Page 31

Chapter 31

Massimo

After I ate Nova out again, she collapsed into a dead sleep, and I used the time to hold and watch her. When I woke her before I left so I could make her come again, she shyly asked why I wasn't taking my pleasure. It was hard to explain that taking care of her, and giving her so much toe-curling pleasure, gave me unbelievable pleasure.

Hello, fully unlocked caretaking kink.

However, if I didn't have to make this transatlantic flight, I would've taken the time to let her explore touching me, wrapping her hand around my girth. I would've shown her how to jerk me off; I would've happily had her lick and swallow her first cock.

Instead, I left her with a kiss and a promise that Gabe and his men would keep her safe.

On the plane, I took advantage of my privilege as Don and slept in the bedroom in the Dassault Falcon 8X. Not because I'm a pompous ass and above my men, but because I needed to fist my cock to relieve the unbearable ache. And when I did sleep, I dreamt about Nova and woke up needing to do it again.

Remembering her last night and how she responded so perfectly to my touch… Her cries of pleasure… How she instinctively moved against me, chasing and owning that pleasure… The way her fingers burrowed in my hair, holding my face to her perfect cunt.

Jesus fuck, I need to stop because I'm going to have to jerk off again, and we've just landed .

I smile, remembering how Nova had trusted me. How she'd bloomed like a flower for me, unfurling to reveal the rapturous, fierce beauty she hid from the world.

I adjust my sable-brown tie, smooth back my hair, and exit the bedroom. Marco finishes his espresso and sets the porcelain cup on the table.

"Sleep well, Zio ?"

"Like a baby." He smirks at me and stands. "Which means I was up every three hours needing to take a piss."

"The things to look forward to."

He grunts but turns serious, his eyes sad. "Growing old is a privilege, nipote ."

I squeeze his shoulder. "I miss him, too."

Papà died too young. Many do in our dark world, but for him, it was his health that did him in.

"He'd be proud of how you're ruling, Massimo. Tommaso was always proud of you."

Emotion fills me, and I squeeze his shoulder again.

"Sir," Marcelo, the head guard on this trip in Gabe's absence, stands at the exit. "The vehicles have been checked, and we're ready when you are."

I grab my bag and lead the way out of the plane, down the stairs, and get into one of the SUVs on the tarmac. Tino drives the SUV I'm in, and Marcelo will watch for threats. He's in contact with Crispin, our tech genius, back home, who is using drones to ensure the surrounding area is clear and we won't be ambushed.

As per our safety protocol, Zio Marco gets in a different SUV. If someone tries to take out the Don and succeeds, then having my second-in-command still alive is imperative.

He technically isn't my second-in-command; he's my advisor or consigliere. When I became Don, I convinced Vito to take on some additional 'administrative' duties, as he calls them, in addition to his work in the field for protecting our empire. Marco had as well; he and Vito job-share my second-in-command. It would've never worked if it weren't for the kind of men and leaders they are. But it's not a long-term solution.

In my mind, besides Vito, there are two candidates for the second-in-command position. Gabe had already turned me down, saying he needed to head my security team and wouldn't relinquish that role to anyone else. Plus, he wasn’t Santoro blood, and Gabe is even more conventional and traditional than I am. The other person is Gemma, and I plan to discuss it with Zio Riccardo on this trip. If he won’t give her a leadership role in his branch of the family, then I want her as my second-in-command.

We leave the private airstrip to head to Vincenzo Pisani's palatial residence, where the 'Ndrangheta meetings always occur. He's from the founding family's direct line and serves as our de facto convenor. While he doesn't control or rule over any of our families, as all the 'ndrines are independent, he holds more power in certain matters, such as his vote carries more weight.

The drive from the airstrip takes thirty minutes, and I use that time to check in with Gabe. It's seven in the morning here, but it's evening back home. I pull up the security camera feeds on my phone so I can watch Nova, and put in earbuds so Gabe won't be on my speakerphone.

"Miss me already?" he answers.

"What can I say, your ugly mug has grown on me over the years."

He laughs, then clears his throat. "Everything is quiet. She's good."

