Page 7 of Mafia King: Matteo (Borrelli Mafia #1)

ALENA

I wake up, and my first thought is about Mr. Grey.

Who is that sexy man who made my toes curl?

I curse him as I’m suffering from an orgasm hangover. My libido wants more, and my pussy is damp just thinking about him and the way he played my body like a fiddle last night.

I don’t know the name of the man who gave me the greatest fuck of my life.

He’s handsome with a chiseled chin and eyes as dark as melted chocolate in a lava cake.

I stand and pick up the bustier off my bedroom floor.

I lift it to my nose and smell a cigar. It’s not an ordinary cigar, but I wouldn’t expect anything less from a man with expensive clothes and an Italian accent.

I sniff my clothing again to pinpoint the odor. A light bulb goes off.

It’s cognac.

He likes tobacco leaves dipped in cognac and rolled into a cigar. I’ve been around enough cigars to know these are special.

I didn’t recognize him, but I’m not shocked in a city with millions of people.

I know most of the elite in the city who travel in our circles, but they have Russian accents or are Americans.

The man has an Italian accent that occasionally surfaces when he speaks English.

Italian is his first language, but his English is perfect.

I love men with accents. I wonder why our paths haven’t crossed before.

I pick up the rest of my outfit and dump it in the hamper for the laundromat. I enjoy a long, hot shower. Damn it. I’m horny. As hot water pounds my shoulders, I run my hands over my breasts and grab myself. I think of his sultry eyes and deep-throated voice when he ordered me to turn over.

Fuck it was hot. He’s hot.

I grab the shower head that is affixed to the wall, lift it, and hold it to spray water over my breasts.

I slide two fingers over my clit and circle them over and over until my clit hardens.

Oh, fuck me. I move my hips ever so slightly.

I feel the beginning of an orgasm. I shudder, and tingling sensations run up my back as I come.

Placing my hand on the shower wall to maintain balance, I gasp as thoughts of him make me come again. My legs are weak.

After I rinse off and step out of the shower, I grab a rolled towel off the rack.

I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my waist before I stand in front of the granite vanity.

I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I glow. It’s that after-sex glow. I’m sure it’s from last night.

Sex toys are great, but they aren’t a substitution, especially when he has a massive dick and knows how to use it.

The way he took me so completely makes me want to break the house rules.

But how will I find him?

And if I find him, what am I going to say? I want another hookup? I can’t let him know I like him. I’m sure he’s a man with women who willingly give themselves to him, and I’m sure he takes advantage of zero commitment.

What if he’s married?

That would be the reason for the anonymity. It’s possible I exchanged sex with a stranger, and now he’s lost to me. Madame M will never disclose personal information. But I’d like to pick her brain about what they discussed while drinking at the bar.

I apply my facial cream and wrestle with whether to go back to the club to see if he’s there or wait until he’s bored with the women there and let him find me.

I finish with my makeup and stand. I take myself in.

He’s right. I turn heads when I walk into a room, but I don’t take it seriously.

My father would demand nothing less from me.

I’m meeting Izzy for brunch in an hour. I will leave early as I no longer have a personal guard to drive me. My father will insist on one of his men driving me when it’s late or a special event. I could call a driver, but I decided I would walk today. The restaurant is nearby, and it’s a nice day.

I grab my phone on the nightstand and head to my closet to pick an outfit.

My sick closet and everything in it screams money.

I’m no longer self-conscious about it, knowing that Izzy has the same kick-ass wardrobe and shoe collection.

Now that she’s part of the family—she went from rags to riches and has an enviable family lineage.

I slip into a belted Fendi mini dress resembling a trench coat, step into my favorite black knee-high boots, and zip them. Grabbing my purse and coat from last night, I leave my apartment.

As I walk to the restaurant, appropriately named The Brunchery, the crisp winter air fills my lungs and clears my head.

I check my peripheral vision to make sure no one is following me.

I’m not overly concerned, but my Spidey senses tell me I’m being watched.

I cross a bridge that provides a good vantage point and stop to look around the park, pretending to take in the scenery.

I resume my walk, seeing nothing unusual and nobody lurking in the shadows.

The leaves smell of fall, reminding me of the holidays ahead and that I’ll be alone for them—again. When I arrive at The Brunchery, I’m relieved to see Izzy waiting outside.

