In Love With The Mafia Kings Son

Chapter 13

Letty’s heart still pounded from the shock of her $100-an-hour negotiation as she retrieved the family's finished orders. She moved quickly, balancing the heavy trays, her waiter's uniform stark white against the dark leather of the private booth.

She placed the dishes down with quiet efficiency, her movements professional yet still subtly shy and timid.

She didn't look at the family, focusing entirely on the placement of the plates, but she felt the immense, combined weight of their gazes.

What truly caught Rosa Rossi’s eye was not Letty's service, but her son’s reaction to it. Dante watched the girl’s every move—the way her small hand grasped the edge of the tray, the slight, nervous tremor in her posture, and the moment her eyes refused to meet his. His attention was absolute, predatory, and entirely proprietary.

Letty finally set the last plate down and quickly retreated, melting back toward the kitchen, desperate to escape the center of their power.

Rosa, the Mafia Queen, took a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her eyes tracking Letty until she disappeared. A small, knowing smirk played on her lips as she turned her attention to her son.

“She seems sweet,” Rosa observed casually, her tone gentle.

Dante, who had already picked up his fork, merely nodded in agreement, beginning to eat. He avoided his mother’s gaze, a clear sign to Rosa that she had hit a nerve.

Rosa chuckled softly, continuing her subtle probe.

"And very smart, too. That French was perfect." She paused, then tilted her head, her voice dropping slightly. "A little timid and shy, yes. But that can also be a good thing."

Dante stopped chewing. He took a deep, deliberate breath and looked up, meeting his mother's shrewd gaze with a flicker of annoyance.

“Just say what you really want to say, Mom.”

Rosa laughed, a low, throaty sound that was both warm and calculating. She took a slow bite of her food. "I'm just saying, mi dulce niño," she said, savoring the term, "she seems like a good girl. A lot better than some of those others you bring home."

Isabella smirked, stabbing a piece of ravioli with her fork. “You got that right. At least this one has a brain.”

Dante’s eyes flared, and he glared at Isabella for the cheap shot, confirming his sister's assessment of his interest.

It was Antonio who ended the exchange, his voice booming with satisfaction. He pointed his fork toward the spot where Letty had stood.

“Well,” the Mafia King declared, settling the matter with finality. “I like her.”

The verdict was rendered, and Letty, unknowingly, had just received the highest possible stamp of approval from the most dangerous family in California.

Letty managed to regain her composure, focusing on the rhythmic certainty of her job. When the family was finished, she approached the table, her pencil poised over her pad.

“How was everything? Would you like any dessert?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

Antonio grinned, patting his impressive stomach.

“Everything was perfect, bella.” He paused. “I may have room for a cannoli or two to go. For the ride home.”

The others declined dessert. Letty nodded, efficiently clearing the table. She stacked the expensive ceramic plates, her attention glued to the task. She was almost finished when she misjudged the space and accidentally brushed her body against Dante’s arm as she reached for a glass.

The contact was brief—a fleeting touch of her hip against his coiled, immense strength—but it was enough to send a sharp jolt through her. Her breath hitched. She quickly gathered the final dishes and walked quickly toward the kitchen, the heat rising in her neck.

Isabella smirked, highly amused by the new girl’s obvious, involuntary reaction, but wisely said nothing.

Letty returned a moment later with a small, neatly tied box containing Antonio’s cannolis.

Antonio rose, his height overwhelming in the close space. He gently took the box, and as he did, his warm, large hand gently touched hers. He didn't let go immediately. He held her gaze, his smile radiating old-world charm.

“Grazie, bella,” he said in a low, conspiratorial Italian, then in English, he added, “See you soon, Nicolette.”

Before he released her hand, he pressed something cold and crisp into her palm—a folded bill. Letty looked down: one hundred dollars. He gave her a deliberate wink, confirming the tip was not a mistake.

Antonio, Rosa, and Isabella turned and walked out of the restaurant, their powerful figures dissolving into the night. Letty stood frozen, the hundred-dollar bill clenched in her hand. She slipped the bill into her apron pocket, her mind reeling from the casual generosity and the direct promise of "see you soon."

Letty turned to gather the last remnants of the dinner—the napkins, the spilled crumbs—when she realized Dante had stayed behind. He was standing just a few feet away from the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his presence a silent, immovable guard.

He stared at her, the usual smirk replaced by a look of controlled focus. “How did you get here tonight?”

Letty jumped slightly, not expecting the direct, private question. She hesitated, looking toward the front door. “The bus.”

