Secret Baby For The Italian Mafia Don

Part 21

NICO POV:

In a casual, sit-down sushi joint, I figure it'll take about forty minutes to
order, get our food, and eat. Just forty minutes. I can resist killing this man
for forty minutes. I toss a napkin over the steak knife on the table to help
resist the temptation.
It wasn't supposed to go down like this.
I was going to swing by the house late, surprise her and sneak her out her
window like two freshmen dodging their parents, and take her out tonight.
Just us. But when I checked the tracker on her phone—that compulsive,
muscle memory swipe to the app that I check over and over throughout the
day, just to see the dot barely moving—tonight, the GPS ping wasn't in the
house.
I came running.
She's made it easy on me, staying in and playing babysitter. She only goes
out with Salvatore's wife and baby. That might be the safest place for her,
surrounded by security and Mrs. Salvatore Mori herself. Nobody is stupid
enough to hurt Contessa just to catch Ava in the crossfire. The city would
burn.
But tonight, this late, I knew Ava had to be out on her own. Unprotected,
unsuspecting. Hell, even I don't know what the family might do at this rate.
There's tension running through the ranks now, little games of who-trusts-
who playing out. Some men are quitting, some men are rioting as the blood
family and the sworn family go against each other. It's all money, rank, and
respect—but mostly just money. It's always money for men like that.
Money's alright, but I've always had it. Short of getting locked up in prison
again, I always will. There are other things I want. Other things, like the girl
under my arm right now.
Sal's been on my ass all day about it. He tried to set me up on a date with
some socialite chick from our Caruso allies out in the city. The way he put
it, connecting with her would give me "bigger and better opportunities." He
insisted it was just to talk business, but I knew what he was playing at.
What he really wants is for me to leave Ava alone and go fuck things up in
their family instead of this one. As if the Caruso family isn't fucked up
enough on its own. I played it off, and I didn't rise to the bait. I feigned not
being interested in anyone, Ava or otherwise. Really, all I could think about
while sitting there was her. What I would do when I got my hands on her
tonight. How I wanted to spoil her sick for her birthday.
I knew it was Ava's birthday, because it's my job to know.
But how the fuck did he?
My thoughts simmer as Thaddeus takes the seat opposite Ava. They sit
facing each other, like two proper adults sharing a dinner date. I'm not so
courteous. I plant myself right next to her, thigh to thigh, stretching my arm
over the back of the booth. Ava keeps her pretty head down and pretends
not to notice how close I am, or how my fingers hang against the curve of
her shoulder and barely stroke her skin.
A gentle, constant reminder:
Don't forget that I fucking own you.
"If I'd known who you were with, I would have gotten you some better
company as a present."
She barely keeps a straight face when she says,
"Don't talk badly about my fiancé, Nico. It's not polite."
Our eyes lock across the table. I can smell the alcohol on him. It makes his
face ruddy and wet, his frustration visible in the lines on his forehead.
"What's the problem, Nico?" Thaddeus finally asks, straightforward. "I
don't want any trouble, and I don't want to cause any for Ava, but I've
made an agreement with Salvatore. This is his business. He won't be happy
that you're interfering with it."
I grin like a shark when Thaddeus immediately resorts to running to tell
teacher. He better keep his nose clean. That kind of knee-jerk reaction
doesn't play well in prison.
"..Is that what this is?" I ask. "Interfering with your business?" I have all of
Thaddeus Mori's greedy little dreams and dollar signs tucked under my
arm, and it makes his teeth grind.
"You're interfering with Ava's birthday."
"Oh, yeah? Did I crash her party in a room full of old-money geriatrics?" I
turn to her. "Hell, next year, I'll take you to an authentic nursing home. The
real deal. Diapers and bedpans as far as the eye can see—"
"We're about to eat," she complains, and for a second, I see her almost
smack me on the arm with the menu. But she catches herself and doesn't go
through with the gesture that would be just a little too casual, too familiar.
She buries her attention behind the laminated paper again. Even if Ava
won't play a side, I can tell she's enjoying watching me torment Thaddeus.
I have the waitress bring a bottle of sake and three glasses to the table. Ava
knocks hers away, uninterested.
"You want to know my problem, Thaddeus? I'm protective of my
reputation. Of our family's reputation. You get this close to me and Sal on
the totem pole, you better prove you can play with the big boys."
