Page 33 of Forgive Me, Father (Don #1)
It stood proudly, crafted from warm, beige stone that gleamed softly under the fading sunlight.
The architecture was imposing yet graceful, with sharp, clean lines that exuded strength and sophistication.
Massive, arched windows lined the facade of the two-story building, offering glimpses of the life inside.
A sprawling rose garden stretched across the center of the property, its vibrant blooms adding a touch of softness to the otherwise regal surroundings.
The entire estate was framed by tall, wrought-iron gates and lush greenery, giving it an almost timeless, secluded feel.
As the car came to a stop, a large wooden door swung open, and an older woman emerged, her presence adding a sense of warmth to the grandeur.
She had kind, watchful eyes that missed nothing, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun, an apron wrapped tightly around her waist, and flour dusting her sleeves like a badge of honor.
Nico let out a laugh, exchanged a few words in Italian with Alfonso, and stepped out of the car. He hugged the lady and picked her up.
“His mother, Rosa, is the lady of the house, or she takes care of everything. But now she is at your service,” Alfonso said and climbed out.
“Alfie,” Rosa yelled, adding something in rapid Italian, a string of words that sounded like a warm “welcome home.” Alfonso had to lean down to embrace her, his laughter filling the air.
I climbed out of the SUV, taking a few steps toward him, feeling a little out of place in the grand surroundings.
Alfonso turned toward me, his hand reaching out, and I took it without hesitation.
With a smile, he spoke to her in Italian, then turned to me, his voice soft as he introduced us.
She pulled me into a tight hug, pressing me close to her chest. “Welcome home,” she said warmly in English, her accent thick with Italian. Nico let out a chuckle as she immediately switched to Italian, scolding her son in a playful but firm tone.
“I’ve made your favorite for tonight,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “And you must tell me yours as well, madam, so I can prepare it for tomorrow night.”
“Thank you,” I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. She was easily the most welcoming person I’d met since marrying Alfonso. “Please, call me Camilla, or Cami, if you prefer.”
I followed Alfonso into the house. His guards ran up the stairs with our suitcases as he showed me the foyer. There was a huge painting of an old man hanging on his wall.
“Is that Henco Pontisello?”
“My belated Nunno. It was one of his favorite homes, and when he died, he gave it to me, along with a string of other ultimatums.”
“I see.”
“Let me show you your home.” He gently guided me toward what looked like a lounge, and we descended a few steps into the space.
The room took my breath away. Everything was bathed in light, with sleek, all-white leather couches arranged in a way that invited relaxation.
Large windows framed the view, letting in the soft glow of the outside.
Abstract paintings adorned the walls, their vibrant colors standing out against the clean, minimalist design.
Wooden artifacts sat thoughtfully in the corners, adding warmth to the modern space.
Dominating the back wall was an enormous bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling, lined with books and curiosities.
His phone rang.
“I need to take this, but feel free to look around.” He gave me a kiss before he took the call and walked in the opposite direction.
For the next fifteen minutes, I wandered through his house, our house, trying to take it all in.
It was a sprawling three-story mansion, and I quickly realized I had gotten hopelessly lost, each new room only adding to the confusion.
I had no idea which room was mine, or even where I was, but one thing was certain: it was breathtaking.
The open spaces were grand, with soaring ceilings and rooms that seemed to stretch on forever.
There were multiple foyers and even a billiard room tucked away.
Everywhere I looked, guards were sat at tables or pacing the grounds, their watchful eyes never far from their posts.
It was unsettling, the constant reminder of the dangers that hovered just outside these walls.
The thought that other Dons might want to take everything from the Pontisellos, from my husband, sent a shiver down my spine.
I eventually stumbled upon Alfonso’s study and paused, hearing his voice on the phone. The conversation sounded serious, definitely not the kind of call I wanted to interrupt.
It was times like these that I wish I could speak Italian.
I opened the door, and he looked as if he was going to blow a gasket. He kept saying no over and over. He kept it short. He was as passionate with his words as he was about fucking.
I walked over to him, but the moment our eyes met, I saw it, the "not now" look he gave me, his silent warning. But something inside me shifted, and in that instant, I didn’t care what Alfonso had said.
His chair faced me, and he continued to shoot me that look, a mix of frustration and control. Then he went back to his conversation and spoke sharply in rapid Italian.
I couldn’t catch all of it, but the tone was fierce, urgent.
Without thinking, I dropped to my knees in front of him. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, there was nothing but the tension between us. I smiled, my hands moving to rub his legs, pressing firmly against him.
His eyes flickered upward, giving me that same warning, but I only smiled wider, not backing down.
He growled slightly as I rubbed his bulge in his pants, hard.
My fingers unzipped his pants and he grasped when I squeezed slightly, lifting my hand from his bulge as he answered the person on his phone.
I carried on with my other hand and fished his cock out of his briefs. I didn’t waste any time and place my mouth over the tip of his semi-erect penis.
Alfonso’s frustration was evident as he spoke to the person on the phone, his tone sharp and tense, clearly irritated by whatever was being said on the other end, but I could feel his cock getting harder.
He then grabbed my hair and started thrusting his cock inside my mouth. He still sounded the same. He cursed loudly at whoever was on the other side and slammed the phone down hard on the receiver.
He cursed in Italian and then came in my mouth immediately. I swallowed as he finished, and he opened his eyes, staring at me.
He spoke in Italian, and it sounded so frustrated. “ Niente, niente .”
I burst out laughing and Alfonso laughed with me. Whatever he said, he didn’t explain it. He kissed me as his dick still lightly throbbed in my hands.
“You love it; I know you do.”
“Too much, that is the problem,” he replied.
“Are you okay?” It was my turn to ask the repetitive question.
“Just business, but I’m handling it.”
“Okay,” I smiled and got up, leaving him to handle his business.
I still had no idea where I was, but I guess this would be my life from now on.