In Love With The Mafia Kings Son

Chapter 15

The week was finally drawing to a close, but for Letty, the last few days had been a torment. The raw, vivid climax of her s*x dream had become a terrifying reality check. She was heavily distracted, her mind constantly betraying her with reoccurring flashes of Dante’s dominance and her own deep, physical pleasure. The very thought of his voice, his touch, or the promise of "more" sent a shameful rush of heat through her.

It was Friday, the day of the MMA fight and the sleepover. The anticipation was a tangible weight.

Even looking at Dante during their silent morning drive was nearly impossible; she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the window, terrified that her face would give away the blush and the arousal she felt simply by being near him.

The final bell shrilled, and Letty made a beeline for the front doors, eager to put distance between herself and the day's intensity. She walked out of Westwood Academy, clutching her backpack, when chaos erupted at the curb.

A sleek, customized Dodge Challenger roared up, tires momentarily skidding to a stop directly in front of her. The car was a startling clash of colors: black with shocking pink accents. Letty jumped slightly, her hand flying to her chest.

The window rolled down, revealing Isabella behind the wheel, her eyes hidden behind massive black sunglasses.

“Get in,” Isabella commanded, her voice sharp. “We have a lot of work to do, bitch.”

Letty froze, the aggressive tone instantly pushing her into compliance. Instinctively, she scanned the parking lot, searching for the familiar black Shelby and its imposing owner.

Isabella scoffed, reading her mind. “Don’t worry, the big bad wolf isn’t here. Dante told me to pick you up and take you to our house to get ready. He leaves school early for his fights, obviously.”

Letty slowly walked up and climbed into the passenger side. The car’s interior was plush, with black leather and startling pink LED ambient lights running along the dash. It smelled strongly of cherry air freshener, masking the expensive leather beneath.

As Isabella peeled away from the curb, Letty cleared her throat. She realized she had walked straight out of school with nothing but her backpack.

“I… I don’t have a change of clothes or anything for the fight,” Letty mumbled, suddenly aware of her simple school uniform.

Isabella glanced at her, a predatory smirk curving her lip. “Please. I’ll find you something at the house. And I guarantee whatever I have is a thousand times better than whatever you had in mind.”

Isabella parked the black-and-pink Challenger in the sprawling, spotless garage, its roar echoing in the cavernous space. Letty quickly grabbed her worn backpack and followed Isabella through a discreet interior door that led into the main house. This was Letty’s first time stepping beyond the functional areas of the compound.

The Rossi mansion was not just a home; it was a monument to untaxed, limitless wealth. The air was cool, sterile, and scented with expensive, subtle perfume. The floors were polished marble, reflecting the enormous, crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the grand foyer. The space was glamorous, huge, and impossibly clean, filled with minimalist furniture and soaring white walls.

Letty followed Isabella, her eyes wide. Several members of the help staff—cleaners, house managers, and security personnel—passed them, moving with quiet, professional efficiency. Isabella ignored them completely, her face set in a bored mask.

Letty, however, was trained differently. When a woman in a crisp uniform offered a low "Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Letty immediately returned the greeting in flawless French. When a man sweeping the marble nodded, Letty replied with a soft "Buenas tardes" in Spanish. The staff smiled at her, a gesture of surprise and appreciation for her simple, human acknowledgment—and her perfect command of their languages.

They reached the massive, sweeping staircase that defined the center of the foyer. It was a visual masterpiece: twin curved staircases of dark wood and black marble, accented by intricate, scrolling wrought-iron banisters that met beneath the towering chandelier.

Letty followed Isabella up to the second floor, which was just as overwhelming.

Isabella led Letty into her bedroom. The space was enormous—easily the size of Letty’s entire apartment. The walls were lined with luxurious, pale marble and gold trim, and the entire room was bathed in soft, recessed lighting . In the center, a huge, round bed sat on a raised platform, covered in custom linens.

Isabella turned to look at Letty, her usual hurry vanishing. She closed the distance, her scrutiny sudden and intimate. She gently brushed a damp strand of hair from Letty’s face, her manicured nail barely grazing Letty's skin.

"Honestly, you have such great skin," Isabella murmured, examining Letty's face closely. "Barely any blemishes. So you won't need much cover-up, if any."

Isabella examined Letty’s eyes, noting the deep, dark shade and the long lashes. "I think a classic black wing eyeliner will make your eyes pop. We can do that."

She then looked down at Letty’s mouth, a genuine smirk of amusement and curiosity appearing on her face. Isabella was an artist in her own right, and Letty was a fascinating, untouched canvas.