Gabe doesn't use Nova's name because there's always a slim chance our encrypted call could be intercepted. Crispin's abilities are the best I've encountered, and we use the best technology, but we still can't take unnecessary risks.

I navigate on my phone to select the security camera I want in Nova's room. She sits on the bed, hugging her knees, and stares straight ahead.

None of the guards with me or Zio Marco know I have Nova, so I keep my responses vague. "What was on the agenda today?"

"Spent a lot of time in the library. She declined seeing Gemma; said tomorrow."

That surprises me, yet it doesn't at the same time. "How's her mood?" I ask as I study her over the security cameras .

Nova didn't seem upset or withdrawn when I left. Mind you, I had just leveled her world with multiple orgasms, so she was likely orgasm-drunk.

"She's withdrawn some." He sighs. "The food control thing is rearing its head."

This was one of my biggest concerns about leaving her—this, and the fear that the guards might trigger her again, sending her spiraling into hell. Gabe had cleared Damien of having done anything to hurt Nova, and ordered the guards who were allowed into the house to dress in suits and keep their weapons hidden. The memory of watching her slip into those hellish flashbacks still makes me nauseous, but I can't dwell on the possibility that it might happen again while I'm across the world from her. I can't protect her from here in that sense; however, I can still help her with the food and eating part.

Her coloring is better now, but she's still so small and slightly undernourished. She can't go days without eating or drinking again.

"If you have to, give her a direct order, Gabe." I unclench my fist, forcing myself to remain calm.

I don't want to resort to that, but we will if needed. I had spoken about it with Nova last night between eating her out and fingering her tight pussy. She had agreed, but the edging and withholding the orgasm from her until she did might've played strongly into her submission on the subject.

He sighs again. "Jerome discovered she was never even allowed to make a sandwich for herself, Mass. The fucking mind games he must've done on her…"

My vision is black as I think of Mancini.

"You need to get the 'Ndrangheta to change the vote. He can't be allowed to live."

"It's my number one priority," I growl. "Call me if anything changes or comes up. Anything ."

"I know. I will. Keep your ass safe. This is killing me to stay behind."

"The family needs you there, Gabe. Keep them all safe."

"You have my word or my life," he vows and disconnects the call .

I know I’ll be under scrutiny for the missing Mancini princess, and I don’t trust that Vincenzo, or any of the other Dons, won’t try to spy on me. So I’ll wait to call Nova until I can ensure it's safe.

Because my obsessive need demands it, I keep watching her on the security feed on my phone as we drive through the countryside. My attention is fully absorbed by my princess rather than the scenic views of the sparkling Tyrrhenian Sea. I want to know what is going through her head, what she's feeling, and whether she regrets what has happened between us.

Of course, I'm fucking thrilled she wants to give me her virginity. But I know she doesn't trust me yet. And I know she's up to something.

But it doesn't matter, because Nova is mine.

" I just ask that I might be able to live my life in peace. To be free of all the monsters."

Her words from echo like a shotgun blast.

She deserves to be free of this world, of its darkness and blood, and the monsters who terrorize innocents.

My fist clenches around my phone.

Will she hate me for what I have planned?

It doesn't matter if she does, though, because my plan will keep her safe and out of her father's clutches and away from the likes of the motherfucker Julien Moreau.

Nova finally gets up and starts getting ready for bed. My cock has been at half-mast watching her, and it transforms into a full-on hard-on as she undresses and walks to the dresser, opening the drawer filled with sleep wear. Anger fills me again that I have to attend this meeting, instead of being home where I should be, dealing with a threat to my family.

And taking care of my princess. I should be there, selecting what she wears to bed—preferably nothing—holding her in my lap to feed her, holding her in the dark so she learns that her monster will chase all the others away.

I shake my head, pushing my anger down. Otherwise, I might enter the meeting with my hammer fists swinging.

Nova dresses in a camisole and short set, then walks to the light switch on the wall and hesitates. I urge her to take this step .

Then, taking a deep breath, she turns off the light. She assesses the soft glow of the nightlight I plugged in before leaving, deciding whether it provides enough light before she walks to the bed.

