Dirty Moans With My Husband's Father

Episode7

OLIVIA

Bruno shook his head, a strained, disbelieving laugh scraping a rough path up his throat. He kept his hands raised, but his rigid posture loosened slightly, replaced by the arrogant, reckless entitlement of a spoiled heir who had never truly faced a consequence in his life.

"You're bluffing," Bruno spat, his eyes darting from the silver barrel of the gun to his father’s emotionless face. "You won't pull the trigger. You wouldn't kill your own blood. I'm your only son."

Antonio let out a dark, rumbling laugh. The low sound vibrated through the heavy dining room air, clinking subtly against the crystal wine glasses on the table. He did not lower the gun. He didn't even shift his weight. Instead, he reached out with his free left hand, picked up his silver fork, and casually speared a thick piece of bloody steak from his porcelain plate. He lifted the meat to his mouth and chewed slowly, his hazel eyes completely devoid of warmth, empathy, or hesitation.

"When I was a young man in Palermo," Antonio began, his voice a smooth, deadly purr that carried over the sound of the rain lashing against the windowpanes. "My father gave me a hunting dog. A beautiful, vicious Cane Corso. I fed him. I housed him. I gave him a warm place to sleep when the winters turned bitter." Antonio swallowed his food and tilted his head, his gaze boring a hole right through Bruno's skull. "But one evening, the dog decided he wanted to eat from my plate. I reached down to push him away, and he snapped his teeth at my hand."

Antonio took a slow sip of his red wine, keeping the heavy handgun perfectly steady.

"Un cane che morde il padrone deve morire. A dog that bites his master must die. I took him out behind the shed and shot him in the head before dinner was even cold."

Isabella let out a pathetic, high-pitched whimper. Her body trembled violently between the two towering guards gripping her shoulders. "Please," she sobbed, the tears ruining her heavy makeup, sending thick, dark streaks running down her pale cheeks. "Bruno, please, make him stop. You're scaring me."

"Shut the f**k up, puttana," Antonio commanded softly.

The absolute, chilling ice in his voice sucked the remaining oxygen right out of the room. I stopped breathing. My nails dug into my own thighs beneath the white tablecloth.

Antonio shifted his wrist. The silver barrel of the handgun swung smoothly away from Bruno's chest and pointed directly at Isabella's pregnant stomach.

"Let her go," Antonio ordered his guards.

The massive men instantly released Isabella's arms and stepped backward, walking out as Isabella stood there alone, swaying on her designer heels, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

"No!" Bruno screamed, lunging forward with his hands outstretched.

Antonio pulled the trigger twice.

The deafening explosions ruptured the quiet dining room, blowing my eardrums out and sending a blinding flash of yellow muzzle fire across the table. Pieces of the solid mahogany floorboard splintered violently into the air just an inch from the tip of Isabella's shoes.

Isabella shrieked in absolute terror. She collapsed onto her knees, curling into a tight ball and covering her head as a thick, choking cloud of white plaster and sulfurous gunpowder dust filled the air. My ears rang with a high, painful whine.

Bruno dove onto the ruined floor beside her, wrapping his arms fiercely around her shaking frame. He frantically ran his hands over her legs, her stomach, her chest, searching desperately for blood. She was crying hysterically, hyperventilating against his shirt, but she was completely unharmed.

Antonio calmly lowered the smoking gun and rested it on the white tablecloth right next to his wine glass. He didn't even blink at the destruction.

"The next time you lay a finger on Olivia, I will not miss," Antonio warned. The deadly promise hung in the dusty air. "I will put a bullet in your w***e's belly, and then I will put one right between your eyes. Do you understand me, Bruno?"

Bruno stared up at his father from the floor, his chest heaving with frantic, terrified breaths. He pulled Isabella tighter against his chest.

"And to prove exactly how sorry you are," Antonio added, leaning back in his leather chair, "you will shut down your illegal gambling parties immediately. I want them closed tonight. Consider it your apology to me."

The raw, primal terror on Bruno's face suddenly vanished, swallowed entirely by an explosive, uncontrollable rage. He shoved himself off the floor and helped a sobbing Isabella to her feet, his hands shaking with violent anger.

"Are you completely insane?!" Bruno roared, his voice cracking and echoing off the walls. He pointed a trembling finger at Antonio. "Over her? You're firing a f*****g gun at my family over her?"

Bruno slowly turned his head. His dark, furious eyes locked onto me.

I sat completely frozen in my chair, my heart pounding so hard my bruised ribs ached.

Bruno narrowed his eyes, his gaze darting rapidly between my pale face and his father's relaxed posture. The gears turned behind his dark eyes, grinding out a sickening, undeniable realization. He saw the unnatural obsession his father harbored. He saw the way Antonio looked at me.

