Sergio: a Dark Mafia Romance

by Natasha Knight

  “Fine.”

  I arrive early at the restaurant where I’m meeting Vitelli. My men have already checked the place and I’m on my second espresso when Vitelli and two of his men walk in. I haven’t seen him since a wedding eight months ago, but he hasn’t changed much. Maybe a few more gray hairs, but he’s got the same look on his face as always, the one that says he’s owed something simply for the sake of a shared history, and I don’t like it.

  After my men are done searching them, Vitelli approaches the table alone.

  “Sergio,” he says in greeting.

  We don’t shake hands.

  “Sit down.” I signal the lone waiter. “What would you like?”

  He looks at my espresso and orders the same.

  “How’s Joe?” I ask. It’s unspoken who did the damage, but we all know.

  “Recovering.” His tone is flat. “Although it’ll be slow.”

  I nod. Sip the last of my espresso as he gets his. Silence drags out, but it doesn’t bother me. I want him to start.

  “Look, Sergio, our families go way back. We were neighbors in Calabria.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yes, but we have history. Shared roots. My boys,” he focuses his attention on the little espresso cup, and I see his mouth harden, see the rage behind it.

  Violent men. It’s what we are. He and I both.

  He looks up at me. “My boys fucked up, Sergio.”

  “Yeah, they did. And Joe fucked up twice.”

  “My youngest is sitting in a fucking hospital bed with his face sewn together.”

  I study him, my expression even. Give him a minute to compose himself.

  “You played together when you were little, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Like I said, that was a long time ago. I know you were unaware of their dealings, but I’m not sure that’s an excuse. If you’re unable to control your family...” I let my words trail off.

  His shoulders visibly tense up and a moment later, he clears his throat. “It was an oversight,” he acknowledges, knowing where I’m going. Knowing he can easily be replaced. Am I surprised he values his position over loyalty to his own sons?

  “Will it happen again?”

  “No.”

  “Because if it does, someone will be in a box rather than a hospital bed. Am I clear?”

  His youngest got his eyes from him. The same arrogance fills them.

  “You’re clear, Sergio.” He makes to stand, but stops halfway up. “How’s your mother?”

  I feel my eyes narrow, feel hate move through me.

  “Your uncle mentioned she’s finished with her treatments.”

  My uncle did what? He must see my surprise because I see that minuscule hint of victory in his eyes.

  “Wish her well from my family.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Vitelli.”

  I watch him leave, rage boiling inside me. How dare my uncle discuss our family’s private affairs with anyone? Especially this.

  Checking my watch, I get up and walk to the back door. Eric’s beside the car. I get in, preoccupied now. This meeting didn’t go as planned. As I expected. I’m distracted as we drive to the hospital but when we pull up and I climb out, I take a breath in, compose myself. I’ll deal with Roman later. Right now, I need to be here for my mother.

  When I arrive at the doctor’s office, they’re waiting for me. My mother and father sitting across from the doctor, my mom’s head wrapped in a teal blue scarf. Roman is standing off to the side.

  “Sergio,” she says when she sees me. “There you are.”

  “Mom.” She stands and I hug her, feel how much weight she’s lost. And I think I already know what the doctor’s going to tell us. I think she does too when she pulls back and gives me a weak smile. I wonder if all of this, if it isn’t for our sake. If she isn’t humoring us. Giving my father hope because she knows what will happen to him without it.

  Another moment later, the door opens and my brothers, Salvatore and Dominic step inside. Salvatore spots me first, greets me, then our mother. Dominic goes directly to her and when everyone’s said hello, she pats the chair beside her for Dominic to take. She keeps one of his hands in both of hers.

  Dominic is different than Salvatore. Salvatore, I get. He and I are close. But Dominic has anger inside him. Rage even. Jealousy rules him and in a way, I understand. He’s third born. If anything happened to me, Salvatore is next in line to rule. And to rule, to be king, is what my little brother wants most of all. I sometimes wonder at what cost.