Last night, she had slept in my arms in the darkness; no need for any lighting. That fact makes me feel like a fucking champion. When I return home, she'll be sleeping in my bed with me, where she belongs. I'll take care of her and keep her monsters at bay, even in her sleep.

She slips into the bed. I would love to keep watching her, hoping to watch her play with herself and make herself come; however, we're almost at Vincenzo's. But I'll definitely be pulling up the recording later to see if she does pleasure herself.

I close out of the security program and text Fabio in Reggio Calabria, a city two and a half hours away, conversing in Italian.

I've arrived. Will your man be here as we planned?

I'm not expecting an immediate reply, but one comes in before I lock my phone.

Welcome, Don Santoro!

Yes, Alexie will meet you tonight as we planned. It is an honor to have your business

Thank you, Fabio

I close out of the text messages and lock my phone, dropping it into my jacket pocket as we drive through the guarded gate and start up the winding driveway through the manicured grounds. Vincenzo's Mediterranean-style villa sits on a hill with white-washed walls, expansive terraces, and large windows.

As Tino drives us around the winding driveway, I spot the pool house set back from the main house. Off to the side lies a lush garden filled with lemon trees and bougainvilleas, which Maria, Vincenzo's late wife, had imported from Argentina .

Vincenzo's guards greet our entourage and open the doors, making Tino grumble that he's not a fucking prince and can open his own damn door. He's not wrong about the over-the-top pomp and grandeur at Vincenzo's home, like he's hosting dignitaries.

I grab my bag, waving the guard off. I don't need to be waited on hand and foot.

Zio Marco calls to me, "I'll meet you inside; I'd like a chat with Leo."

I nod at my uncle and Leo, Vincenzo's head of security, and walk up the steps to the villa. The door opens and a dark-headed beauty smiles at me.

"Hello, Anna."

She's Vincenzo's daughter and, like Nova, was used as a chess piece to make a powerful alliance. Vincenzo married Anna off to Nicholas Georgiadis, a nephew and heir to the Greeks, regardless that he was a piece of shit. Said husband is dead now—killed in an ambush on his way home after visiting a betrothal. Mild suspicion was cast at Anna, but she looked innocent as a lamb. Cried like a grieving widow.

She's living in the pool house now, because with Nicholas dead and no child from their marriage, his family refused to view her as a Georgiadis and to protect her.

"Massimo," she purrs, stepping back to eye me. "You're looking delicious as ever and big as fuck." Her green eyes land on my crotch, then lift to mine and she pouts. "I can never get a reaction out of you."

This is a game Anna likes to play.

I've never fucked her—prior to her marriage, she was the sacrificial virgin. After Nicholas's death, Anna tried with me. She's beautiful, but I had no interest in sinking my dick into something so complicated back then, and I have absolutely no desire to now.

Anna sighs like I've annoyed her and holds out her hand. "I'll take your bag. Daddy and the others are already in the power room." She rolls her eyes.

"Vincenzo short on staff, Anna?"

She glances around the grand foyer that's elegantly decorated with expensive paintings, sculptures, and handcrafted furniture. There's always staff hovering around, ready to wait on the residents and guests, but none are here now.

Anna shuts the front door. There's a flirtatious smile on her face, but her eyes are calculated and clever. "I sent all the staff scurrying so I could greet you myself."

She steps closer and places her hand on my chest, leaning close. I want to stop her from touching me, but there's a play here.

"Your room is bugged…listening devices and cameras," she whispers.

I suspected it would be. I lean closer to whisper into her hair, "Why are you telling me?"

She shifts to press against me, and it feels wrong that I'm allowing this, even though this is a show for the cameras, meant to hide her warning. I don't blindly trust her motives, though.

Gazing up at me, she murmurs, "I owe a friend, and they asked me to."

She coyly smiles and bats her long lashes as she steps away from me. "You know where to find me," she says louder.

