Page 20 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

Her, in the shower, pinned against the glass with my arm around her waist and fingers laced through her long auburn hair. Her quivering and so fucking ripe for my corruption.

She glances over her shoulder, but I’m not having it. I want her immobile and completely, utterly under my control. I press my chest against her back, and then thrust my erection between her thighs, the tight fit making me even harder. “Beg me to fuck you like this.”

“Yes. Please…” she croaks.

I tug her hair. “Say it.”

“Please fuck my thighs.”

I graze my teeth across her pale skin and then, in a moment of weakness, nuzzle her ear. Because, before I die, I need my name on her lips.

Say my name. Say, “Alessandro, fuck my tight little body.”

Alessandro, please.

Palms on the glass, I cage her. “Brace yourself.” I thrust forward, violently and without reservation, and she submits, giving me everything I dreamed of in a partner, and more.

“What’s he saying?” A voice cuts through.

“Who gives a shit?” another man replies. “Make sure the ropes are tight.”

Reality sets in with a vengeance.My name on her lips. It was a dream.

It was all a dream.

“You said he was inside the apartment,” the first man—Dead Man One on my list—continues.

“I swear. He was inside all night. Must’ve left while I went for coffee,” Dead Man Two responds.

The worst kind of pain washes over me, the kind you bring upon yourself.These stronzos were following me.

“Home Depot opens early.” The ropes around me tighten. “Send Giovanni to buy a chain saw.”

Darkness creeps in.

Until nothing else remains.

The next timeI come to, I’m more alert and better prepared. I recognize Dead Man One’s voice immediately. “You positive this is Alessandro Beneventi?”

“Been watching him for weeks.”

“Yeah, and we’ve a situation now because of the shit job you’ve done.”

Although I’m desperate for a good look at their faces, I force myself to relax like I’m still unconscious and listen. Because whoever is behind this hired morons to kill me.

A light flashes.

“What are you doing?” Dead Man Two demands.

“Sending a picture to our contact to confirm his identity.”

“You’re really taking some coked-up asshole’s word over mine?”

Dead Man Two kicks something and it skitters across the room. “I told you already, it’s Beneventi’s son.”

“It better be, or we’re dead.”

The tense silence is broken by the ping of a text alert.