  Once we’re all gathered, the doctor puts his glasses on and opens a folder on his desk. And from there, he delivers his news.

  10

  Natalie

  I haven’t seen or heard from Sergio in three days. I’m confused, not sure what I should be feeling. Not sure I should be feeling anything at all.

  If he’s gone, it’s for the best. Drew’s right. I can’t get involved with someone like him. What the hell am I even thinking? But why did he go without a goodbye? I don’t understand.

  It’s past eleven at night when there’s a knock on my door. I’m in the living room studying for a test. For a quick moment, I’m glad about the new locks on the doors, but shake myself out of it.

  The knocking comes again, harder this time.

  “Just a minute,” I call out, zipping up my hoody. A damp chill clings to the walls of the house on these wet winter days. I understand why the owners leave until spring.

  I look through the window beside the door and if he didn’t have his face turned up to the streetlamp, I wouldn’t have opened the door, but it’s him.

  I unlock and open the door. His hand is mid-air, ready to bang against the door, and I see right away he’s in bad shape.

  “Sergio?”

  He looks at me like he’s almost surprised to see me. He scratches his head. His coat is open and he’s not wearing gloves, hat or scarf. His face is red like it’s been whipped by the wind that hasn’t stopped howling for the last hour.

  “I was walking,” he says. I can smell whiskey on him.

  “It’s freezing. You went walking tonight? Here?”

  He makes some sound, looks beyond me into the house.

  “Are you drunk?” I ask.

  He returns his gaze to me, shakes his head, but I’m not convinced. He steps inside without waiting for an invitation. I close the door, shuddering at the cold.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Long day.” He stops, looks off in the distance, shakes his head. “Long fucking week. You have something to drink?”

  “Coffee?” I ask, not surprised when he shakes his head.

  “Something stronger.”

  “Um.” I walk into the living room. He follows me. I don’t drink whiskey, which I think is what he’s looking for, but the owners have a stash of it. I open the cabinet, look at the various bottles, feel Sergio step close behind me. I turn to him, study his face. He’s scanning the selection and a moment later, chooses a bottle from the back. He doesn’t bother to pour it into a glass but drinks directly from it.

  “Are you okay?” I ask carefully.

  He looks at me, his eyes fierce in the dimly lit room. He drinks another swallow, sways on his feet. “I have a key,” he says, producing a ring of keys from his pocket.

  “Good for you,” I say, not quite following. I reach for the bottle in his hand. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”

  He draws it back and shoves his keys back into his pocket. Drinks again. When he takes a step to the side, he knocks his shin right into the coffee table, and mutters a curse.

  “Why don’t you sit down,” I say, taking his shoulders, turning him toward the couch. “And give me your coat.” He reluctantly lets me take the bottle for the moment it takes him to slide his coat off. He flops onto the couch, taking the whiskey back from me to drink another swallow.

  “What were you doing?” He picks up my notebook.

  “Nothing.” I take the whiskey fr
om him, push the lid back on.

  “Tell me about the professor.”

  “What? Oh.” He means Professor Dayton. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Just he’s another one of those men who thinks with their dicks. That’s all. No big deal, nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Did he touch you?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Did he fucking touch you?”

  “He stuck his hand up my skirt.”

  Sergio’s hand fists. I watch him, study his eyes. This is dangerous ground. Dangerous for Professor Dayton. “Just forget it. It stopped at that. And I’m not taking the internship anyway. I’m leaving, in fact.”

  “Nat—”

  “Please.”

  His eyes narrow, like he’s thinking, and when he nods, I’m surprised.

  “Did something happen tonight?”

  He takes a deep breath in, then out, looks at me, takes my hands and holds them for a long minute. “Life is short, huh?” He releases me, runs both hands through his hair and leans back on the couch. For a moment, it’s like he’s drifted out of here, he looks so lost in thought. Then he returns his gaze to mine and just watches me for a long time. When he stands, he’s steady on his feet, and he’s got that same look in his eyes as the other night. My body understands it before my mind processes.

