by Reilly, Cora
He looked up and his eyes slowly slid over my body. “Hot as hell,” he said with a grin. “Sparkly bitch? I thought you didn’t like to be called bitch.”
“I don’t like to be called bitch by others, especially you when we fight,” I said.
Matteo stalked toward me and gripped my hips. “But Gianna, sometimes you are a real b—”
I clamped my hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare say it.”
His brown eyes crinkled in amusement. I lowered my hand. “Beast,” he finished.
I hit his chest. “And you’re a cocky bastard.”
He didn’t deny it.
“How about we have drinks in the Tipsy Cow first?”
“Deal,” I said. “How can I resist a good cocktail?”
Hand in hand, we walked into the elevator and leaned against the mirror as it traveled down. Matteo regarded me. “You get more gorgeous the longer we’re together,” he said.
“That’s because your eyesight gets worse.” I was turning thirty-one this month and had found the first gray hair a few weeks ago. I’d plucked it at once but it had given me a small crisis. Matteo, the bastard, still had thick, dark hair, and even if he got gray hair at some point, I just knew it would make him look hot.
Matteo squeezed my hip. “I have perfect sight, trust me. You are sex on legs, Gianna.”
I took my burgundy lipstick out and put it to my lips, trying to hide my pleased smile.
Matteo waved at the bartender when we entered the crowded bar. We tried to have a cocktail night once a week and most of the time we came to the Tipsy Cow. Its bare brownstone walls, cowhide booths, and their amazing list of cocktails was right up our alley.
We slipped into our usual spot, sitting beside each other, thigh to thigh, in the booth. Matteo threw an arm around my shoulder and leaned in. “See, the first poor sucker thinks he can eye-fuck you.”
I followed his gaze toward a guy sitting in another booth with a woman and still leering at me. I gave him the most disgusted expression I was capable of.
“I love your resting bitch face,” Matteo said, then grabbed my face and gave me a deep kiss.
When we pulled apart, the menus rested on our table. I gave Matteo a look, embarrassed that the server had to witness our PDA.
“How about a little adventure?” Matteo asked as he picked up the menu.
I narrowed my eyes. I’d learned to be wary when it came to Matteo’s definition of adventure. “That depends.”
“We choose each other’s cocktails.”
“That’s tame for you,” I said, surprised, but actually liking the idea.
I perused the list of cocktails, trying to decide what I’d order for Matteo. Even though we’d been here countless times, there were many cocktails that Matteo had never tried, mainly the sweet and creamy variety. His usual choice was an old-fashioned. At first, I considered choosing something sickly sweet and girly to tease him but then I decided it would be more fun to try and find a cocktail he never tried because he thought it wasn’t what he liked. Smiling, I chose the Chilled Irishman.
Matteo raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. I could tell that he thought I was trying to find the cocktail he liked least.
Eventually he chose a concoction with mint schnapps and white chocolate, definitely not my usual choice.
I settled in his arms as we waited for our order. “Sometimes I’m shocked by how long we’ve been together.”
“Almost thirteen years. A lucky year?” He grinned.
I shook my head. “Did you really believe we’d last this long when we first married?”
Matteo shrugged, looking thoughtful. “To be honest, I rarely thought beyond the next weekend, much less a decade. But I knew I wanted you and that we’d be great together if you’d get over your mobster aversion.”
I rolled my eyes. I had never really gotten over my aversion for the business but I’d accepted it as part of my life. The waiter headed toward us with our cocktails. I eyed the green concoction in front of me warily. “You know how much I hate mint and chocolate together, and yet you order this.” I motioned at the glass in front of me with sprigs of mint and a mesh of white chocolate as decoration.
“You hated us together at first and now here we are.” He took a sip from his drink and nodded appreciatively.
I removed the mesh from my glass and bit a piece off before I put it down on the napkin and took a sip from my drink. My lips pulled into a grimace. “You’re lucky we worked out better than this drink.”
Matteo squeezed my hip. “I think we’re both lucky.”
I sipped at his drink and shrugged. “Deal.”
“Don’t worry, baby.”
The hell. His words and the look in his eyes didn’t match. We’d been at the dance club for less than an hour and trouble had already found Matteo, or he’d found it…
“Matteo,” I said more insistently. He put his palm flat against my bare belly and pushed me a few steps back, behind him.
I looked around. People were starting to build a circle around us in anticipation of an impending fight. They whispered among each other but it was impossible to make out anything over the loud music.
“From what hick town are you?” Matteo asked with that scary smile as he stepped up to his three opponents.
I hooked my fingers in the back of his pants but he ignored me.
The tallest of the three men jerked his chin up in challenge. He looked like a lumberjack with his broad shoulders and full beard. He could probably throw a mean right hook. “What makes you think we’re not from here, motherfucker?” He took a step closer to Matteo and so did his two friends, trying to intimidate him.
Matteo’s smile widened. “Oh, you definitely aren’t from New York.”
“Matteo,” I hissed. “This isn’t your club. There are too many people around. If you get arrested, I’m going to kick your ass.”
