Aleksandra
Three days later…
“Is it over?” I ask Mario. The mafia families pack their bags and head out into the garage to be shuttled to the regional airport.
“It will be soon,” he says.
While I’m allowed throughout the house, he’s been my appointed bodyguard if I leave the premises.
I haven’t left yet.
Not until I feel it’s safe for me to leave the premises, will I venture out. I understand my brother is still being held downstairs.
Is he alive? The basement prison is soundproof. I’ve heard no screams, no shouts, not a peep from downstairs.
Which should bring solace to my mind. But the mafia doesn’t take a bratva leader and give him spoils. No doubt he’s suffering, but I don’t want to think about what they’ve done to him. The bratva would be crueler in their punishments and interrogations.
He helps carry the luggage for the guests to the vehicles. I wait inside near the living room, watching the twins as they stack wooden blocks as tall as themselves.
I shouldn’t care that the guests are leaving. It’s not like we became friends, but Nikki had been warm and open, comforting.
And now I’m going to be alone with Antonio and his men.
I run a hand through my hair, my stomach in knots.
“You’re going to miss them,” Antonio whispers as he comes up from behind.
He doesn’t touch me, but his presence still makes me shudder. I silently pray that he doesn’t notice the reaction he elicits.
“It was nice to have someone to talk to,” I confess.
I spin around to face him.
“You know, Tesorina, you can invite friends over. Just not of the male variety.”
“Worried you’ll have a little competition?” I smirk.
Why does he care about me inviting a man under his roof? Unless he’s the jealous type, which fits with being a don.
My stomach is topsy-turvy as I stare up into his eyes.
It’s like I’m in high school all over again, except this time, the stakes are much higher.
“No, because I respect the rules you’ve put into place,” Antonio says.
There’s a tinge of disappointment that flutters through me. I shouldn’t care whether he dates another woman or the entire city of New York.
Except I don’t want his sights set on anyone else. I pinch my lips together. “Are you saying that I don’t respect the rules?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Tesorina,” Antonio says. His breath teases my lips. He’s so close that I can practically feel his warmth against mine, his body grazing my skin. “And when I said no men coming into the house, I also meant that you aren’t to shack up with one of my men.”
I pretend to pout. “Shucks, you figured out my grand plan. I was going to invite Mario into my bedroom and—”
“I swear you’d better be joking,” Antonio seethes. He’s not the least bit amused by my sense of humor.
Not even a hint of a smile grazes his lips. Gosh, he is the jealous type.
“Relax,” I say and pat his arm. “My body is solely for my pleasure. No man under this roof is going to touch it.”
I swear Antonio whimpers at my remark. “Say that again, Tesorina.”
His eyes have darkened deeper, richer chocolate. I lean in, wanting to kiss him, taste him, explore his mouth with my tongue.
But I refrain from letting my desires and impulses win. I slip past him and head into the living room to check on the twins. Not that they need my attention, but I need them right now, or I’d do something that I might regret.
* * *
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been trying for very long, but I’m not tired. It’s like my feet want to move, to dance, to be set free.
And I’m still just a caged bird.
At least my cage is a little bigger. I have the entire third floor, but aside from the twins’ room right next door, the rest of the suites are empty.
Antonio has agreed to turn one of the rooms into a playroom for the twins and another, he intends to make a surprise for me.
I don’t know what he thinks I want him to do with that room, but I’m curious to see the results.
It’s just after eleven, and I should be winding down.
But I’m wide awake, like I had a double shot of espresso.
I sneak out of my bedroom, carefully closing the door behind myself without so much as a squeak.
There’s no sign of Mario outside my door, which is a welcome relief. Are there surveillance cameras set up throughout the inside of the complex? I haven’t seen any, but that doesn’t mean they’re not hidden away, out of sight.
I know better than to snoop. I’m bound to get caught, even late at night; some guards are awake watching the house all night.
My footfalls are light and silent as I slip quietly down to the main floor and into the kitchen. I’m bored, and my mind is under-stimulated, which is probably why I can’t sleep. Being cooped up in the complex hasn’t helped me in the slightest.
