Dirty Moans With My Husband's Father

Episode11

OLIVIA

Panic gnawed relentlessly at the lining of my stomach ever since I found out about it. That little red leather ledger held absolutely everything. Passwords. Hidden vault codes.

And far worse, a hint about every dirty, shameful detail of what Don Antonio Romero did to my body. If Bruno found that book, I was dead.

A fleeting, desperate thought crossed my mind to pick up the phone and call Antonio. He could snap his fingers and make the ledger disappear. But making that call meant willingly walking into his golden cage, and I refused to surrender my freedom.

Despite the freezing draft leaking through the windowpane, my face burned piping hot. My treacherous mind dragged me right back to the Italian estate. I squeezed my eyes shut, and the visceral memory hit me like a physical blow. The sheer, terrifying size of his massive c**k sliding deep inside me.

The relentless, brutal way he pounded my hips against the heavy oak dresser. Heat pooled instantly between my thighs. My cunt throbbed with a heavy, wet ache. I hated how easily my body craved a man who terrified me.

The next morning, gray light filtered into the estate's breakfast room. Michael stared at me from across the marble table, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.

"You wrote it down on actual paper?" my cousin demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Are you out of your f*****g mind, Olivia?"

"I had to keep track of the offshore accounts," I defended weakly, rubbing my throbbing temples. "Bruno monitors my entire digital footprint. Paper was the only safe option."

Michael slammed his cup down, spilling hot coffee onto the saucer. "It's suicide! Let me make a few calls. I can hire a cleaner in Sicily to infiltrate the house and grab it."

"No," I argued, leaning forward over the table. "Romero security is impenetrable. Your guy would be shot dead before he even reached the staircase. I have to go back and get it myself."

Fourteen hours later, the heavy iron gates of the Romero estate loomed out of the Italian darkness. My nerves were completely frayed by the time the driver dropped me off at the side entrance.

Stepping cautiously through the service doors, I immediately bumped into Rosa.

The cheerful, middle-aged maid beamed at me, her arms full of fresh linens. "Signora Romero! You are back so soon. We missed your light around here."

"Thank you, Rosa," I managed to say, forcing a tight, polite smile. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "I just realized I left something very important behind. I am in a bit of a rush."

I sidestepped her before she could ask any further questions and practically sprinted toward the main staircase. The house felt unnervingly quiet.

Halfway down the second-floor corridor, a towering shadow stepped out of the study. My blood ran completely cold.

Don Antonio stood in the middle of the hallway. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows. A dark, incredibly knowing smile spread across his handsome face the second his hazel eyes locked onto mine.

"f**k," I muttered under my breath. Keeping my head down, I tried to briskly walk past him.

His large hand shot out, wrapping effortlessly around my upper arm. His grip was an iron vise, halting my momentum instantly. "Leaving the nest already, little bird?"

"Let me go," I snapped, refusing to look him in the eye. "I just forgot something. I am grabbing it and flying right back to New York."

The arrogant smile vanished from his face. He stepped fully into my space, forcing me to back up until my spine hit the silk wallpaper.

"You are an American, Olivia, but you married into our world," Antonio said, his voice dropping to a dominant, lethal register. "Mafia wives do not just pack a suitcase and leave. There are blood oaths. There are sacred customs. Your husband owns your name until the day you die."

His harsh words stripped away my pathetic illusions of freedom. He used the brutal reality of the syndicate to completely dismantle my logic.

"You cannot outrun this," he murmured, his tone turning hypnotic and deeply possessive. "The only way you survive this marriage is under my protection."

His free hand slid down to my waist, pulling my hips flush against his body. I gasped softly. The solid, heavy ridge of his hard erection pressed right into my stomach through his tailored slacks.

His rough palm gripped my ass, kneading the soft flesh aggressively. Every defense mechanism I built over the last two days completely shattered.

He twisted the brass knob of the nearest door—an empty guest suite—and dragged me inside, kicking the heavy wood shut behind us.

The room was pitch black. He slammed me against the door, swallowing my startled cry with a brutal, starving kiss. His hands tore frantically at my clothes. He shoved my skirt up to my waist and ruthlessly yanked my panties down my thighs. My hands scrambled blindly to unbuckle his leather belt. We were seconds away from tearing each other apart right there in the dark.

But then-

"Where the f**k is she?!"

The explosive, enraged scream echoed directly outside the thin wood of the door. It was Bruno.

I physically recoiled, ripping my mouth away from Antonio's lips. My heart stopped dead in my chest.

Pure, paralyzing terror washed over my entire body as heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway, stopping right outside our door.