Breaking the Heartless Capo

Exclusively Exclusive

"Your mouth is lippy, but it sure as hell knows how to suck a c**k," Roman growled, crashing his lips down onto hers before she could form a reply.

His tongue slid inside, devouring her mouth with a fierce, possessive hunger. His heavy arms wrapped around her waist, one hand reaching up to tangle his fingers into her messy bun. With a swift yank, he pulled the clip free and tossed it onto the glass table, letting her dark hair cascade over her shoulders. Breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second, he rasped, "Climb on my lap and straddle me."

Syrene didn't hesitate. She swung her leg over his lap, bringing her body flush against his. Roman instantly reclaimed her lips, dominating the kiss even harder, his tongue sliding deep down her throat as his arms pulled her tightly against his broad chest.

Syrene’s hands tugged at his dark hair, soft, helpless moans escaping her throat as she instinctively began rocking her hips, grinding her wet p***y directly over the heavy ridge of his slacks.

Grumbling in approval, Roman lifted his hips just enough to shove his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Aligning his thick, throbbing c**k with her entrance, he slammed all the way inside her dripping p***y in one smooth stroke. He stared directly into her eyes, kissing her like a starving man who couldn't get enough.

Fuck, this man kisses me almost to an orgasm, Syrene thought frantically, her mind spinning as her body took over. He is insanely good with his mouth and fingers... and f**k, he is literally perfect in bed.

Deepening the kiss, Syrene moaned louder into his mouth, bucking and grinding her hips down against his shaft. Roman let out a low growl from deep in his chest. Finding the hem of her hot-pink dress, he pulled it up over her head in one swift motion and tossed it carelessly across the booth.

"Fuck... no bra, either," he rasped, his dark eyes ablaze.

He leaned down, burying his face in her chest to pull one of her perky n*****s deep into his mouth. He sucked hard while his fingers pinched and twisted the other, biting down just enough to make her wince and arch her back. The sharp pleasure sent her hips plummeting down, forcing his c**k to dive even deeper into her tight p***y.

Roman played with her breasts relentlessly—sucking, twisting, and rolling her n*****s between his teeth, his growls echoing against her skin. His eyes were completely filled with raw lust and unbridled possession.

Reaching up, he pinned her hips with his massive hands, establishing a fast, punishing thrusting rhythm while holding her firmly in place. Syrene lost all control, cursing and moaning as a violent climax tore through her frame. She gushed all over his c**k, her inner walls clenching around him like a vise, milking and choking his c**k until Roman completely snapped.

With a low, guttural roar, he drove himself deep inside her one last time, shooting his heavy, hot load straight into her p***y.

Chest heaving, Roman rested his forehead against hers, both of them completely out of breath. As his pulse slowly settled, his hand began tracing calm, soothing circles down the curve of her bare back. Unsure of what his next mood shift would bring, Syrene simply rested her hands on the back of the leather booth, silently waiting for him to tell her to get lost or hand over her clothes.

After a few quiet minutes, Roman's grip loosened. "Okay... off me."

Syrene turned her head, unable to resist rolling her eyes as she swung her legs over his lap and slid back onto the leather seat.

Roman’s eyes narrowed instantly. "I saw you roll your eyes, brat. You better smarten up."

Without another word, he reached over to the table, picked up the white contract and a heavy pen, and wrote a fresh line directly onto the page. He added a strict clause stating that he, too, would remain completely exclusive to her for the duration of the one-year agreement.

Finishing the note, he slid the paper across the table. "Here."

Syrene picked up the paper and read the newly added line. She stared at the ink in disbelief, a triumphant smile blooming on the inside, though her composed, neutral mask stayed perfectly intact on the outside.

"You can take three days to think about it," Roman stated, his voice cool and businesslike once more. "I'll have Marco contact you."

Syrene looked him dead in the eye, grabbed the pen off the table, and smoothly signed her name on the bottom line. "You fixed the only issue I had, Roman," she purred, sliding the paper back to him. "What's to think about?"

Roman smirked, watching her closely. Reading her was usually so easy, but at times, she was an absolute enigma. "Alright," he said, pushing himself up to stand. He tucked himself back into his pants, zipping up his slacks before straightening his suit jacket. "Let's go."

Syrene quickly pulled her hot-pink dress back over her head, smoothed it down over her hips, and slipped her feet into her heels. As she picked up her clutch, Roman reached out, wrapping his hand firmly around the back of her neck—not to hurt her, but to keep her anchored right at his side as he led her out of the VIP room.

Walking through the crowded club, the security guards and patrons instantly cleared a path for the terrifying Capo. Everyone stared, whispered, and looked away in fear, but Syrene walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her head held high.

When they stepped outside into the cool night air, Marco was already standing by the open door of the black sedan. Roman guided her inside first, then slid into the leather seat right beside her, closing the door behind them.

Once they were settled into the back seat of the black sedan, Roman turned to Marco in the front and barked a series of rapid commands in fluent, authoritative Italian. Finishing his instructions, he leaned back against the leather seat and turned his dark eyes onto Syrene.

"Do you speak Italian, Syrene?" he asked, his voice smooth and calculating.

"No, I don't, Roman," she lied smoothly, keeping her voice light and entirely uninterested.

In reality, Syrene was fluently multilingual. She spoke Italian, Spanish, French, German, Mandarin, and Arabic—a secret skill set born out of sheer spite. Back when she was fourteen, a German boy at her school had bullied her endlessly, constantly throwing insult after insult at her in his native tongue. Fed up with feeling defenseless, she spent that entire summer secretly mastering languages, determined to ensure no one would ever have an upper hand on her again.

When school resumed that autumn and the boy started up his usual routine, Syrene listened closely—only to realize his supposed insults were actually clumsily hidden, blushing confessions of a massive crush. She had leaned in close, whispered a razor-sharp response in perfect German directly into his ear, and watched him turn bright red and shut up for the rest of the school year.

Keeping that secret weapon buried deep, she maintained a completely blank expression as Roman studied her face.

Roman gave her a single, slow nod, seemingly satisfied with her answer, before turning his gaze back out the tinted window.

Syrene looked out her own window, a quiet, dangerous satisfaction settling in her chest. Roman thought he had laid out all the rules of his game, but as long as he believed she was completely clueless to his phone calls, orders, and private conversations, the real upper hand belonged entirely to her.