Despite how well she'd done keeping her family together, the other bosses didn't take her seriously, and her bottom line suffered because of it. She had to fight constant raids into her territory by other bosses who saw her—rightfully so, in some ways—as weak while trying to grow and expand her business in a town that had long since been divvied up in an effort to maintain peace.
There was nowhere for her to go—and that was exactly what had her standing here in front of him now.
His own plans for expansion were on the back burner at the moment, and he needed to put the kibosh to this right now, before it became something bigger that forced him to do something he really didn't want to do—yet, anyway.
And although it might not have been what his business management professor would have suggested, or even what her father and his old boss would recommend, the feel of her in his arms—unwilling as she was and cold as she was trying to be—had him thinking that he was going to apply a rather unconventional solution to this situation.
He was itching to simply flip her over his knee, which would have been so easy considering the fact that she'd gone so limp in his arms. He could do anything he wanted to with her now. It would be a mere flick of his wrist, and then he would have been able to see what she had on beneath that tantalizingly modest just below the knee skirt she was wearing. He bet it was pink, lacy panties—and his imagination ran away with him, picturing a matching garter belt and stockings—until he ruthlessly reeled it in.
He didn't need to go down that road right now, even if he did decide to give her the spanking she so richly deserved. He wasn't doing this to get into her pants—however much he might want to use it as a handy excuse to exorcise that particular demon from his past.
This was business, despite the fact that he was going to say something to her that he'd never consider saying to any other boss. He was going to keep his pants on while he did it, and hopefully hers, too, instead of doing what he wanted to do, which was to clear off his desk in a one-armed sweep and bend her over it—one way or the other—or one way and then the other.
He steeled himself against his own worse tendencies and reached up to cup her cheek in his hand, making sure her eyes were on him before he began. "Allegra Marie Olivia Cerone, I am only going to have this conversation with you once."
She had been giving him that bored adolescent look he'd so despised when she was an adolescent. He was even less enamored of it now that she was—supposedly—an adult, in a very adult occupation.
But the no-nonsense tone of his voice—its deep, lethal softness—wiped that look off her face in record time. She shuddered—once, just once—before she caught and subdued the telltale reaction. Then, when she looked up at him again, he knew that he had her full attention.
Enzo reached out to take the tip of her chin in his fingers, using his other arm to tuck her against him. "I want you to understand that no amount of encroachment into my territory is acceptable, at any time, for any reason. You do not get a free pass because of who you are. As a matter of fact, because of who you are, if I ever find out that your men have so much as set a big toe into any area in which I transact business, I will exact a payment from you that you will probably consider even dearer than you do money at this time."
She looked confused, as if she thought she'd missed something.
Enzo leaned forward, putting his lips almost onto her tiny ear and whispering, "I will call you on the carpet again, and, in that instance, I'm afraid that a warning—like you're getting this time—will not suffice. Instead, I will do something I've often thought your father should have done for you frequently while you were growing up. I will take you over my knee and paddle your bare behind until your backside is cherry red all the way down to the backs of your knees." He heard her outraged indrawn breath but easily stilled her attempts to break his hold on her by holding her just that much tighter without having moved in any other way, "And I promise you that, when you then vow to me—and you will eagerly do so to end the spanking, believe me—you will barely be able to summon the breath you need to reassure me that we will never, ever have to have this conversation again."
He leaned back enough to be able to look into her eyes. Her mouth was hanging open just a bit until she realized that it was and snapped it shut. Her cheeks were blushing almost as brightly as her butt was going to if she defied him.
"Nod your head so that I know you understood what I just said to you."
Unable to think of doing anything else, Ally automatically bobbed her head. Her mind was in such a jumble—his nearness was bad enough, but for him to say those things to her, putting images into her mind that made her blush all the brighter because they were far from new to her. Nowadays, they were tucked well back in her brain, only dragged out when she was feeling lonely and horny and she did her level best to keep herself busy enough that it didn't happen very often anymore.
But it used to, when she was a lady of leisure, a pampered and indulged daughter of the most powerful don in the city.
Son of a bitch. She wanted to stomp her foot—bringing her four-inch heel down on his instep came to mind—but she knew that would just get her into more trouble and she certainly didn't want to provoke him into spanking her here and now. The threat he had just made was mortifying enough. She'd never expected that kind of thing from him. She'd thought he'd give her a good talking to, perhaps even take out a man or two to show her what he was capable of—not that she didn't already know.
Had he really just kissed her breathless, then had the audacity to threaten to spank her if she disobeyed him?
Chapter 2
And now, more years later than she'd like to count, having gotten a bit complacent and glossed blithely over that conversation in her mind, letting Frank's surprising insistence about what an opportunity this would be for them convince her of something that she knew to be patently untrue. Enzo never missed a trick. Ever. She'd been able to convince herself, somehow, through the blessing—or curse—of time that he hadn't really been serious, when, if she'd thought about what she knew of him at all, she would have known that he never said anything he didn't mean. So, here she was, and she knew exactly what she had coming to her. She knew he was seconds away from tipping her over. Balanced, as she was, on his muscular leg, it would be depressingly easy for him to manipulate her so that it was her stomach in contact with his leg rather than her lady bits.