  “Too short to waste,” he says. He takes the zipper of my hoodie between two fingers and slides it down, pushes it off me and lets it drop to the floor. “Natalie,” he says my name and stops, searching my face before his gaze moves to my bared shoulders and arms. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s slurring his words, swaying on his feet.

  I watch him, and it’s strange, the way he’s looking at me. Intense and dark.

  He takes the hem of my tank and draws it over my head.

  “I want to see you. All of you.”

  “Sergio, you’re drunk.” I try to push his hands away.

  “No, sweetheart, not that drunk. Hell, never that drunk.” With a finger at my bare belly, he walks me backward.

  “Wait, Sergio—”

  “Shh.” He touches my lips. “I just want to see.” He leans in and kisses me, pressing my back to the wall, his cock is a thick rod between us. His eyes are burning when he pulls away.

  Gripping my sweats with both hands, he slowly lowers to his knees, then drags my pants down over my thighs, off my feet. My socks are next so I’m barefoot, wearing only bra and panties. He gives me one glance before hooking his fingers into the waistband of the panties and dragging them off. I step out and when I do, he grips my thighs and forces them wider. Then he looks at me. Just looks at my bared sex.

  My clit throbs beneath his gaze and he gives me a hooded glance before placing his thumbs on either side of my slit and opening me.

  “Sergio.”

  “Quiet.” He leans in, inhales deeply, then licks the length of me.

  My gasp is a swallow of breath.

  “I want you,” he says, dipping his head low, licking me again, forcing my legs wider as he dips his tongue inside me before coming back to my clit and taking it between his lips to suck.

  “Oh, fuck.” I’m gripping him, his arms, his head and he lifts one leg up over his shoulder and devours me and when he takes my clit between his lips again and sucks hard, I fist his hair and grind against him and I come. I come so fucking hard I can’t stand without him holding me. Without his hand on my belly pressing me to the wall, his other hand around my hip keeping me upright.

  When I’m limp and gasping for breath, Sergio rises to stand, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, a smile on his lips, a darkness in his eyes. He kisses me hard, mashing his lips against mine, lifting me in his arms and carrying me up the stairs. In my room, he flips the light switch and the dim lamps on either side of my bed go on. He sets me on the bed. When I try to sit up, he shakes his head, pushes me back down and draws my legs wide to stand between them. He leans down, grips my bra in both hands and rips it in two, arranging the pieces to either side of me, laying me out, displaying me, like he did the other night. He looks me over, up and down, keeping my legs wide with his between them, and draws his sweater over his head.

  I catch my breath at the heavily tattooed arms and shoulders. I’d only seen the hint of ink on his forearms that first night. He’s thickly muscled, his stomach ripped, and when he grips his belt to open it, my eyes travel to the trail of dark hair disappearing into his pants. I lick my lips and wait for him to push his pants and briefs down and off and I look at him, at his thick cock, the head already glistening. He lets me take him in and I want him, want more than his tongue on me. Inside me.

  “You’re soaked,” he says, lifting my thighs, pressing my knees up, looking at me, at all of me. “You’re fucking dripping.”

  I gasp when he touches his cock to me. When he smears himself over my sex.

  “Sergio.” Condom. We need a condom.

  “Shh. I just want to feel you, be inside you. Just for one second.” He slides into me unprotected and I suck in a breath and he stills and closes his eyes, and he lets out a long, deep moan and for a moment, I just watch his face and hold him inside me and it’s not just about sex. Not just about coming. Not right now.

  “We can’t…condom,” I force myself to say, even though all I want right now is him like this, warm inside me, and close, so fucking close.

  He pulls out, leans down to kiss me, laying his weight on me for a moment before drawing away, keeping hold of my legs, keeping me spread for a moment longer before flipping me over and that intimacy, it’s gone. It’s sex now. It’s about coming now.

  “Up, Natalie. Elbows and knees.”