Tall guy shoved Matteo’s chest hard. “Think you are something better?”
Matteo stumbled a step back, right into me, and I let out a startled gasp. Matteo’s eyes flashed from me to the guy. Oh no.
“I’m better in every regard that matters,” Matteo growled. He smashed his fist into the other guy’s face who stumbled back and fell to the ground, clutching his nose, blood sloshing out of it.
And then all hell broke loose. The right guy crashed his beer bottle against the bar, breaking the lower half off, left with a sharp top.
Matteo shoved me back again and reached under his leather jacket, pulling out something and then a silver blade flashed in the flickering overhead lights.
“No!” I screamed over the beat. The crowd jeered, but in the back of the club I could see two tall bouncers pushing their way through the mass of people, and the police probably were on the way as well.
Both guys attacked Matteo. He jammed his elbow into the face of the unarmed one then faced off with the other guy. The guy made a slashing motion with the beer bottle and Matteo sidestepped him, then thrust his elbow down on the crook of the guy’s arm. I winced when the arm twisted at an impossible angle. The throbbing beat swallowed the scream of agony.
Matteo shoved the guy to the ground and pressed the knife against his throat, looking scary as hell. “So you think you can touch my wife?”
I rushed toward him and grabbed his shoulder, but he didn’t let me pull him away. A bouncer broke through the crowd. “Stop it, you fuckers! The police are here!”
Matteo dropped the knife and I quickly picked it up, closed it and shoved it into my pants. The cold metal rested in my panties.
Matteo stood and raised his arms with a twisted grin.
I was so going to kill him.
Thirty minutes later, Matteo was in an arrest cell and two of the three guys were in the one beside his, the third was in the hospital with his broken arm. I glowered at Matteo but he only grinned.
“What’s so funny?” a police officer asked. “You like spending the night in a cell?”
Matteo
didn’t say anything but his eyes promised nothing good. For a guy who couldn’t even see if I wore makeup or not, he had a very good memory when it came to faces, especially of the people who had pissed him off.
I picked up my mobile, seething, and called Luca. This was going to go over well. He’d blame me for Matteo’s mishap. After five rings, Luca’s gruff voice rang out, sounding as if I’d woken him.
“What did he do?” he asked, already pissed.
“He got himself arrested for beating the shit out of three idiots,” I clipped. The one with the swollen nose gave me a nasty look which I returned tenfold until he looked away. You’re playing with a big girl here, idiot.
“Where?”
“Brooklyn, the police station near Prospect Park.”
“I’ll be there soon.” Of course, Luca knew where that was.
Luca showed up forty minutes later. The moment he stepped in, all eyes turned to him, and how could they not, he was a goddamn giant and that in addition to the murderous look would make most people wet their pants. Behind him, a tall man in a designer suit and with brown, immaculately styled hair stepped in. The Famiglia’s new lawyer, a guy from a soldier family who’d used his intelligence to get a degree from Harvard.
The younger police officer asked in a less than friendly tone, “Who are you?”
Luca regarded him like one would a cockroach, then his gaze moved on to me, and didn’t improve.
The color drained off the face of the older officer. He obviously recognized the Capo and when his eyes flitted between Matteo and Luca, he got even paler.
The lawyer stepped forward swiftly, his face a mask of cold efficiency. “Francesco Allegri, I represent the Vitiellos’ legal interests.”
Luca came toward me and together we moved to Matteo’s cell. “I’m surprised you didn’t pull a knife,” Luca said in a deadly murmur.
Matteo grinned. “I can be sensible.”
I snorted. “He actually pulled it.”
Luca’s eyes slanted to me. “Where is it?”
“In my panties,” I said.
Luca shook his head, then narrowed his eyes at his brother who watched me with a predatory grin. If he thought I’d let him anywhere near my panties in the near future, he was going to be disillusioned soon.
“One day I won’t bail you out,” Luca muttered. “I thought marriage would make you reasonable. Of course, I’d hoped you’d marry a reasonable woman.”
“Hey,” I hissed. “It’s not my fault that the assholes over there touched my butt.”
As if that explained everything, Luca gave Matteo a nod. Of course, he would understand Matteo’s reasoning. Luca would have cut off the guy’s hands right on the dance floor if the idiot had touched Aria’s butt. Jealous mobsters were the worst.
I didn’t say a word to Matteo on our way home. The second we stepped into our apartment, Matteo held out his hand, palm up. “You can give me my knife back.”
“I can but I won’t,” I said angrily, and tried to stalk away, but Matteo gripped my wrist and tugged me back. Then he backed me into the wall, his arms to both sides of my head, and the predator look in his dark eyes went straight into my core. I couldn’t believe this was making me wet. Damn it. I didn’t want to be turned on by Matteo’s brutality, by his dark side, but I was.
“I could just get it,” he said in a dangerously sexy drawl.
“I didn’t give you permission to reach into my pants.”
Matteo leaned down, running his nose over my ear, then growling. “You’re my wife, Mrs. Vitiello. That gives me permission to put my hand wherever the fuck I want.” He pressed his palm to my naked stomach and my skin broke into goose bumps, my core tightening.