His expression shifts. Now I'm talking his language, dangling raw steak in
front of the nose of a hungry dog. He licks his chops.
"Sal trusts me, Nico. Give it time, and you'll trust me, too."
I slide the shot glass to him.
"Yeah? Let's do a little exercise then. Let's say I trust you for the night.
Hell, let's be generous and say that I even like you. For Ava's birthday."
"Alright." He watches as I fill our drinks for us. He mimics me, taking the
shot glass.
"You and I have a lot to celebrate," I say. "To your upcoming marriage. I
never formally gave you my congratulations."
He forces a smile, and we both down the drink.
His face twists as both of us swallow down the shot. While he chokes back
a cough, the waitress comes by.
"I'll go first," Ava volunteers, offering up her order. She asks me if I want
something. Never breaking the death stare I have on Thaddeus, I shake my
head. Chopsticks and murderous intent are just an awkward combination.
Ava primly folds up her menu and hands it over. "That's all for our table
then, thank you." Without questioning it, the waitress walks away with only
Ava's order.
Thaddeus looks unsure of himself.
"I was going to order..."
"Why?" Ava smiles. "You're drinking your calories."
She reaches over the both of us and fills up his shot glass again. He stares at
it, his mouth twisting. Suddenly, Ava and I are on the same team, though
I'm not sure why. I don't know what he did to deserve it, but I can see that
little vengeful streak in her, and I'm sure whatever it was, he had it coming.
I back her play.
"To Ava's birthday," I say, lifting another glass. Thaddeus goes pale. He
sees the game now, and how it's going to end. His fingers tremble as he
picks up his shot glass, lifts it with mine, and drinks.
Ava puts down a sushi roll and some maki like she's never tasted food
before. It feeds some primal instinct in me, watching the girl finally eat. She
didn't weigh anything when we first met, and would always pick at her food
or shove it away. Now, she could put me to shame as she tears through her
birthday meal like she's remembered how to enjoy eating.
Meanwhile, Thaddeus has suddenly taken a strong dislike to alcohol. The
past forty minutes, I have found various bullshit to toast to—the family, his
future children, the business. His only aim right now is to sit there and not
vomit on himself. If he does, he's done for, and he knows it.
He's drunk enough that he doesn't notice that I scoot even closer to Ava,
that my hand hangs between her legs and then inches up her thighs. I stroke
my fingers up her skin without breaking eye contact with her fiancé. Ava
goes still, frozen mid-bite, her chopsticks hovering near her lips. Finally,
slowly, she finishes the bite and pretends nothing is happening as I drag my
touch up toward her cunt.
She breathes out softly through her nose.
"Maybe you should order something to eat after all," she suggests to me,
through clenched teeth. "You're drinking an awful lot."
"I'll have dessert."
She swallows hard, her eyes roaming without seeing. I nudge her thighs
apart. Ava complies, her legs drawn open as I work my hand under her. My
fingers go still. I feel the subtle design of something lacey, and a satiny
strap that hugs around her thigh. My touch stills as I piece together what it
is I'm feeling.
Lingerie.
"Dessert sounds like a good idea," Thaddeus is saying, unaware that there is
a nuclear warhead going off inside my head.
Why the fuck is she wearing lingerie with him?
"Here's your fucking dessert, Thad," I cut across, not even being subtle now
as I pour him another drink with my free hand, all the way to the brim, until
he can't even touch it without spilling it over the sides. "Don't spoil the fun,
Thaddeus. We're not fucking done yet."
He laughs, but it sounds desperate and panicked, trapped in this scenario
with no way out.
Anger keeps me grounded, and burns up the alcohol as it hits my system.
The world should be swimming like a fish tank, even for me, and I've got
body weight on Thaddeus and less alcohol in my bloodstream. If the man
makes it home tonight, it'll be an act of God. Me and that fucker never
really got along, so he probably will.
But Thaddeus isn't the only one who needs to be punished.
Ava goes pink as I swallow my shot and take out the burn on her cunt,
moving my fingers between her legs. Her breathing stills and her fingers
loosen around her chopsticks. She stares into her plate with her eyes almost
crossed as I force her to hold her expression, like I'm not rubbing the paint
off that little clit right here under the table. Her thighs shake and clench
around my hand, her expression vacant.