"And cherry red," Isabella declared, her voice low and confident. "Cherry red on those full, plump lips will definitely make my brother weak in the knees."

Letty’s breath hitched sharply. The realization of the setup—that this transformation was explicitly for Dante—sent a fresh, hot wave of shame and anticipation through her. She couldn't speak, only stand there, caught in the web of Isabella's design.

Isabella saw the reaction, the immediate, involuntary physical betrayal. Her smirk tightened. "Come on," she commanded, taking Letty's arm and steering her toward a dressing area. "Let's get started. We don't have all night."

Isabella, with a casual flick of her hand, led Letty into her walk-in closet. Letty gasped. It was literally the size of her entire living room, a sprawling, impeccably organized space. Gilded chandeliers hung from a high, ornate ceiling, bathing rows upon rows of designer clothes, shoes, bags, and accessories in a soft, warm glow. Central islands of polished wood gleamed, topped with velvet trays of sparkling jewelry. It was a designer dungeon, a monument to consumerism. Letty was speechless, her scholarship girl uniform a stark contrast to the overwhelming display of wealth.

Isabella walked over to one side that housed an endless rack of dresses, her fingers casually flicking through the silks, velvets, and satins. She muttered to herself, a low hum of consideration, before her eyes lit up.

"This," she declared, pulling a dress from the rack and holding it up to Letty.

It was a showstopper. The top was a shimmering, metallic gold halter neck, with a deeply plunging cowl that draped provocatively, hinting at the cleavage beneath. The bottom was a tight, ruched black miniskirt that ended high on the thigh, made from a material that looked like liquid leather. It was sexy, daring, and unlike anything Letty had ever imagined wearing.

Isabella nodded, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Yup, that's the one." She snapped her fingers. "Get undressed and put this on while I find some shoes to match." She turned and walked to the opposite side, where a whole wall was dedicated to shoes, each pair a sculpted work of art.

Letty hesitantly slipped out of her school uniform, her modest clothes pooling at her feet. She slid into the dress, the metallic fabric cool against her skin, the tight skirt clinging to her hips. She felt utterly uncomfortable and exposed, the plunging neckline and short hemline revealing more skin than she had ever shown in her life. She kept instinctively pulling the bottom of the dress down, trying to cover her thighs, but the ruched fabric resisted.

Isabella returned, a pair of gleaming black open-toe stilettos in her hand. "Since you're a gymnast and a ballerina, these should be no problem to walk in," she observed, her eyes assessing Letty's posture. "The trick is to walk on your toes, keep your weight forward." She looked at Letty, now fully dressed, and her smile widened into a genuinely impressed grin.

"Girl, you're actually f*****g hot," Isabella declared, her tone surprisingly genuine. "For a scholarship girl."

She led Letty to a plush chaise lounge couch in the middle of the closet and gently, but firmly, laid her down. Before Letty could fully process what was happening, Isabella grabbed her makeup kit. To Letty’s surprise, Isabella then got on top of her, straddling her hips, her knees gently pinning Letty's legs, her own hips resting on Letty’s thighs.

Isabella leaned in, her face close, her fingers already working on Letty's eyes, the brush a soft, teasing feather against her skin. "So," Isabella murmured, her voice low and conspiratorial, "my brother likes you."

Letty’s eyes widened, unable to respond, her body pinned beneath Isabella, her senses overwhelmed by the proximity and the shocking confession.

Isabella chuckled, applying a perfect swipe of black eyeliner to Letty's eyelid. "It's interesting, actually, 'cause Dante doesn't 'like' anyone. He doesn't do relationships, says they're too messy and too much work." Isabella finished one eye and moved to the next, her gaze intense. "But with you, he's... different. He's never offered rides to people, never told people they're off-limits."

Letty’s brow furrowed slightly, a silent question. She remembered Brenda’s warning, Dante’s punishment, and Isabella’s casual cruelty. This was all a game to them, but a dangerous one.

Isabella finished Letty’s eyes, her work precise and flawless. She then moved down to Letty’s lips, pulling out a rich, cherry-red lipstick. She leaned in even closer, her eyes glittering with amusement and something deeper, something knowing.

"Especially," Isabella whispered, her voice a low purr as she began to paint Letty’s full, plump lips, "especially when he hasn't f****d you... yet."

Letty felt her skin prickle from the direct, explicit words, but it wasn't fear that coursed through her veins. It was a raw, undeniable excitement, a profound thrill that sent a shocking rush of heat straight to her core. The word "yet" hung in the air, a dark promise that Letty's subconscious was already aching to fulfill.