Page 164 of Dirty Mafia King

I lift off her and unzip my pants.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“I’m going to fuck my fiancée six ways to Sunday …” I jab my thumb over my shoulder at Saint Teresa on the pedestal above us. “… until the same expression falls across her beautiful face.” I reach beneath her dress, tear off her sexy underwear, line my cock up and then drive into her so hard, she glides several inches across the marble floor.

“Oh God, Bastian,” she cries out. Loving my aggressiveness. Loving me, in every way.

I pound into her. She wiggles and moans, on sensory overload as her gaze wanders from the statue to the frescoes to my face. Her tight cunt grips me like a vise, and soon, we’re a series of dirty words, curses, and throaty moans. “I’m never forgetting this moment,” she pants in my ear.

“Hey,” I bark, earning her complete attention. “I love you.”

Her smile is ecstasy. If I were a fucking sculptor, I’d capture her expression so I could stare at her beautiful face every day. Place my masterpiece inside my great room as a reminder to stop being a dick and to cherish the three little ballbusters, who I love to death.

But Alessia will be my wife now.

I can stare at her until my heart bleeds.

“I love you, too, Bastian,” she moans, then shatters beneath me.

Mine,I think, emptying into her.Forever and always.

EPILOGUE

ALESSIA

“You’d tell me if Sebastiano Beneventi is forcing you into marrying him, right?” my sister exclaims.

Zoey snorts. “Well, duh. Check out her baby bump. He knocked her up so fast, The Flash and Shazam are eating his dust.”

“Shazam?” Sienna looks to me for an explanation.

I brush away Zoey’s hand, and fix the botched job she’s done with my lopsided veil. We’re tucked inside a vestibule at St. Mary’s Church in Rhode Island. A small stone church with beautiful stained-glass windows and walls thick enough to support the blackened hearts of the men in attendance.

And the heart of the man waiting for me at the altar.

My husband.

The father of the baby I carry.

We learned we’re expecting about a month after our return from Rome. Bastian insists we conceived during our naughty hookup inside the Santa Maria della Vittoria chapel. The doctor has all but confirmed it, yet I think the man’s terrified to say otherwise. Fate played a role in my and Bastian’s relationship, after all. We may not have met while visiting the chapel, but our little bean, Teresa, bonds us as a family.

As for us marrying at the Tavern on the Green, Bastian insisted Sandro cancel the venue and pay the subsequent cancellation fee after Sandro gloated about knowing his father would never him, or any other man, claim me.

There’s a scuffle outside the door.

Zoey hurries toward the commotion and flings the door open.

Sandro stands there, clutching his jaw.

But the man cupping his own chin next to him is who I race toward. “Renzo, you’re here. He’s going to be so happy.”

“I’m escorting her down the aisle,” Sandro states.

“Not if you can’t walk,” Renzo replies, and sweeps his foot behind his brother’s leg, then shoves him, sending him toppling backward.

“And to think,” Zoey mutters, “I slept with both of them.”

Everyone stops to glare at her.