"Why do you suddenly care?" Bruno demanded, his voice dropping to a venomous, lethal hiss. "You never gave a s**t about Olivia. You hated her American blood just as much as I did." Bruno took a slow, calculated step toward the head of the table. "Unless there is something else going on. If I find out you are f*****g my wife, father... I will burn this entire syndicate to the ground. I will start a f*****g war that will drown this family in blood."

Antonio didn't move a single muscle. He just stared at his son with the cold, dead eyes of a great white shark.

Bruno spat a wad of saliva onto the ruined floorboards. He wrapped a protective arm around Isabella's waist and practically dragged her out of the dining room. Their hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence.

The second the heavy front doors slammed shut in the distance, the adrenaline completely drained from my veins. My knees turned to water beneath the table. I slapped a hand over my mouth, but a loud, ugly sob ripped through my raw throat anyway.

A mafia war.

The terrifying words echoed in my skull. Bruno was rabid, unpredictable, and entirely capable of tearing the Romero family apart from the inside out. If he ever found out what happened in the restroom—what happened in my bedroom just hours ago—he would slaughter everyone in his path. I would be caught right in the bloody center of it.

The sharp scrape of a wooden chair snapped my attention up. Antonio stood and walked slowly around the long dining table. His towering frame blocked out the warm, yellow light from the crystal chandelier. The lethal, terrifying aura he carried just moments ago melted away, instantly replaced by a dark, heavy, overwhelming possession.

"Olivia," he murmured, reaching his large hands out to hold me.

I scrambled backward, the wooden legs of my chair screeching against the floorboards. I jumped to my feet and backed away quickly until my spine hit the cold glass of the dining room window. "Don't touch me."

"You're shaking," he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, hypnotic cadence that always made my mind go blank. He closed the distance between us with two long strides, completely ignoring my frantic command.

He stepped right into my personal space, effectively trapping me between his broad chest and the cold window. The rich scent of cedar, expensive tobacco, and fresh gunpowder washed over me, making my head spin wildly. He raised a large hand and gently cupped my jaw. His rough thumb brushed carefully over the edge of the dark, ugly bruises on my neck.

My treacherous body betrayed me instantly. A heavy, liquid heat pooled directly between my thighs. My p***y clenched, violently craving the brutal, all-consuming pleasure he gave me on my bedroom dresser earlier. I wanted to lean my heavy head into his hand. I wanted to close my eyes and let the most powerful, dangerous man in Italy protect me from the waking nightmare my life had become.

But the image of Bruno's furious, hateful eyes flashed in my mind. The promise of a bloody war. Gunshots in the dark.

My survival instinct clawed its way to the surface, overriding the blinding lust. I slapped both of my hands against Antonio's solid chest and shoved him backward with everything I had.

"No," I gasped, my chest heaving as I sucked in air. "I am not doing this. I will not be the reason your son starts a war, Antonio. You will get us both killed."

Antonio's soft, seductive expression vanished, instantly replaced by the cold, calculating mask of a ruthless Mafia Don. He straightened his suit jacket, the muscles in his jaw clenching tight.

"You cannot survive this mess without me," Antonio stated flatly, stripping away any lingering illusion of romance. "Bruno took your shares. He has the power of my men behind him. You are an American woman entirely alone in an Italian syndicate. You have absolutely nothing."

I swallowed hard, the brutal truth of his harsh words slicing deep into my chest.

"I will get your shares back," Antonio promised, his hazel eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, terrifying intensity. "I will return all twenty-five percent of your father's company directly to your name. I will crush anyone who tries to take them from you again. But we make a deal."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dark, gravelly whisper that sent shivers racing down my spine. "You agree to be mine. Entirely, completely mine. You will leave him, and you will belong to me."

I stared up at the man who had just shot up a dining room to protect me. He wasn't offering me salvation. He wasn't offering me safety. He was just offering me a different, far more dangerous cage. A beautiful, terrifying golden cage guarded by a monster who would never let me out.

I lifted my chin, forcing my spine completely straight. "I am done being a pawn in this family."

Antonio's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch.

"I will save myself," I said, my voice finally steady and cold.

I turned my back on the Don of the Italian mafia and walked right out of the ruined dining room. My heels clicked sharply against the floorboards, carrying me out into the hallway and toward the grand staircase. I didn't have my father's shares, and I didn't have a solid plan, but a fiery, desperate resolution burned through my veins.

As I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, my mind worked in rapid, frantic overdrive. I was going to pack my bags tonight. I was going to get the hell out of this estate, leave the Romero family behind, and never, ever come back.