She tries to speak, but she can't, her hand curling around the edge of the
table as she almost bends over. She tries to close her thighs, but I'm not
going anywhere, and she sits back sharply as I change the angle on her.
My hand cuts through her composure, while the alcohol cuts through
Thaddeus's.
At this rate, the fucker wouldn't notice if Ava had an orgasm right in front
of him. His tongue loosens up and his temper flares like a cornered
animal's.
"Do you want to fuck her? Is that it?" he asks, drunk and despairing as his
words slur out of his mouth. "Or is this about Marcel? About Sal? What the
fuck do you want from me, Nico?" he asks, half begging as he sways
pitifully in his seat.
Ava bites back a whimper as Thaddeus asks if I want to fuck her, while my
hand is already on her cunt.
"I want to toast to your health, Thaddeus."
"Nico, that's enough," Ava says, begging me on two fronts. Her knuckles
are white. "You're going to send him to the hospital."
"I wouldn't waste their time. I'm going to send him to the morgue."
Her eyelids flutter beautifully.
Thaddeus lurches to his feet. Bad idea. He sways hard, almost going down
in the middle of the crowded room. I slide my hand away from Ava as the
attention shifts to our table. Conversation lulls as Thaddeus stumbles
around on his feet. His face gleams red and his eyes glimmer. He's well and
truly fucked up. Just as he almost gets those spindly legs under him, taking
that first brave, wobbling step toward the bathroom, I rise and block his
path.
"Wrong way, Thaddeus. Exit's over there." I nod over his shoulder to the
entryway. He's not too drunk to catch my meaning. His bleary gaze shifts
from the toilets to the street. With a tiny nod of my head, I kick him out of
the restaurant, out of our company, out of my sight.
He's too drunk to fight me on it, too desperate to go somewhere and puke
his guts out. He turns, veering clumsily, not sober enough to even argue as
he tries to get out, to get anywhere private. He hits the door like an insect
on a windshield before he manages to push it open.
I join Ava again, sliding into the same booth with her even when there are
only two of us. She sighs, her relief double-sided. Her cheeks are still pink,
and she's the only one at this table who hasn't drunk a drop.
"Jesus Christ, Nico," she breathes, annoyed and flustered all at once. "If
you're not careful, you're going to make me feel sorry for him."
"Pity him all you want. Nobody's ever gotten married because they feel
sorry for somebody. Besides, you started it."
She smiles guiltily at that.
"I guess I did," she admits. "But this was never going to end well for him."
"It was never going to end well for either of you."
Ava's tiny smile fades, her eyes crinkling with confusion and then blowing
wide when my hand slides right back between her legs. She stares at me,
shocked as the game continues now that Thaddeus is gone.
"He isn't the only one who fucked up tonight," I say lowly, scraping the
words against her ear. "You know what you did."
"I invited my fiancé to my birthday dinner," she says through her teeth.
"You lied to me. By omission."
"That's not lying," she snips. "Especially since you apparently know
everything anyway."
I snap the garter belt on her thigh. We meet eye to eye, my thoughts the
color red and the consistency of ash as we both realize I know what she has
under that dress.
"He bought it for me," she says defensively. "Along with the dress. For my
birthday, I guess."
A familiar calm washes over me. No panic, no rush. I stand up and
straighten out my tie, casually tossing enough cash onto the table to cover
the bill and then some. In the state he's in, chasing Thaddeus down and
beating him to death on the sidewalk won't require any urgency. Much like
his place in life, he can't have gotten too far. Sensing the change in mood,
Ava grabs me by the wrist and holds me in place.
"Nico, no." She's not afraid of me, meeting my stare even when she knows
exactly what I want to do. I almost pull away when she pleads, "It's my
birthday."
That little technicality reaches out and snags me around the ankle, holding
me in place until my anger has nowhere to go except back at her. "Only for
the next couple of hours. Maybe I'll take my time with him. Really let him
suffer before I kill him. And you..."
I lean down, my angry whisper at her ear,
"You're in trouble, little girl."
For a few weeks now, I've had keys to a tiny apartment in the family
territory. There's not much in it, only what needs to be—a bed in the corner
and a semi-automatic in the closet. It's some place to crash when the work
runs long, a hideout when tensions are high.
