at
least a little hopeful that I've changed my mind about the engagement. That
somehow in all the chaos of furniture and fresh paint around us, perhaps
I've turned over a new leaf, and I'll rethink my deal with Salvatore.
If only.
I just heard how Nico talked to him, how quick he was to gun for Marcel's
place in the food chain. Nothing has changed. No matter what Nico does for
me, no matter how he refuses to leave me alone, he won't let his rivalry
with Marcel go. Not for anything. Not even for me. I am standing between
Nico and Marcel in more ways than one, and I can't back down from that.
"Of course I'm still interested," I say, feeling as though I'm speaking to
both men in the room. "I gave my word."
Marcel's jaw twitches with displeasure.
"Right. Tomorrow, then," he says curtly. "Try to be there if you can. I look
forward to meeting him."
He says meeting, but I know my brother, and his tone says judging.
"I'd invite you, Nico, but I'm sure you have your obligations at the fighting
ring."
There's no way the scheduling wasn't intentional—a family dinner on the
night Nico is always predictably out of the house, just so he can't come
mess it up.
"Where are you sleeping tonight?" Marcel asks me, so pointedly that it feels
like an accusation. My mattress stands propped against the wall behind him.
"It's not like we don't have spare bedrooms, Marcel."
"Agreed," Marcel says shortly, his glare going over my head and focusing
on Nico. "I'll make sure there's one ready for you tonight."
Once Marcel is decently far down the hall, dodging all my piled-up
furniture, I inch the door shut. I turn back around slowly. The silence is
cold.
"Nico, you don't have to do all this," I sigh. "You shouldn't be."
"Too late to change your mind now," Nico says, gesturing to the wet walls.
"No, that's not...I just can't reward you with anything. I can't give you
anything for all this. When it's all done, what...what do you think is going
to happen? I spend one night on a couch, and you go and spend thousands
of dollars and put in all this time, and..."
Nico's face darkens. He drops the paint roller, stepping up to me.
"And you think I'll make you spread your legs for me as a thank you?" he
asks. "We both know I wouldn't have to put in half this fucking effort to get
you on your back for me, Ava. It never takes much. The right tone and a
firm touch, and I'd have you trembling for me."
I swallow hard as he calls me out so plainly.
"But if you need me to have some selfish ulterior motive to make you feel
better about this, then fine, I've got one for you."
"Nico, that's not..."
He keeps approaching.
"There won't be a single place you can look in this room where you won't
think about me. I'm in the fucking walls, Ava. I'll make the bed you lay in, I
bought the pillow where you rest your head. You think Vinny left a mark on
this room; I am the room. And I want you to lie in here and think about me."
He tilts my chin up, his gaze boring into mine.
"Does that do it for you, gorgeous? Or can it just be that I want you to feel
better?"
We stare at each other, burning up in each other's atmospheres as we
plummet through the tension.
Nico curses softly under his breath. I see the way he wants me, the way he's
even starting to question his own good intentions. He swipes a dab of paint
onto my nose, then steps around me, throwing his shirt onto the floor and
marching toward my shower in an angry huff. I sigh in his absence,
scrubbing away the paint and finally breathing in the cool air drifting in
from the window, as if it can help clear my head. I try to tell myself it's the
paint fumes making me lightheaded, but it isn't.
I sit down on the floor of my gutted room, listening to the water running.
My imagination spins, picturing him just a few feet away, all those muscles
and faint scars glistening under running water.
Through the drum of water on the shower floor, the faintest sound rises—
the rhythmic meeting of skin on skin. My breath catches as I strain to hear.   I
crawl to the door, pressing my ear against it. Nico's soft, elevated breathing
and the working of his hand mingle with the rush of the water. My body
rushes with chills as I hear him taking care of himself, knowing what those
thoughts are spiraling into.
Does he know I can hear him? Does he want me to?
My pussy clenches tight, jealous of Nico's hand.
I bring myself to my feet and slip into the bathroom. Behind the glass, Nico
is an abstract blur of a thousand different water droplets, his powerful shape
leaning forward, one hand moving steadily at his waist. He sees me there,
his posture changing, but he doesn't stop. The heat in my belly roars to life
as he keeps going, staring at me through the haze of glass, his hand working
hard at his cock. The soft, pleasureful breaths are so delicious, like he just
can't help himself.
I drop my clothes to the floor and slide open the door, stepping into the
steam with him. For the first time, Nico pauses, unsure. I reach out, running
my hand along his stiff cock slowly, keeping him hard.
"A man goes on and on about how much he owns me, and then uses his own
hand," I say, daring to glance up into his gaze. "I should be offended."
"Clearly not too offended."
"You better hope not," I say, pushing him to the back of the shower and
dropping to my knees, where I put my mouth on Nico's cock for the first
time. He goes still, sensing the threat and the suggestion, his hand gripping
my hair. The tension runs through his body, caught between urging me to go
on and pulling me off him. I lean forward and press my lips to the tip of
Nico's cock, the softest and most delicate kiss. His grip lessens, his breath
coming through his teeth as I'm slowly allowed to work my lips around the
huge girth. I take my time, getting to know him. My tongue swirls slowly
around his tip.
I never dared to play with Nico like this before, but there's a thrill of power
that comes with having a man's most possible pain and most profound
pleasure in my complete control. I wonder if this is how Nico feels when he
takes charge of me, playing god just to hear the other person worship and
pray with every breath.
