Married to the Mafia Boss

Kira

Once inside the room and the door shut behind me, I hurry to rip the dress off. I don’t even care if I damage it. I can still feel him inside me, and it feels like some of his cum is dripping out.

I’m so ashamed of myself. I feel so dirty. Worst of all, I want to cry because it felt so damn good to have him inside of me again.

Once I’m out of the dress, I rush to the toilet, lean over it, and throw up. He used me like a rag doll, and a part of me remembered the passionate sex we had with each other in college, and I wanted more.

I climb into the shower and slide down to sit down as the water washes over me. I cry quietly, remembering how brokenhearted I was when my father sent me away. I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone, my studies were down the toilet, and no one could ever know I was banished. I don’t know what he told them, but when I got back, I was told to say that I had gone on vacation to Italy and loved it so much I decided to stay.

I was also told I must never reveal who Raphael’s father is. But my father knew he couldn’t stop me from telling my son when he turns sixteen, and he’s old enough to make his own decisions.

I find the strength to stand in the shower and wash myself. I wash away the feeling of him groping me carelessly, I wash away all traces of him, but the reality is that this will probably happen again.Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

I saw a flicker in his eyes. He may think he is cold and cut off, but I know I saw something in him when I turned around, and he saw me naked.

I shiver and turn the water off. I dry off, change into a tank top and shorts, and climb into bed.

I am so exhausted I fall asleep almost immediately and don’t wake up until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Miss Sorvino, it’s time for breakfast.”

“Coming,” I call sleepily, rubbing my eyes and sliding out of bed. I look into the cupboards with the dresses they’ve packed in there. I look out the window, see the clear skies, and pick out a summery dress to throw on over my underwear. I brush through my hair and leave the room with Jarred following me to the dining room.

Miguel is reading a paper, so I sit down, “Good morning, Miguel.”

“Morning,” he says lazily.

“Are you busy today?”

He ruffles the newspaper and looks at me. “I’m always busy. Why?”

“It’s a beautiful day outside. I thought you might like to have a picnic with me,” I comment, spooning sugar into my cooked oats.

“I have work, and you’re not allowed in the garden because you try to escape.” He goes back to his paper, and I shake my head.

“I promised I wouldn’t, and I meant it. Please? It is such a beautiful day, and we can talk about things.” I pout at him until he glances at me and sighs. “Fine. Jarred, have the kitchen pack a picnic basket.”

Jarred leaves, and I try not to look too pleased with myself as I eat.

“We can have the picnic once I’m done in my office, around lunchtime,” he says offhandedly.

“That’s perfect,” I say. “I’ll watch television until then.”

He sets his paper down and starts to eat breakfast, we do so in silence, and I wait until he gets up and leaves before I go to the living room to watch a show. I worry about what I’m going to say and do, and I’m also concerned that he wants to have sex in the garden. We did some wild things in college, a lot of it instigated by me with the books I read.

I try to push the thoughts out of my head and almost completely forget the plan when Jarred appears at the door. “Don Rossi said to come to the garden. He’s waiting for you.”

I jump up, turn the television off, and follow Jarred out the door to the front garden. He leads me between some hedges, and my stomach leaps to my throat. The middle of the gardens, which I hadn’t glimpsed when I tried to escape, is precisely like the Dean’s private gardens on campus. There is a table and chairs set out in the center with a picnic basket on top. Miguel is sitting at the table, working on his phone.

I walk over and open the picnic basket so I can start unpacking it. There’s a little bit of everything: fruit, cheese, bread, dip. Miguel doesn’t say anything as I lay everything out.

I sit down and smile. “There we go, isn’t this lovely?”

Miguel looks at me disapprovingly and sets his phone down. He takes a little bit of everything and puts it on one of the plates I unpacked.

“Did you have a busy morning?”

“Can we cut the bullshit chit-chat, please?” he snaps. “You know I hate small talk.”

I swallow and shake my head. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you in thirteen years.”

“And who’s fault is that?” he sneers. “Never mind. Just stop talking about being busy and the weather. It’s fucking boring.”

“Have you arranged my exchange then?” I ask pointedly, “or is that still being negotiated.”

“It’s in the works,” he says. “So if you behave, you have nothing to fear.”

“I don’t fear you,” I lie. “I’ve never feared you.”

He looks smug, and there’s a moment that I want to slap it off his face, but I focus on eating instead.

“I didn’t expect you to be Don so soon,” I comment. “That’s a real honor. Is your dad okay?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my father,” he says shortly, so I slam my plate down almost hard enough to break it.

“I am trying here, Miguel.” I’m irritated now. “But we both have to try. Otherwise, it’s pointless.”

“It is pointless,” he says, standing.

I stand as well. “Why? Because you’re so perfect and I’m not? Because you’re a Rossi, and I’m a Sorvino. That mafia bullshit is just that, bullshit.”

“Watch yourself, Kira. You promised to behave,” he warns me, taking a step closer.

I look up at him, trying to regain control of my emotions. “I’m just trying to get to know you again, Miguel. To do that, I have to ask questions.”

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I raise my voice. “Maybe I’m an idiot.”

We’re close now, and he pulls me against him and kisses me aggressively. For a moment, I lose myself in that kiss. I remember that passion and how we’d kiss like fireworks on the fourth of July.

As I think about it, I think about how cruel he has been to me, and I feel hot tears start streaming down my face. He must feel them, too, because, after a moment, he lets me go and looks down at me.

“You’re excused,” he says, turning away.

I hurry away from the garden, with Jarred closely behind, and I go upstairs to my room. I shut the door quietly and sink to the floor, letting the tears flow.

I am grieving for the boy I fell in love with. In so many ways, he’s still here. In so many ways, he’s still within that body. But a cruel man occupies so much space, and I don’t think I can get through to him. At the same time, I’m scared I will and won’t like what is left of that frat boy who bothered me day after day to get a date.

The garden.

It can be no coincidence that it looks just like the Dean’s gardens. That’s on purpose. What did he think? That I would just come back, and our families would allow us to be together. Surely he worked out that I was sent away by my father. I mean, it was obvious. Wasn’t it?

I hug my knees and sob harder, wishing I could turn back the time.