I bring Ava there after dinner, all those little birthday plans gone up in
smoke.
It sure as fuck isn't some five-star penthouse suite. It's not her prettied-up
fairytale bedroom. It's a thin, springy mattress on a twin-size bedframe,
with a single burnt-out lightbulb overhead.
Shadows stretch into the room. A flickering neon sign across the street casts
a red haze over the darkness that lays over everything before us. Ava enters,
the only pretty thing in a bare, ugly landscape. Her eyes pass over the
empty walls and the narrow, barred windows.
"What is this place? My timeout?" she asks.
I shut the door and slide the chain on the lock.
There's something off about Ava tonight, something in the way she looks at
me. I can't read it. She tosses her bag aside and marches fearlessly into the
only bedroom. She sits on the mattress and bounces, testing how
uncomfortable it is. The springs squeak. My pampered brat has probably
never laid on a bed like that in her whole life.
"How old are you?" I ask, sliding my hands into my pockets.
"Isn't that something you're supposed to know before you start fucking
me?"
She drops her high heels onto the floor one at a time. The girl is really
going to test me tonight.
"You think I won't make you cry just because it's your birthday, Ava?"
"How did you even know that?" she finally demands, heated. "I never told
you that!"
Is that what has her on edge? Her birthday?
"Why should you have to tell me?" I step closer, dragging the backs of my
fingers up the side of her knee. "Knowing everything about you is my
pleasure." Ava glares like there's some big riddle in all this, but there isn't.
It's so simple, I don't know how to make it sound complicated enough for
her. I lift my hand and catch her by the jaw.
"Now, why don't you explain why the fuck you were spending your
birthday with another man?"
Her expression flickers at being called out. "You mean my fiancé?"
"Yes. Why was my wife spending time with her so-called fiancé?"
Between last Friday and now, I don't know where this caginess and distrust
came from. The words my wife don't have the same effect tonight as they
did then. She holds her ground, and if she blushes, I think it's only with
frustration and not butterflies.
"Because this is the real world, Nico. You and I can sneak off to places like
this and play pretend together as much as we want, but that's all it is. A
fantasy. It's not real, and it's never going to be, no matter how many cars
you buy me or dinners you crash. I can't do this. I'm engaged, and I have to
start acting like it whether you like it or not."
"Were you going to fuck him?" I demand.
"Are you still trying to fuck over my brother?" she counters, just as quick.
The silence stretches, the tension palpable as it simmers between us. I taste
it on the air between us, electric, ready to snap, and even I don't know if
we're going to fight or fuck.
"It's not like I wanted to!" she finally snaps. "You and I aren't together,
Nico! We're not a couple; I don't even know if we're friends. We're just—
just fucked up!"
"There's no question about what we are, Ava," I cut across, before she can
make it all twisted and complicated. "You're my woman, and I'm your man.
And that's all there is. Marriage laws and family deals and labels, none of
that shit matters. Not for us. Now, tell me why you've been bad."
My hands tear into that fucking dress in one simple motion, the seams
popping apart. Ava's breath hitches. Glitzy fabric rips apart in my hands,
goes spilling down her chest. The lingerie bodice underneath is a strapless
lace corset. It pushes Ava's tits up, makes them tight and high, as if it can
barely hold them back. The whole thing looks too innocent for that wild
look in her eyes.
"I wasn't—"
"Tell me what you did."
Her teeth sink into that lower lip, and even if she tells herself not to play
into the game, she can't resist.
"I went to dinner with someone else."
"And?"
I drag my finger up the sheer fabric of the corset.
"And I wore the lingerie he bought me."
"This doesn't even suit you," I whisper furiously. "He doesn't fucking know
you at all. He thinks you're something delicate and fragile." She gasps
sharply as I push her legs apart and tear a hole into the lacy garment with
my hands, leaving her bare pussy unguarded and exposed as I swirl my
hand around it.
"Oh, fuck," she mews softly, as I pick right back up where I left off in the
restaurant. The last time we fucked, the girl had the upper hand on me. Not
anymore. I flip Ava around and bend her over the edge of the mattress. I
trace the little bumps outlined on her spine as I stretch her out beneath me,
then push my hips up against her from behind. I let her feel the weight of
my erection straining against the inseam of my trousers, pressing it against
the curve of her hot, bare pussy. She grinds back gently.
