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“It’s always about control with you. Do you expect me to quiver before you just because you’re the ruthless leader of a bunch of criminals in New York?”
At this point, she is clearly not making an attempt to hide the disgust in her voice, inflating the anger in my chest.‘The ruthless leader of a bunch of criminals’...so this is how she sees me.
“I don’t expect you to be scared of me. But I expect you to obey me. Wives obey their husbands…it’s in the Bible.”
“Well, go fuck yourself, Saint Elio. I don’t give a shit!” And the line clicks off.
I stare at my phone, trying to understand what just happened. My hands are trembling with rage, and my chest is pounding with fury.
Aria Abruzzi just hung up on me.
This girl doesn’t realize that she’s fucking with the wrong guy. I need her to understand that when I want something, I take it, and when someone disrespects me, I remind them in the most unforgettable way why they should never attempt it again.
My fists clench as the rage seizes the entirety of my being. I rise from my chair and begin to pace, something else is stirring deep beneath the anger—desire.
It is unbelievable the way my cock gets rigid for her, every time she defies me… even when I feel like strangling her. Her defiance doesn’t push me away. It only pulls me closer.
I want to break her stubbornness so badly and clip those wide-spread wings she is growing until she has no choice but to understand… to admit that she now belongs to me.
She could fight me all she wants and pretend to be untouchable, but we both know she isn’t, not to me. She belongs under my roof, and that is where I will have her.
I will get her for myself, by all means, and not allow her to slip through my fingers again. I will bend her over my knee and rub at her clit until it becomes red and swollen, making her scream my name from excessive pleasure.
Then I will fuck her senselessly until she begins to cum with just a touch of my lips on hers. I will do all the things I’ve been meaning to do to her from the first time I touched her.
Chapter ten
Aria
I hardly slept a wink last night. I’ve been up trying to get something about Mario’s death. But it’s all the same. The news articles described Mario’s death as if he was a victim of a random mugging; however, Dad said he found his way to get information—by asking questions—and said Mario’s wallet was untouched, which means the killing was intentional.
The only person Dad suspects to have killed him is Pascal Washington, the corrupt state senator representing New York. And the only reason he’d want to kill my brother is because Mario had something on him—perhaps one of his secrets—but what?
I can’t access the damn case file. It’s not on the public docket; it’s sealed. I can’t also request for it to be unsealed because since it’ssealed in the first place, a higher authority is at play. It’s why it was inaccessible to even Dad five years ago.
I know I’ll definitely be denied the request to unseal, I’ll be exposed, and that will keep them one step ahead of me, but if I secretly try, then they won’t see me coming.
A tear slips past my eyes as I recall the dreary night when Dad spilled the information. I was seventeen and wanted to study law, and my brother’s death solidified my resolve. There, on the floor, knees curled to my chest and eyes swollen from tears, I made a promise to myself: To catch the bastard who murdered my brother.
Sniffling, I wipe the tear from my eye and bring myself to the present. Indeed, Mario was an investigative journalist, just like Mia, my best friend, but no one knew what he was working on. He didn’t tell anyone, and even after searching his room a billion times, I still don’t know what he had on Pascal.
All my findings have led nowhere... yet again. I shut the lid of my laptop and recline in my chair. Suddenly, a low and haughty voice fills my head, haunting me.
“Spend the night with me…”
A scoff escapes my lips, and I sit up, my mood taking another turn. How dare he! The sheer audacity of it made me want to yell in agony.
It wasn’t even a plea or suggestion, it was a demand. A declaration that pointed to the fact that he thinks he owns me. I’m supposed to be his fiancée, not his puppet!
But this isn’t the time to get distracted by Elio Donatelli.
I push my chair away from my desk, the legs of the chair scraping against the tiled floor as I puff out a frustrated breath. My coffee has long gone cold since it has remained untouched from when I brewed it.
Not like it would have helped or made a difference, not even coffee can improve how I feel today.
It’s infuriating how much space this guy has taken up in my mind within our short period of contact. Of all the things I know about this man, he is specifically dangerous, manipulative, and unrelenting.
And all these features are cautiously tucked away underneath a carefully composed aura.