Page 49 of The Kingpin’s Bride

Chapter Twelve

Matteo

Once again, The Families had summoned me. Leaving Morena unsupervised was calculated. She would write. She would eat what I had left. She would sleep when the body demanded it. I looked forward to coming home.

I took the private elevator down. The driver was waiting. I slid into the back seat and gave the address of the neutral estate without looking up. The city slid past in grey morning light. My mind did not stay on the road.

It stayed on her.

On the way her long black hair had looked spread across my pillow. On the exact shade of blue in her eyes when they went blind with the last orgasm I forced out of her. On the soft, broken sounds she made while the cream turned every thrust into something she could not escape. On the way her cunt had clenched around me like it knew who owned it. On the thick, slow trickle of me that had leaked out of her onto the dark sheets after I pulled free.

My cock stirred hard against my slacks at the memory alone. I adjusted myself once and forced my attention back to the phone.

Three messages from Esposito’s people. One from Santino that simply read Be careful.

I was shown into a long room with a polished table and heavy curtains drawn against the daylight. The air smelled the same as it always did. Cigars. Expensive cologne. The faint metallic edge that never fully left these gatherings.

The Five were seated.

Esposito at the center. Greco to his right, Grimaldi to his left. Leo Moretti sat near the far end, silent, fingers resting loosely around an untouched glass of water. Santino leaned against the wall the way he preferred, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

I took the empty chair left for me and kept my posture relaxed. Ankle over knee. Hands steady.

Esposito did not waste time.

“The Families eagerly await your update, Matteo,” he said. His voice was dry, old, and completely without warmth. “You accepted the condition. The public consummation was noted. The doctor’s preliminary report reached us this morning. It is acceptable progress. We expect more.”

I inclined my head once. “We’re working on it.”

“I don’t think you understand the terms,” Esposito seethed.

Leo’s gaze rested on me a moment longer than necessary. He said nothing. He rarely needed to. The weight of his presence did the work for him. Santino’s silence from the wall carried a different weight, one that felt like family even when it disagreed.

They moved on to shipments, borders. I listened. I nodded at the right times. I gave the answers they wanted to hear. Crisis averted.

The entire time the image of Morena on my sheets sat behind my eyes like a second lid. White clothes discarded. Cream and cum leaking from her. The soft, helpless way her thighs had trembled around my hips while I held her open and made her take every inch. The way she had looked at me after every orgasm, wrecked and wet and trying to pretend she hated how much her body answered to me.

My cock stayed half-hard through the entire meeting. I did not shift. Control was the only language these men respected. The formal portion was nearly finished when the door opened again.

Dario Rizzo walked in like a man who thought he had a place at the table.

Thick through the shoulders. Gold chain. The sour edge of cheap cologne and whatever he had been smoking. He was dressed better than the last time I had seen him, clean shirt, pressed trousers, but the effort only made the cheapness underneath more obvious. Two of Greco’s men flanked him, not quite escorting, not quite restraining. Dario’s eyes found me. The smile that spread across his face was small, satisfied, and entirely too familiar.

Esposito’s expression did not change. “You requested five minutes. Use them carefully.”

Dario stepped forward until he stood at the far end of the table. He did not sit. He looked at each of the older men in turn, then settled on me with open enjoyment.

“Gentlemen,” he said. His voice carried the same oily confidence he had used the night he tried to force my wife in a private room. “I appreciate the invitation. I only wanted to offer a small observation about the recent vacancy.”

The room went in the particular way that meant every man present was calculating exits and angles.

Dario continued, smiling, though a thin sheen of sweat had appeared at his temple. “The Vernizzi boys… Odd, isn’t it? All three. Warehouse on the water. Clean work. Professional. The official word is Bratva. A territorial message. Fair enough. But the timing is interesting, isn’t it?”

He leaned forward, eyes on me. “The line ends. The seat opens. And the same week the man who benefits most from that empty chair walks into After Dark, buys the girl who used to dance under my roof for thirty-five million, marries her naked on the stage, and fucks her in front of every don in the city so the alliance sticks.”

He let the silence stretch. A few of the older men shifted. Greco’s eyes narrowed. Leo remained perfectly still. Santino’s arms stayed crossed, but the tension in his jaw was visible even from across the room.

Dario’s gaze never left mine. The cocky edge in his voice sharpened, trying to cover the fear tightening his shoulders.