"Please, Nico," she gasps. "You're all I really want for my birthday."
"Liar."
I slide my palm all the way down between her legs and roughly manhandle
that pussy, leveraging her weight against it as I slide my hand up and down,
damn near bringing her up off the floor.
"Is this what you like, Ava? Being dressed up like a sex doll by another
man? Did you get off, sitting there thinking about how he wanted you?"
"No," she gasps, "I just thought about how jealous you would be."
Half drunk on sake and my still cock twitches in response like a trained dog
hearing a command. I ignore the urge.
"This time, you underestimated me."
She whimpers, leaning over, grinding her hips against my palm as I work
her up.
"One more chance, Ava. How old are you? Or I'm going to guess, and
you're not going to like the answer I come up with."
"Twenty-two," she finally admits.
I pull one bow free and unfurl it into a short ribbon. I wrap it loosely around
her wrists, just enough to wrap around the bedpost.
"Look," I tell her, making her watch. I pull her wrists down, and the ribbon
unfurls easily. "You see how loose that is?"
She nods.
"I'm not going to tie you up, Ava. That would make it too easy for you.
Restraints aren't that interesting on their own. I want you to be a good girl
and keep yourself tied up for me while I give you your birthday spanking.
You break that ribbon, and I'm going to start all over, harder than the last
time."
Ava's breathing changes, her teeth dragging over her lower lip.
I twist her wrists up in the loose ribbon, half-heartedly tying it to the bed.
The slightest pull, and the knot will slip free. Ava is very still, leaning on
her elbows, her head down with her hands clasped together and her ass in
the air.
I circle around her, taking in the sight.
"Do you understand why you're being punished?"
"Because you're a kinky motherfucker."
I land a jolting slap against her ass, and immediately she pulls down the
ribbon, gasping hard, shocked at the intensity of it. The surprise chokes her,
and she can't decide between a painful whimper and an aroused moan.
"Nico..."
"Do you think I get angry for show, Ava?" I ask, dragging her wrists to the
bedposts again and wrapping them up. She shakes her head, her breath
shaking now as she gets into the mindset that I need her in. A lot aroused,
and a little afraid. I take her by the hair and snarl into her ear,
"Twenty-two
more to go. Count them."
I spank her again, the jolt quaking through her ass.
"One," she gasps.
The ribbon stays on, stretched taut but still together. I land another blow,
and Ava pitches out a breathy two. Her skin turns pink and hot under my
touch.
"Nico, I'm sorry—"
Her ass jiggles sharply as I keep the blows coming, and Ava bows her head
and tries to count them.
"Three...four!"
Her legs twist helplessly on the bedcovers, but she's statue-still from the
arms up, her chest heaving and delicious whimpers falling from her lips.
"Touch me. Please touch me."
I knead her ass instead, dragging my fingers slowly over the blistering skin.
She grits her teeth and I clap another hand against that blazing ass. She
whimpers her answer; I pull her head back and make her say it into the
room. She cries out in worry as it almost makes the knot slip.
"I didn't hear you."
"Five! I said five!"
"Good girl," I whisper, and give her what she wants, sliding my hand under
her blistering ass to cup her tight pussy and circle her clit. Her toes curl
sweetly as she urges me on, begging for more and more of that.
I clap my hand against her pussy.
She bucks, the ribbon slipping from the bedpost as she pulls her hands
toward herself. She cries out, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain and
sheer, helpless frustration as she realizes the mistake.
"That's not fair!"
"Good. I'm not fair." I clap my hand against her stinging backside just as an
extra helping of punishment. "Again."
I tie the ribbon up another time. The blows fall hard, making her ass ripple
and bounce deliciously. At this rate, we're testing the both of us. The thread
holding me back just happens to be invisible, and if it slips, I'm going to
abandon the bullshit, climb on top of her, and fuck the girl until she's
screaming and cross-eyed.
"One...two...ah! Three!"
"Do you know why you're being punished, Ava?" I growl, in the middle of
her counting. She rocks back and forth dangerously, her pussy slick with
need and her chest heaving, but her hands stay still and the knot secure.
"B-because I—six!—because I deserve it."
She cracks out a seven, an eight, a nine. I give her a moment to breathe,
stroking my fingers along her slick folds just to fan the flames, make her
burn a little hotter, sweat a little more.