And the fact it’s snowing outside doesn’t give me relief that I’ll be able to go out soon and enjoy a walk in the warmth.
I don’t have snow boots or a coat warm enough for the frigid temperatures outside.
At least the complex is warm, comfortable. I saunter into the kitchen and peek into the fridge. Nothing grabs my interest.
I’m not hungry. The meals have been adequate.
Okay, if I’m honest, they’re more than just passable. They’ve been quite tasty, and I hate to admit that Antonio’s chef is far better than Mikhail’s. Not that I’d ever say as much.
I shut the fridge and sneak down the hall. There’s a liquor cabinet in the corner of one of the rooms I’d seen earlier in the week. I hadn’t checked to see if it was locked.
The house is dark, and I stumble unceremoniously as I attempt to find the light switch.
My hand smacks the wall, finally flipping the switch.
Antonio is seated on the couch, a glass of scotch in his hand. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“I could ask you that,” I say, breezing past him as I head for the cabinet and make myself a drink. I pour half amaretto and half sour mix into a glass.
“Have a seat.” Antonio invites me to stay.
I sip my drink, making sure it’s to my liking before I collapse onto the sofa beside him.
“How often have you been coming down here, sneaking my alcohol?”
Does he think this is a regular occurrence? Is he accusing me of stealing from him?
I can’t help but feel offended at his accusation. “Just tonight. You had guests recently in your house—”
“I’m kidding,” he says and quirks a grin. “Relax, Tesorina.”
The prospect of him joking about anything feels foreign.
“Right,” I say and gulp the amber liquid. It’s sweet and tastes perfect. And for the briefest of moments, I allow myself to relax and unwind while I pour a second glass for myself.
I grab a seat beside him on the sofa with my second glass. I swear I’m already buzzing, but it’s probably his proximity and scent that has me reeling. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been cooped up in his house and I’m growing even more sexually frustrated every passing day.
Some days, I hate Antonio, and other days, I want to rip off his clothes and fuck him.
I toss my head back and down the liquid faster than I can pour it.
“Slow down there, Tesorina.”
“Don’t want to,” I say and stand, sauntering toward the liquor cabinet to grab a third drink. My lips tingle, and I sway my hips just slightly when I feel Antonio’s gaze on my ass.
Maybe I imagine it, his desire for me.
I brush past him with my drink in hand when he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me onto his lap.
“What are you—”
“You’ve had enough to drink. I’m cutting you off.”
“Why?” I whine and bring the glass to my lips before he can take it from me. “It’s not like I have to drive upstairs.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure you can walk up to the third floor,” he says, sounding more amused than upset about the situation.
I shift on his lap, and my hips gyrate as I try to reach behind him for the liquor cabinet, but there’s no use while I’m seated. And Antonio isn’t about to let me get up.
His hands are firmly planted on my hips.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask. He’s been seated in here long before I came in, but was he nursing his first glass of scotch, or was that several in when I found him?
“Enough,” he whispers, staring into my gaze. I can feel the bump between us, his cock growing from my hip movements.
And I should stop. Get up. Move onto the other side of the couch.
But I don’t.
I press my lips together, my gaze locked on his as I straddle his hips and grind into his cock.
“Quit doing that unless you want me to fuck you on the sofa,” he grunts.
It’s like I went from a minor threat, a teasing gesture, and he just had to up the ante. Do I want him to fuck me? God, yes. I want to feel his cock buried deep inside of me.
What’s stopping me?
I can’t remember.
I don’t care.
My mouth crushes his hard and fast. My fingers pull at his crisp white shirt, ripping the buttons, tugging it from his trousers.
The only sounds I hear are his moans and my heart pounding wildly, the sound deafening in my ears.
His tongue pushes its way into my mouth, hungrily taking control as he flips me onto my back on the sofa.
“Is this what you want?” he whispers, staring down at me.
“Yes,” I answer eagerly, giving him permission.
Fuck the rules.
Fuck every one of them.
Rules were made to be broken.