It’s only now that my senses fire. My Spidey sense tells me I’m being watched. I move to overlook the park as a pretense to see if I can find any strangers lurking around. Nothing happens. It must be the past catching up to me. I resume my walk and am relieved when I see Izzy waiting outside.

“Izzy,” I call her with relief in my voice.

“Alena,” she hugs me, and we enter the establishment to be seated.

The hostess leads us to a bistro table for two near the windows. As I drape my coat over the back of my chair, I wonder if the table will be big enough to hold both plates. The server arrives to take our drink order. Izzy asks for water with lemon, and I order a mimosa.

“Izzy,” I lean over the small table as she struggles to fit with her pregnant belly. “I’m into the mystery man. I have no idea who he is. What do I do?”

“I have no clue. Do you want Dmitry to find out? Why not ask Kirill?”

“He likes me. I can’t use my best friend to hunt down the man I want to fuck me until I can no longer walk.”

“Oh, so it’s like that?” Her eyes grow wide. She gives me a reassuring smile. “How do you know he won’t find you?”

“Doubtful. Hence, anonymous sex club,” I whisper before the waitress reappears. Izzy orders the daily gyro omelet special.

“I’ll take the New York Strip omelet, tomatoes, no potatoes, and another mimosa, please.”

“Alena, are you sure? You’re used to straight vodka, but it’s early, and there’s tons of sugar in the orange juice.”

I’m not pencil-thin, it’s true. I’m Russian, and like many Russian women, I’m big-boned and big-breasted.

If a man is looking for a woman with a ballerina body, I’m not it.

My ass could be bigger and my hands smaller, but I make the best of it.

I wear clothes that draw attention to my cleavage, but the look is not slutty.

My butt is too small for a woman with huge breasts, but I’ve learned to cope with disappointments.

I’m not waif-like, so if a man wants a petite woman, I’m not it.

I’m not tall, and I don’t think my fingers are pretty at all.

I flip my hair straightened hair over my shoulder.

I’m lucky I don’t have to fuss with it much to make it look professional.

“It’s fine. I’m not developing a drinking habit,” I reassure her. “Although, there is something I might be addicted to...”

Izzy giggles. “I know. So, we’re back to talking about Mr. Grey.”

“I can’t get him out of my head. This is insane,” I say as I finish the mimosa before the second one arrives.

“I don’t know how to get him out of my head,” I say as my head sinks into my hands.

“Of all the men I wished I had met over the years, I finally found one who knows what he’s doing, and he’s gone. ”

“You could go back to the club.”

“I’d look desperate. He impresses me as a man who’s all business.

I’m sure he doesn’t want attachment. I don’t blame him, but if I continue to settle for hookups, I might never get married.

It doesn’t help that Dad is dragging his feet when it comes to finding me a husband. He would let me pick my own.”

“Yeah, lately, everyone is now waiting to see when my father will turn the empire over to Dmitry.”

“So, my father isn’t the only one in a wait-and-see approach?”

“Not at all. Don’t get worked up over it. It’s just business. There’s always a bit of uncertainty before the next Don takes over. Hopefully, it won’t take my father’s dying before my husband will take over as the new don.”

“Good to know.”

Izzy nods and sips her water as our food is delivered.

“So, how are you feeling?”

“Amazing. However, pregnancy is getting old. Soon, I won’t be able to reach my feet,” she replies, rubbing her belly.

“You must be so excited,” I squeal with happiness. My best friend is in love with her husband, and they are perfect for each other. Dmitry’s gruff, take-charge demeanor softens when Izzy enters the room. She’s his princess.

“I am. I didn’t expect to be a mother so young, but my mom had me young, too. I am so happy I found my father. It’s given me so much to be grateful for.”

“Yeah, like surviving the hunt of being a deer in winter,” I reply sarcastically.

“Yeah, there’s that. I try not to think about it. How are you doing with your panic attacks?”

I shrug. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

“Do you have your resume? I mean, are you going to join the workforce?”

“Yes,” I emphasize the “y.” “It’s a great idea to have my independence nailed down before I get married, right?”

“Great. I like this newfound independence to seize the day that doesn’t involve men.” Izzy nibbles at her omelet and fruit.

“It’s good to try on your own before you call in favors,” Izzy says, speaking like the mafia-savvy wife she’s become. Funny, if anyone should know how the mafia life works, it should have been me.