Page 93 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

The restaurant, Grotta Sardinia, is a small, intimate open-air grotta built into a cliff overlooking the sea and only accessible by a steep stone stairway. The descent is worrisome; I’m wearing a daring red gown with a plunging neckline and expensive five-inch heels. No ankle monitor, though—guess it’d ruin the vibe. Also worrisome is Alessandro’s touch; his arm anchors around my waist, and fingers brush places they shouldn’t. To his amusement, I gasp and whimper the entire way.

He enjoys showing me off,I think as we reach the bottom step. His arm candy. His fuckdoll. Though, aside from staff, the restaurant’s empty. “Did you reserve the entire place?” I ask as he pulls out my chair.

He doesn’t respond.

“Isn’t that expensive?”

“I can afford it.”

My eyebrows arch. “These men must be important.”

“Not particularly.”

God, could he be any more vague? But even though this unfamiliar situation has me less cautious than curious, the view steals the words off my lips.

It’s breathtaking. A U-shaped harbor is below, bustling with yachts, sailboats, and small vessels. A gentle tide rolls in as the sun dips over the open sea. Nature perfectly complemented by man without overtaking it.

Instead of the view, the devil pretending to be an angel by my side watches me like a hawk. Hungry for my reaction? Or worried that if I die and go to heaven at the sight of the beauty surrounding us, he’ll need to find another woman who’ll fit into this expensive red gown?

“It’s spectacular.”Romantic.

Why am I here?

He takes the seat next to mine, and then tugs me down onto mine. The control freak I know oh so well and love to despise fully reappears. “After they arrive, don’t speak unless I say it’s okay.”

I glance at our large table—set for five—then back at him. Reminded this isn’t a date but a business meeting. My excitement deflates like a slowly leaking balloon, but I hide my disappointment by fiddling with the dress’s deep V neckline.

“Cover yourself. No one gets to see your beautiful breasts but me.”

“Yes, sir,” I respond with sass. It’s always somewhere between torment and torture with him, isn’t it? He dressed me up, took me out, and led me to believe this night was special. Except like the expensive Rolex he’s wearing, I’m jewelry.

“I ordered a new chaise for my casita, one particular to mytastes.” He unfolds and places his napkin on his lap. “Any further smart-ass responses, and you’ll be bent over it for days.”

My heart thumps wildly, proof it’s as sick and twisted as my mind. “Tastes?”

“Know what? I dare you to mouth off. Because if my finger is a tight fit, my dick will split you in two. And you’ll take it all, baby, while handcuffed to the chaise.”

My eyes grow wide as his grin confirms his threat.

Instinct presses me to remain quiet. But the promise in what he’s clearly been planning is too tempting. In the sexy, pleading tone he likes so much, I ask, “Will it hurt?”

His nostrils flare, and I force back a smile.

“You bring it?”

Whatever power I thought I had vanishes with one abrupt question. “What?”

“The box.”

I raise my new leather Louis Vuitton handbag, the satin box tucked inside.

He glances at his watch. “Ten minutes before my guests arrive. There’s a bathroom just inside. Go put it on.”

Excitement licks up my spine. What’s inside the box that has him vibrating with big dick energy?

His wicked eyes track my movements as I rise to my feet. Without a word, I brush by him and head toward the restroom. Inside, I withdraw the box, then open its gold latch, expecting something expensive like my new wardrobe. Must be jewelry, right? A necklace?

Alessandro’s surprise has me slamming the lid shut so no one sees.