I bit his earlobe. “No, it doesn’t.”
Matteo drew back. He cupped the back of my head and brushed his lips over mine, then slid his tongue inside, and I almost moaned into his mouth. His hand slid a bit lower so his fingertips slipped inside my pants. He groaned. “Fuck, have you been sewn into these fucking pants?”
I laughed, couldn’t help it. Matteo lowered his other hand and popped open the button of my jeans. “Matteo,” I warned.
He met my gaze and slowly slid his hand lower. “You have something I want,” he said.
Oh fuck. My panties were drenched, the stupid bastard.
His fingertips brushed my pubic bone and then they found his knife, which was pressed up against my folds and embarrassingly slick with my arousal.
Matteo’s eyes dilated with desire and he groaned low in his throat. He pressed into me, breath hot on my lips. “Tell me, Gianna, are you turned on by bad boys?”
I glared up at him. “No,” I said, which was the truth in general. “But I’ll tell you a secret.” I made my voice the sexy whisper that always got him. “I’m always wet for a twisted, murderous gangsta.”
Matteo smiled in a way that tightened my core again. He cupped his knife but instead of pulling it out, he began sliding the smooth metal along my slit, back and forth.
I moaned. Matteo’s mouth took mine as he kept rubbing. I rocked against him desperately, seeking friction that the smooth metal hardly provided, and yet the thrill of the forbidden, the wrong of it, drove me higher and higher, and finally I came all over the knife, crying out my release.
Matteo watched me, breathing raggedly. Slowly he pulled his knife out and held it up between us. It was coated with my juices. Matteo pressed the button that made the blade shoot out and even that was slick. Holding my gaze, Matteo ran his tongue along the blade, and I almost came again. I gripped his hand and brought the knife to my own mouth. Matteo angled it so the sharp edge was facing away and then I slowly licked over the smooth metal, tasting myself on the deadly weapon.
“This is so much better than blood,” he rasped.
Damn it all, I wanted this man so much. I fell to my knees before him and ripped at his buttons and zipper, then pulled down his boxers until his cock sprang out. Hard and leaking, and fuck, even that piece of Matteo was pretty. Sometimes I really hated him.
I licked over the tip, then took him into my mouth. Matteo moaned and rocked his hips as I sucked him. My eyes kept drifting to the deadly knife clutched in his hand at his side and the sight aroused me in a twisted way.
Matteo jerked back. “Enough.”
He pulled me to my feet and pushed me toward the kitchen and bent me over the kitchen island. He tugged my pants down, then pushed two fingers into me. I threw my head back, arching at the delicious sensation.
I huffed in protest when he pulled out.
He clapped my butt hard. I jerked more in surprise than pain. “Next time you give me my knife when I tell you to.”
I threw an indignant look over my shoulder. “You—“
My insult died in a cry when Matteo slammed into me. He leaned over me. “I’m going to fuck you now, Mrs. Vitiello.”
And good Lord, he did. My hips banged against the marble as he slammed into me over and over again, his balls slapping against my ass. I clutched the edge of the island, needing something to hold on to. Matteo’s grip on my hips was bruising. My core clenched, and I screamed out my release, almost passing out from the force of it. Matteo followed shortly after, and then I lay in a boneless heap over the marble counter, breathing harshly. Matteo kissed my cheek.
“I hated seeing that bastard put his hand on your ass,” Matteo murmured.
“I know,” I said. “I just wish not every other of our dance nights would end with you in trouble.”
“I like trouble, which is why I like you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like?”
“Fishing for compliments?”
I jerked my ass back and clenched around his cock. He hissed then chuckled. “All right, babe, I love you.”
I sighed, hardly mollified, considering he’d called me by the name I hated the most.
“I’m never going to clean my knife again.” He nuzzled my neck.
“Just don’t cum in your pants next time you stab so
meone.”
“Hmm. That’s going to be hard knowing I’m cutting someone down with your pussy juice on my knife.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe I was as twisted as Matteo. We really were a perfect pair.
Gianna
For a long time, I stared down at the pregnancy test, unable to trust my eyes. We were supposed to leave for the Hamptons in exactly two hours but I wasn’t sure I could move. I’d done the test out of paranoia. I was only one day overdue, nothing to get worried about, but I had a stash of tests in the bathroom.
“Gianna?” Matteo called.
I swallowed, my fingers on the test tightening further. “I’m here.” I didn’t recognize my voice. It was weak and stunned.
I hadn’t taken the pill in over a year because it wreaked havoc with my body but I’d used a pessary or condoms. Over the year we’d been too horny for contraception about a handful of times but my OB/GYN had told me that my chances of getting pregnant naturally were minimal. I’d been relieved back then. It had seemed like a sign that my body was as against having kids as my brain.
Minimal chances.
Still the second line on my pregnancy test mocked me with its intensity.
Matteo pushed the door open and found me sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
“Why are you hiding in here?” he asked as he stepped in, then his eyes settled on the test in my hand and he froze.
“Gianna?”
I met his gaze. “I’m pregnant.”