Dirty Moans With My Husband's Father

Episode13

Olivia

The sight of the worn, red leather cover in Bruno’s hand sent a violent shockwave straight to my core. My heart hammered a frantic, bruising rhythm against my ribs, but I refused to let a single ounce of that paralyzing terror show on my face. I forced my spine completely straight. I locked my knees to stop them from trembling. Taking a deep breath of the bleach-scented air, I channeled every bit of the cold, untouchable American heiress my father raised me to be.

"Because you are holding a piece of fiction, Bruno," I said. My voice was eerily smooth. Bored, even. "Did you really think I would write down actual vault codes in a notebook and leave it in a vanity drawer?"

Bruno’s eyes narrowed into dark, dangerous slits. He stepped closer, aggressively shaking the small book right in my face. "There are dates in here, Olivia. There are highly specific details about my father. About you. About numbers and locations."

"It is a coping mechanism," I lied, spinning the bluff without missing a single beat. "You brought a pregnant mistress into my home and paraded her around my social circle. My therapist suggested I write out my darkest, most taboo fantasies to process the absolute humiliation you put me through. If you actually read the financial pages, you would realize half the offshore accounts listed in there do not even exist."

Bruno stared at me. For a split second, the sheer, unapologetic confidence in my tone made him hesitate. But the deep-rooted paranoia of an Italian underboss quickly swallowed his doubt.

He let out a harsh, ugly laugh. He shoved the ledger back into the inner pocket of his dark suit jacket. "You are a fantastic liar, mia moglie. But I do not buy a single word of it."

"Give it back," I demanded, holding out an unsteady hand. "It belongs to me."

"It belongs to the Romero family now," Bruno spat. He stepped so close I could smell the stale mint and bitter espresso on his breath. "And let me make this crystal clear. If you ever try to pack a bag again, or if you even think about dragging my name into an American divorce court, I will not just make you suffer. I will initiate a hostile takeover of your father's entire shipping empire. I will dismantle your family's remaining legacy, and I will personally see to it that your cousin Michael is buried in a concrete foundation before Christmas."

The blood drained completely from my face. My stomach dropped into a bottomless, icy pit. He was holding my entire family hostage over a little red book.

"What is going on here?"

The deep, resonant voice instantly dropped the temperature in the laundry room by ten degrees.

Don Antonio stood in the doorway. He had shed his suit jacket, wearing only his tailored slacks and a crisp white shirt. The lethal, oppressive weight of his presence filled the small space, entirely suffocating the remaining oxygen.

Bruno stiffened. He turned his head, his broad shoulders bunching with defensive tension. "This is between me and my wife. Stay out of it."

Antonio's eyes darkened. He took a slow, measured step onto the tiled floor. "You are raising your voice in my house, Bruno. I will not ask you twice."

I did not hesitate. I bypassed my husband's fragile ego entirely and looked straight at the Don. "He bribed one of your maids to break into my private bedroom. He stole my personal ledger, and now he is using it to blackmail me and threaten my family's lives."

Silence slammed down on the room. It was thick, heavy, and absolute.

Antonio shifted his gaze to his son. The look in his hazel eyes was not just anger; it was pure, unadulterated murder. He did not yell. He did not draw a weapon. He simply stared at Bruno with a cold, terrifying command that echoed louder than a gunshot. Hand it over.

Bruno's chest heaved. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He was visibly terrified of his father, but the manic pride poisoning his brain refused to let him submit. His hand instinctively flew to his chest, firmly covering the pocket where the ledger sat.

"No," Bruno ground out, his voice shaking with a volatile mix of fear and defiance. "She is my wife. This is my property."

Without waiting for a response, Bruno forcefully shoved his way past his father's shoulder and stormed out of the laundry room. His heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor in a frantic, desperate retreat.

The second Bruno disappeared from sight, the cold, untouchable mask I wore completely shattered. My knees buckled slightly. I grabbed the warm top of the industrial dryer just to keep myself standing.

"Antonio, please," I begged. The desperation in my voice was raw and pathetic, but I did not care. My chest tightened painfully. "You have to get that book back. You don't understand what is in there. He has the master passwords to my family's remaining trusts. If he uses them, he will destroy everything my father built."

I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I fully expected to see the protective fury from the dining room. I expected him to pull his silver gun from his waistband and hunt his son down like an animal.

Instead, Antonio looked down at me with the cold, calculating eyes of a ruthless businessman. The soft, seductive lover from the empty guest room was entirely gone.

"I told you exactly how this works, Olivia," Antonio said softly. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a dark, heavy shadow over my face. "I told you I would fix all of your problems. I told you I would crush Bruno and return your empire."

He reached out, tracing the sharp line of my jaw with a rough knuckle. "But you refused my protection. You said you would save yourself."

A cold chill raced down my spine. The realization hit me like a physical blow to the ribs. "Are you seriously doing this right now? He is going to ruin my family!"

"And I can stop him with a single phone call," Antonio replied, his tone perfectly even and terrifyingly calm. "I will retrieve your ledger. I will put Bruno on his knees. But you know the price. You submit to me. You agree to be mine, completely and unconditionally, or you fight this war on your own."

A hot, blinding wave of absolute rage ignited in my chest, burning away the tears in an instant. He was using my terror to trap me. He was leveraging my family's survival to force me into his bed.

"You are just as much of a monster as he is," I yelled, violently slapping his large hand away from my face. "I will never sell myself to you like that. I would rather lose everything!"

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the laundry room. I did not look back. I marched blindly down the hallway, the furious clicking of my heels masking the violent trembling in my legs.

Reaching my bedroom, I threw the door open and slammed it shut behind me. I flipped the heavy brass deadbolt, slid the chain lock into place, and backed away until my spine hit the edge of my mattress.

My pulse roared like a freight train in my ears. The panic I had expertly suppressed was now actively drowning me. Bruno had the codes. He had the power. He had a massive head start.

I dropped to my knees, frantically digging through my discarded purse on the floor. My fingers finally closed around the cold metal of my cell phone. I unlocked the screen with a shaking thumb and forcefully hit the speed dial for New York.

The line rang twice before the connection clicked open.

"Michael," I gasped, my words spilling out in a rapid, frantic rush. "Listen to me very carefully. You need to call Elias right this second. Tell him to put up maximum firewalls on the secondary trusts. Freeze every single offshore holding account under my father’s name. Bruno has my private ledger. He has the master passwords. Do not let him make any legal or financial moves!"

I stopped to pull precious oxygen into my burning lungs. I waited for Michael to curse, to yell, to tell me he was already contacting the bank executives.

But the line was dead silent.

"Michael?" I pressed the phone harder against my ear. A sickening wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. "Michael, did you hear me?"

A heavy, shuddering breath crackled through the tiny speaker.

"Olivia," Michael finally spoke. His voice was entirely hollow. It trembled violently, completely stripped of its usual commanding strength. "I... I was actually just about to call you."

"Why?" I asked. My throat completely closed up. "What is wrong?"

"There has been a breach," he whispered. "A massive one. Olivia, they got past the secondary firewalls ten minutes ago. The main holding accounts..." His voice broke, dissolving into a raw sound of pure devastation. "They are completely empty."