"I've never done this before," I tell him, giving him a teasing little frown,
"and take it from me, first times can hurt."
Nico's breath shudders as I fully wrap my lips around his cock, but he still
doesn't stop me. With water dripping through my hair, I take his cock into
my mouth. I like making Nico sweat, like having him on edge just a little—
bracing for the worst—but I'm careful with him. I ease off, licking a slow
stripe from base to tip, tracing the thick vein pulsing up the underside of his
cock. I can't imagine actually hurting him after he went through all that
trouble for me today, and I try my best to imitate what I think a man would
like. I branch off to follow the shape of his head and get my mouth around
him again, this time trying to take him into my mouth and suck him off.
Nico's cock doesn't make it easy. It's big and unwieldy, and it hurts my jaw
just to get my mouth all the way around it and keep it open like that. I fight
back the flush of embarrassment as I struggle. Nico's hand comes to rest on
the back of my head, his low voice uttering instructions.
"You can take a little more," he urges, the single sentence setting off a fire
inside me as Nico takes charge. He pushes me down another inch, and
suddenly, he's right. My jaw opens wider, lips dragging along the skin as I
catch on to the pace. He wraps my hand around the base of his cock,
guiding me to move it in rhythm with my head. It's the only real way I can
pleasure all of him, moving in one steady motion, hand and mouth in
tandem.
"That's it." He shudders. The hand on the back of my head urges me faster
but not too deeply, even when his fingers knot into my hair and his thighs
tense. He groans, leaning back slightly as I hit my stride.
"You think you're so big and bad, don't you?" he asks, his thumb scrubbing
against my jaw as he gazes down at me with my mouth already stuffed full.
"Like I couldn't take you by the hair and fuck your throat if I wanted. You'd
never really resist me. You can't. You'd choke on my cock just to please
me. Look how pretty you look, on your knees with my cock in your
mouth."
The fantasy lets me take him a little deeper, ignoring my urge to gag as I get
used to him filling up my mouth and gliding along the back of my tongue. I
move faster, greedier, wanting more of him than I can take. My breaths
shudder through my nose, lungs burning and jaw aching.
His grip tightens, his breathing changing.
He curses lowly. "Fuck. Just like that. You take me so well baby."
That tiny thread of restraint in him finally snaps, after so long barely
tethering him. Nico pushes me off him, just to heft me up into his arms. A
surprised yelp slips from my lips. He flips us around. My hands slide on
those broad shoulders as he takes me up against the shower wall, messy and
fast and spur-of-the-moment. My voice cracks, bouncing off the tile as he
fills me up.
I fling my arms around his neck, my back sliding against the cold tile.
"I should have known you wouldn't waste it in my mouth," I whisper.
It nearly sets him off.
"You're such a fucking masochist," he tells me in a furious growl, the jerk
of his hips pounding up hard and fast.
"Oh, God," I gasp, mouth opening at the sudden surge of pleasure drilling
up into me.
"That's close, baby, but that's not my name."
And I want to punish him for that little remark somehow, but I can't,
because being bounced on his cock while held up in his big arms, my thighs
spread open around him, feels too good to ruin. If he weren't every inch the
powerful fighter that he is, we'd never last in this position, but I feel
weightless in that powerful grip, bounced on his cock until my eyes roll. I
cry out so loud, I clamp a hand over my own mouth, embarrassed by the
echo.
Taking him is easier now, though his sheer size makes my toes curl and my
knees shake as I beg for him. I want to carry the feeling of him with me to
dinner tomorrow, to feel the ghost of him between my legs.
This desire has burned low inside me, waiting for the right kindling, the
perfect breeze to fan the flames. Now, the wanting burns like gunpowder,
fast and hot. He drives me up the wall, my breath hitching and belly
clenching. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck become the only two words in my head, on my
lips, pounding over and over as that blinding heat ramps up inside me.
I'm on the edge of that deep, plummeting pleasure—I scream out for him,
and there's nothing that can stop my voice now. I shudder in his arms as I
come and shake, and my orgasm is still pounding inside me like a drum
when Nico grabs me roughly by the jaw, making me meet his gaze as he
finishes deep inside me, both of us grunting and snarling like animals. He
claims every inch of my pussy and floods it with thick seed. I groan hard as
he stays buried deep, whispering for me to take it, to hold it inside myself
for a long, sweltering minute. Aftershocks of pleasure pulse through my
thighs and belly as he holds me, pinned in the moment.
We both climb down from the precipice slowly, carefully.
My knees shake.
We rest forehead to forehead, his breaths ragged, water dripping into his
eyes and off his chin. And he's so beautiful, I could die right here. I
whimper as he sighs and slips out of me, leaving me both empty and full at
the same time. Immediately, I miss him inside me.
I rest my head against his huge chest, and I don't want him to go. I want to
sprawl him out on the floor of my empty room and lay on his chest, both of
us naked and spent, like lazy cats basking in a pool of sunlight.
I force myself to step back and leave him to his shower.
"Good luck at your fight tomorrow, Nico," I mutter, sliding open the door.
"I'm not the one who needs luck," he growls, dragging me back and kissing
me again, until it strips the breath out of my lungs. "You have to sit across
from Thaddeus and pretend you're not thinking about me."

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