The front door opens, and Zio Marco enters. Anna is in immediate gracious hostess mode and greets him warmly, offering to have his bag taken up to his room with mine. Speaking in Italian, Marco is just as gracious as her; you wouldn't think we're a bunch of criminals here to discuss, plot, and plan for our global criminal enterprises.

My eyes scan the foyer. The upstairs landing is open and fully visible from the front door. Leaning against an arched doorway, is Renzo Nucci.

His bi-color eyes—one gray and one green—track me as I walk up the stairs and join him. "Good flight, amico ?"

I nod. "It's good to see you, Renzo."

Renzo is similar age to me and took over his family in London when his father was killed by Patrick Finley and the Irish a few years ago. He's one of the Dons who voted in favor for me to end Mancini immediately and not have to stay my hand because of fucking money.

Like me, he's dressed in a tailored suit, but with visible tattoos on his neck, wrists, and the back of his hands. His dark hair is styled back, and he tilts his head, observing me with his unusual eyes.

"Watch your back in there," he warns quietly .

Again, I suspected as much.

The 'Ndrangheta families are a collective; we're allies and come together when there's a threat against the syndicate, but we're not family or friends. And with the Mancini situation, and the Dons who voted against me killing Mancini, if they found hard evidence—which they wouldn't—that I had found a way around the vote, I could be punished. It wouldn't be anything severe, since I hadn't actually defied the vote and killed Mancini. Yet. But the Dons who suspect me could feel I'm threatening their personal interests. By the laws of the 'Ndrangheta, they couldn't attack me; not outright, but I'm not na?ve to think they wouldn't use underhanded means .

"How's the family?" He side-eyes me with a smile as we walk down the hallway toward the meeting room. "I hear Creed is going to be a father, and Vito has met his match."

The criminal underworld is an intricately linked network and gossipy as hell.

"I do hope I'll get an invitation to the wedding. Maybe this is my chance to visit America."

Magdalena, Renzo's mother, came from an American blue-blooded, old-money family. One that was in deep debt, and that Rufino Nucci took advantage of to claim the beautiful Magdalena. Once married, the controlling Rufino rarely let Magdalena travel and refused for her to visit the States and her family. Something I've heard she's been rectifying since Rufino's death.

"Can you tell me, will it be a spring wedding or maybe sooner?" He smirks, his bi-colored eyes glinting with the hint of devilry.

"Knowing Vito, he'll likely throw Eden over his shoulder and plop her in front of a priest within the week."

Renzo's thumb scratches under his lip, and murmurs, "Well, there's an idea."

I half-grunt, half-laugh. "You got nuptials on the brain?"

He purses his lips, then smiles. "No more than you."

There's boisterous laughter from the room we're approaching, which pulls my attention from Renzo. My teeth grind that I need to face my peers who voted against me, and need to pretend that I don't want scoop their eyes out with a spoon.

"Easy, fratello ." All traces of joking are wiped from Renzo's face. "Put your unreadable mask back in place."

Swallowing my rage, I school my expression as we step into the room.

The front part is where the dining and lounge area is, and the private meeting room is at the back. Like the rest of the house, it's opulent with the black-and-white marble floor, and a Murano glass chandelier hanging over the long dining room table.

Zio Riccardo rises from the table with a smile. " Nipote . Good to see you."

To all of us Santoros, family is everything. He embraces me, clapping me on the back before turning to Marco, who's come in behind Renzo and me. They hug and catch up quickly.

Seeing my uncles together makes my father's death sting all over again.

"Welcome!" a booming voice calls from the head of the table as Vincenzo Pisani stands. He's a large man, his belly expanding from his love of rich food, the wine from his vineyards, and because he leaves the physical part of his ruling to his underlings.

"Come, Massimo and Marco. Join us." He sweeps his arm to the table where the rest of the Dons and their seconds-in-command sit. Then comes over to me, clapping my shoulder. "It's a pleasure to see you."

He's the ever-perfect host, but I'm not fooled. The man is a shark.

"Renzo, you finally pulled your ass out of bed to join us." Achille Albano, who rules in Croatia, eyes him with a smirk.

