Page 98 of He Should Be Mine

And I know Molly doesn’t enjoy Riccardo’s visits. So I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t come to him afterwards and expect him to wipe it all from his mind and welcome me with open arms.

Our first time together is going to be special. Magical. It is going to be when Riccardo is dead and I’m the heir and Molly is mine in every single way.

It is going to be when I have conquered a mafia empire for him.

Making love to Molly is a privilege I am going to earn.

“Be a darling and get the rest of the bags,” he drawls while staring up at the ceiling and pretending he doesn’t care about the rejection he thought he saw in my eyes.

My stomach twists. The pain is sharp and real. So many damn fucking secrets. So many things I cannot say or explain. I cannot wait for this all to be over.

I sweep into a low mock bow. “As you wish, princess.”

I straighten and find Molly’s eyes on me. Dazzling, sapphire bright. His grin is enormous.

“Oh, I definitely could get used to this.”

I chuckle, and his grin grows even wider. That’s more like it. That is how he should always look. Happy and carefree.

I turn and leave. As I jog down the stairs, memories of Molly’s mouth on me swirl through my mind. My pulse quickens. Fuck. I need to think about something else before I get hard. I can exult in the memory tonight. I willlie in my bed and replay it in glorious, vivid detail. But not now. Basking in it now will be nothing but a torment. And an inconvenience.

Outside, the pale gravel of the sweeping driveway crunches under my feet. Birds are singing and the absence of traffic noise feels strange. Even a little unsettling.

I open the trunk of my car. Clouds have covered the sun, but it is still a nice day. I wonder if it would be safe to take Molly on a tour of the gardens? He’d like that. Maybe we could have a picnic.

And actually, asking Riccardo for permission would enable me to scope out what the hell he is up to. I will be able to tell a lot by his reaction. If he responds positively, it would mean he has decided to trust his inner circle with his secret. Or that he wants them all to think I am gay.

My jaw clenches. There is another possibility that I have been trying to ignore. Molly could be here as exotic entertainment. For all of Riccardo’s men.

A weekend of debauchery and depravity doesn’t make you gay. They will tell themselves it’s a wild party, not a sexual experimentation.

My grip on the suitcase handle tightens painfully. I’m being paranoid. Telling myself stories. That is not what is going to happen. My imagination is simply getting carried away. It is far more likely that Riccardo will simply slip down the hallways in the small hours of the night.

It is probably no more insidious than he suspects Isabella is drugging him, so he has come here to get away from her and he is hoping that will solve his limp dick problem.

I sigh. Isabella is being damn hard to pin down for a meeting. I think she is making me sweat on purpose. It isa clever move and shows she definitely knows how to play the game. Having her as my wife is definitely going to be an asset. As long as I can keep her on my side.

Suddenly, the distant sound of tires on gravel catches my attention. My head snaps up. At the end of the half a mile long drive, three sleek black cars are approaching.

My heart leaps up into my throat. I shove the suitcases back and slam the trunk door shut. I whip out my phone and fire a text to Molly.

Do not come out of the room. Do not move. Do not make a sound. Do not breathe.

Fuck. I hope he knows how very serious I am and doesn’t decide to be a brat. I won’t be able to save him if he swans downstairs in lingerie.

The Don is coming.

And I know damn well that Riccardo did not invite him.

This is an inspection.

I stand to attention by my car, hands firmly clasped behind my back.

The three car entourage pulls up. Security jump out of the first car and run to the middle car to open the door.

The Don steps out of the Rolls-Royce.

He straightens his suit jacket and looks right at me. Something akin to genuine affection flashes in his whiskey-colored eyes.