Dante took a deep, heavy breath, his possessiveness surging. The idea of her exposed and alone in the rougher parts of the city, especially after his father had just staked a claim on her time, was unacceptable.

“When do you get off your shift?”

Letty glanced at the clock across the dining room.

“Forty-five minutes.”

Dante nodded once, the decision made. “I’ll be waiting for you out front.”

He didn't wait for a response, didn't offer an excuse, and didn't give her a chance to protest. He simply turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Letty alone with the dishes, the silence, and the knowledge that she was now fully under the command of the Mafia Prince.

Letty finished folding the napkins with meticulous care, the thought of Dante waiting outside both terrifying and thrilling. Her shift was finally over.

Rocco called her and Gina over, counted out their tips, and Letty found herself with a significant amount of cash, especially combined with Antonio's generous hundred-dollar bill. She thanked Rocco, handed him her apron, and walked to the front door, her heart hammering a fierce rhythm.

She stepped onto the sidewalk. The night was cool, but the figure leaning casually against the hood of the black Shelby radiated heat.

Dante was an aesthetic crime in the drab light of the street lamp. He wore a dark shirt, his massive arms crossed over his chest, emphasizing the intimidating breadth of his shoulders. His dark, messy hair and light stubble completed the look of a beautiful, volatile predator.

He saw her and gave a small, slow nod, his eyes conveying a serious, non-negotiable command: Come here.

Letty hesitated for only a second, the heat from her s*x dream immediately returning, overriding any sense of self-preservation. She obediently walked to him, stopping directly in front of his formidable frame.

Dante took a deep breath that pulled the fabric tighter across his chest. His voice was low and gravely, carrying a weight that demanded silence.

“You disobeyed me.”

Letty furrowed her brow in confusion, her fear momentarily yielding to genuine bewilderment.

“I told you you’re not to take the bus anymore, Nicolette,” he continued, his voice heavy with controlled annoyance. “And you did.”

Letty’s compliance faltered. She spoke before she could stop herself, clinging to the technicality. “You said not to take the bus to and from school.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, and a slow, predatory smirk curved his lips. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Are you talking back, little one?”

Letty swallowed hard, the title of ownership dissolving her defense. She looked down and quickly shook her head no.

“Good.” The smirk widened. He unfolded his arms and stepped closer, crowding her space. “It insinuated you take the bus at all—and now, I have to punish you.”

Letty’s breath hitched in her throat. Her mind screamed the word punishment, but the fear was already mixing with a bewildering rush of anticipation.

Before she could form a question, Dante acted. He gently but firmly grabbed Letty by the waist, his huge hands easily spanning her petite frame, and pulled her flush against the hard, solid muscle of his body. The contact was shocking and electric. He sat back down on the hood of the car.

Then, his deep voice commanded, “Lay across my lap. Now.”

Letty’s pulse raced—a frantic, eager rhythm. She knew this was wrong, utterly forbidden, yet her body moved on its own, strangely obeying the raw dominance in his tone. She laid herself across his thighs, her chest and stomach pressed flat against the unyielding warmth of his legs. The rough denim of his jeans was a jarring, thrilling texture against her shirt.

Dante’s hands, large and deliberate, began a slow, sensual journey. He gently pressed her body flat against his legs, then stroked one palm down her back, starting at the base of her shoulders, following the curve of her spine to the curve of her butt, where his hand settled for a searing moment.

Letty’s pulse quickened, her skin prickling with anticipation. She was entirely surrendered, completely helpless, and the utter lack of control was flooding her with a terrifying, profound release. What is he going to do?

Then, the first sharp, sudden slap landed.

Letty gasped, the sound sucked from her lungs. The feeling was a shock, but it wasn't pain. It was a precise, stunning sting that immediately traveled through her core, triggering an involuntary rush of shame and intoxicating pleasure. Her muscles tensed, not in fear, but in anticipation of the next blow.

He did it again, firm and loud, then a third time. Letty buried her face, the humiliation of the public setting compounding the private sensation. But the shame was quickly being overpowered by the deep, physical reaction to his absolute dominance. Each strike was an affirmation of his right to command her. He continued the discipline, a fourth, and a fifth time.

Letty realized, with a rush of humiliating clarity, that she wasn’t scared; she was enjoying it. Her body was trembling, not with terror, but with a raw, desperate arousal that felt like a complete, visceral betrayal of her entire life. This was the D&S that Brenda had warned her about, and Letty was a willing, if utterly terrified, participant.

Dante finally stopped. His hand settled flat and heavy on her bottom, the heat of his palm a final, proprietary claim.