  I obey. Fuck, I want him. I want him to look at me. Want him to touch me. To lick me. To be inside me.

  “Good girl,” he says. “Now put your face down on the bed. “I want to see all of you.” He takes my clit between two fingers when he gives the order and all I can do is moan and bury my face in the sheets. I feel his hands on me then, on my ass, spreading me wider, and then his mouth is on me again, closed over my pussy, licking and dipping inside me before sliding up toward my asshole.

  I gasp. Tense up.

  “Relax,” he growls. His hand is on the back of my head keeping me down. “I want all of you, Natalie. Everything.” I find myself arching my back then as he licks my ass, circling his tongue there, before dipping back to my pussy, devouring me, making me whimper as I come again. Come for a second time with his mouth on me.

  I collapse on the bed when he flips me back over, climbing between my legs. He lays his full weight on me and kisses me.

  “I like your pussy,” he says against my ear. “And I like your ass. And I love watching you come. And hearing you come. It’s the best fucking thing in the world.”

  I close my eyes, holding him to me, pushing his face into my neck so he doesn’t see me. I’m embarrassed. I’ve never had anyone do what he just did to me. I’ve never come as hard as I do with him.

  He draws back and pushes my legs wide again, and all I can think is I want him inside me again. I want to feel his heat, his hardness, his want. And when he slides into me, stretching me, it’s exactly right, so fucking right. He lets out a groan and closes his eyes for a moment, an instant, seating himself deep inside me, opening his eyes again to lock gazes with me before he slides out of me.

  He straightens, reaches into the pocket of his discarded pants and takes out his wallet. From inside, he retrieves a condom, unwraps it, sheaths his thick cock, then enters me. I close my eyes and arch my back as he stretches me.

  I’ve never fucked with the lights on before. I’ve never fucked like this, faces inches apart, eyes wide open, the room filled with the sounds of our fucking, with the smell of it. Sergio’s elbows close around my arms and he holds my face and he kisses me, just barely taking my lip between his before releasing it, neither of us blinking, not once. Our breathing is shallow, just gulps of air.

  He makes a
sound, something from deep in his chest, it’s raw and base and I feel him thicken even more and I’m going to come. I’m going to come again and when he thrusts one final time, watching me, letting me watch him, I do. As he throbs inside me and I feel him come, I come too and everything about this moment feels so right. So fucking perfect.

  And it scares the fucking shit out of me.

  I close my eyes and feel, lose myself in sensation, in ecstasy. And when it’s done, I’m spent. Empty and weightless. I blink my eyes open to find Sergio’s still on me. His expression is strange, unreadable and I don’t realize I’m crying until he touches his thumb to my face, wipes away a tear, smears it across my cheek.

  He did that the first night too. At the warehouse. It’s like he’s mesmerized by my tears.

  It’s quiet, absolutely still, and he’s still between my legs, still inside me. Still looking at me.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  I give my head a shake. It’s all I can manage because right now, I can’t speak. Can’t form words.

  But it’s not that. He didn’t hurt me. It was perfect. Right.

  And too much.

  He gets up, walks into the bathroom. I hear the water go on a few minutes later and he comes back wiping his hands on a towel. I draw the blanket over myself and sit up as he gets dressed. He looks at me all the while.

  “You can stay. It’s late.”

  He shakes his head and I can see from his expression he has something on his mind. “Why were you crying?” he asks, putting on his shoes before coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “It’s just a lot.” I shake it off. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even think I can, not until I figure out what the hell is going on inside my head.

  He studies me a little while longer, then stands, lays me down, takes the blankets and draws them up to my chin. He leans down and kisses my forehead before walking to the door.

  “Why were you upset when you got here?” I ask when he reaches to switch off the lights.

  He stops but doesn’t turn around. He drops his head. “My mom’s sick and she’s not going to get better.” He switches off the lights then turns to face me. I can just make out his face from the streetlamp outside my window. “I knew, but I guess I was hoping.”