"What else?"
"Because I went out with Thaddeus?"
The next clap of my hand makes her gasp, cracking through the bedroom
like a shot.
"Don't you dare say his fucking name while you're dripping for me."
She moans.
"Yes, sir," she whimpers. The words go straight to my cock. I didn't even
prompt her to say it. The girl is just sinking into the moment on her own,
plunging deep into her own twisted wants.
"Count," I demand, when she forgets.
"Um...t-ten," she gasps, barely able to remember.
"Good girl," I whisper, and spank her again. She makes it to thirteen solid
hits on that pink backside—but thirteen is the unlucky number, and she
unfurls the ribbon again with a twitch of her wrist.
She curses bitterly, half a sob.
"Nico, I—"
She tries to cut herself off, walk back the thought, but I order her to say it.
"I'm close," she admits, even with tears of pain stinging in her eyes. Fuck,
that's hot.
"I don't even have to touch your cunt, do I? That's how badly you want
me."
I scrub my hand over her backside, where soft welts are already forming.
She flinches on instinct, waiting for the next blow, but I roll her over onto
her back and kiss the whimpers out of her mouth. Her bound wrists lock
around my neck, keeping me on top of her as she gasps in sweet relief.
I let her ass cool off, but I keep the rest of her hot, tapping my fingers
rapidly against her clit.
"Nico, please," she gasps, the sensation rattling in her teeth. "Please, fuck
me. Fuck me. That's all I want. I want you to be my birthday present,
please, please—"
"God, I love it when you beg," I whisper, then drag my tongue between her
teeth as we kiss. "But begging me isn't going to get you out of this one,
baby girl."
Her thighs shudder, her face pinching in pleasure.
Just my words set off a tiny peak inside her.
"I need to touch my clit," she sobs.
"Be a good girl," I whisper. "You barely even made it halfway. You were
almost close."
Her breathing turns ragged and hungry as I push her back and fasten the
ribbon again. Determination blazes in her face. We start over, this time with
Ava on her back, her legs spread.
"Keep up," I order her, and smack my hand against her pussy, fast and
shallow, building the sting quickly so she has no time to adjust. Her legs
flail, her ability to count briefly stuttering as she's rendered breathless.
She's about to orgasm as I hammer my hand against her pussy.
"One, two, three, four," Her pitch becomes a pathetic squeak. "Five, six,
seven!"
"Don't come," I whisper.
"Eight," she sobs, tears glistening in her eyes and her eyebrows pinched.
"Nine, ten!"
Her words become pitched with yelps.
I increase the pace until she's tripping over the numbers, shaking hard. Her
arms are completely still, almost numb, as if she's forgotten they're there,
as if she only exists from the waist down, the only sensation the pleasure
popping against her abused little clit and blushing cunt.
She's stumbling, losing count, her thighs shaking as she arches her hips up
into my hand.
She reaches farther than before—fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, all in
rapid-fire succession. Her head falls back, her eyes staring without seeing.
She's so fucking close, barely hanging on, the numbers a whisper on her
lips.
She's right there.
"Twenty, Twenty-one!"
I stop one short, catch the girl up in the fine print that leaves her stunned
and breathless, her hands still helplessly bound in limbo. She cries out, her
legs shaking and arms frozen above her. I wrench open her thighs and bury
my face between her legs, reward that sweet, obedient cunt with my tongue.
I greedily mouth her clit, my lips and tongue working against it, fast and
feather-light after the hard, stinging slaps.
The orgasm Ava has been fighting for finally crests and breaks inside of her.
It spills from her mouth in a moan, drips from her cunt in a tiny bead of wet
arousal that sinks into the sheets. I land the final smack against her spent
cunt and finish the count for her.
"Twenty-two."
Her hands rip away from the ribbon and seize me, pulling me into a hungry
kiss. It burns through me, eclipsing me in how hot and desperate it is.
"I'm sorry," she gasps against my lips. "I'm so sorry."
I don't know what she's apologizing for. The birthday, the lingerie, her
orgasm. Whatever it is, I put her back onto the bedsheets, spread her legs,
and unzip my pants. I spend the night forgiving Ava with my cock, and for
the first time, she begs me to be gentle, to go easy.
She lets me make love to her until the clock strikes twelve and her birthday is over.

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