Renzo adjusts the lapels of his suit as he sits. "Well, after I got in early this morning from getting my cock wet all night, I did my morning training. Not all of us rely on beauty sleep, our fists for pleasure, or our guards for everything in life."

Achille's smug look sours and Vincenzo barks a laugh. "He's got you there, Achille."

My gaze moves around the table, taking in the Dons. Gastone Ferri, who has territory in Buenos Aires, and Camillo Altera from Texas. Geno Pagnatto controls a good portion of Morocco and is constantly on the verge of full-out war with the Spanish mafia. Enrico Di Rossi rules most of Australia. My uncle Riccardo's area of rule is a large portion of the Calabria region other than Catanzaro.

Vincenzo, Camillo, Achille, and Gastone voted against me killing Mancini. Since I needed to abstain from the vote, it was technically tied at four-four; however, Vincenzo's vote holds more weight, so it carried. Visions of what I’d like to do to my peers who voted against me bring a rush of anger again, and it takes great effort to stay calm and in control.

I move to the table and pull out a chair between my uncles. Renzo sits beside his second-in-command, who is the only woman at the table, Chiara Romano.

Gastone drags his eyes away from Chiara, who's leveling him with a murderous look while she twirls a butter knife over her knuckles. He eyes me with open suspicion. "Let's address the elephant in the room, shall we?" He's a small man who always feels the need to speak loudly. "The Mancini Princess—you need to return her to her father, Massimo."

Not a fucking chance.

I suspected suspicion, but I guess we're doing this the not-so-covert way.

Zio Marco stiffens and my hand twitches, which he sees and knows not to step in. This is my fight.

I ease back in my chair. "And you have proof I have the missing princess?"

Gastone's jaw clenches so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. "It doesn't take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out."

"I had Mancini in my hands." I lift them to reinforce the symbolic gesture. "I could've snapped his neck. I could've handed him over to Vito. I could have ripped him to small pieces." I flex my fingers, making my knuckles pop. "And yet, I let him go, because I respected the 'Ndrangheta's vote for him to live…for now."

"Can you say you'd do the same?" Enrico asks Gastone and the others. "Massimo showed restraint that none of us likely would've, and that weighs in his favor."

"I didn't realize this was a tribunal hearing for me to prove my innocence," I say without a shred of my thoughts or emotions.

Vincenzo flashes a warning look around the table. " It isn't."

Camillo leans forward to look at me from down the table. "Your travel itinerary is suspicious."

I sigh heavily. "And my family is still under an active threat, yet here I am, Camillo. If the fact I'm not making this a vacation doesn't sit well with you, well, you can get fucked up the ass with that strap-on dildo you're so fond of."

Camillo shoots to his feet, his chair clattering as it falls back. Loud noise breaks out in the room with half of them shouting and the other half laughing with fucking glee. Renzo nearly chokes on the cornetto pastry he just bit into.

I stand and tower over Camillo, letting my mask fall to show him just how depraved I can be. He stops abruptly, taking a step back.

"Vito is rubbing off on you, Massimo," Zio Riccardo murmurs.

Vincenzo rises and braces his hands on the table. "Camillo. Sit your ass down."

Camillo's movements are jerking as makes the wise choice to obey Vincenzo's command. "This disrespect can't be unpunished, Vincenzo."

The Texan-slash-Italian has always been a whiny bitch.

"You started it, Camillo," Vincenzo admonishes like he's a child, then eyes the table. "Massimo is not here to prove his innocence. Let's carry on."

I don't fool myself thinking I'm in the clear with any of these men, least of all Vincenzo. However, I sit down and accept an espresso from a young woman who looks like she's about to piss her pants with fear of who's dining at her boss's home.

The chatter is light and non-criminal as the staff serves and cleans up breakfast. The discussion and planning for the criminal activities will occur in the private meeting room. Drug trafficking was a big revenue generator for a number of them. Arms dealing and money laundering were my family's main bread and butter, but we all had our hands in other things.

I would bring up the discussion about Mancini again to try to change the vote, but even if the 'Ndrangheta didn’t back me, with what I was planning, Nova would be mine to protect.