And she really had no one to blame but herself. It might have been Frank's idea, but she was the boss, and it was her decision. She should be the one to bear the consequences, and it looked like that was going to manifest itself quite literally.
When it happened, it was as if it was in slow motion, no matter his ease in accomplishing it. Ally's mind simply couldn't begin to process the fact that he was actually doing it. There was a chair right directly behind him that she hadn't noticed because his presence blocked it, but in one fluid motion, he both tipped her over and sat down, so that she ended up over both of his legs. Before she got a chance to gather her wits, she felt an uncommon breeze on the backs of her thighs that quickly extended up and over her bottom. The cause of the draft was the fact that he had swept the pretty floral skirt she'd thrown on this morning up around her waist, then hooked a finger under the waistband of her tights and peeled those down to the tops of her calves, expertly catching her boy briefs on the way down so that she was left naked to his gaze—and his hand, which came to rest possessively over the rounded flesh he'd just uncovered.
Ally wasn't the type to take such things lying down—so to speak—warning or no warning. And her efforts were very nearly rewarded the first time she tried to get up, rearing back and surprising him, which was darned near unheard of. Enzo had a reputation for preparing for any eventuality, but he hadn't anticipated just how hard this little wildcat fought the application of a sentence he considered completely just and that she had been amply warned about.
She almost made it off his lap and had her foot raised to take her
first step towards freedom when he hauled her back down and lit up her fanny with ten fiercely hard swats. "Just so you know, princess, this doesn't even count towards the spanking you earned." She hated it when he called her that, as if he was dismissing her as some vapid, spoiled kid. "They're for trying to escape your punishment, pure and simple. I suggest you lie still and take what's coming to you, or it's going to end up being much worse than it might be."
"Fuck you! Let me go!" She struggled and twisted and turned until one forearm came to rest across her back, and with almost no effort on his part, she found herself almost completely unable to move, which only made her that much angrier and determined to escape. She exhausted herself trying to do so while he waited patiently for her to surrender.
When she finally hung—spent—over his lap, panting and growling, another ten or so fiery smacks landed on her upturned cheeks. "Again, not a part of your original punishment, but added because of your poor attitude and foul language. I know your parents didn't raise you to say things like that, and I don't want to hear them, either. And you definitely shouldn't be saying them when your backside is right there for me to remind you to be more conservative in your speech."
Ally frowned deeply, but considering how much her behind was already stinging, she didn't say anything. But she did reach around behind her to give him the one finger salute.
She knew it wasn't a smart thing to do and she got exactly what she thought she was going to get, but she kept her finger right there while he proceeded to methodically seer every inch of her he could reach, finally tipping her a bit forward so that she had no choice but to put her hands on the ground to steady herself, thus relieving her of the ability to continue to flip him off.
Stubborn wench! She was already quite well tended to, and he hadn't even begun the punishment she'd been brought here for! A part of Enzo wanted to put that session off, but he knew he couldn't. He had told her he would spank her if she disobeyed him and he always followed through on everything he promised, discipline especially. The extra swats she'd accumulated were entirely her own fault, and he wasn't going to extend any sympathy to anyone who acted like a spoiled brat when she clearly knew the consequences.
So, he steeled himself and began again in earnest, letting her distressed cries and the abject tears that inevitably followed, fall ineffectually around him as his hand marched relentlessly up and down skin that, by the time he was through, was a much deeper, even more painful looking red than the cherry he'd told her she could expect.
Eventually, he began to stop occasionally to ask her if she wanted to promise him that it would never, ever happen again, but she was at least as stubborn as she was intriguing, and he could feel her clenching her teeth so that his inquiry was met with a stubborn silence—if one frequently interrupted by gulping and sobbing and hiccupping.
Towards the end, she wasn't even protesting much, just moaning and weeping piteously each time his hand made contact with her roasted backside.
Until, finally, she flung a hand up onto her behind—displaying all five fingers instead of just one this time—careless that she might end up on her head from lack of support, barely breathing, "Stop, please. Stop."
Enzo halted, but he kept his spanking hand over the crest of her feverish cheeks, asking in a deliberately scolding tone, "Is there something you want to say to me, Allegra?"
Want was not exactly how she'd describe it. She had reached a point where she felt she had to give in or face being completely broken by him. She opened her mouth to utter the necessary depressing, degrading promise, but the words wouldn't come out. Tears dripped with each blink onto the concrete floor beneath her, and she could barely catch her breath for sobbing—as he'd predicted—but they still wouldn't come out.
Enzo did his best to provide some encouragement, applying hard, stinging swats very slowly over areas that had already been thoroughly covered.
After about ten more swats, it rushed out of her on a sobbing cry at what passed for full volume at that point, "I promise! I promise!"
He again stopped immediately. "You promise what, Ally?"
She was Ally, now that she'd acquiesced to him, she noticed, anger trying to seep back in, although it was quickly overwhelmed and squelched by the pain. "No one will set foot on your territory again. No one. I promise. Zero tolerance policy." She slumped over him as if every bit of her strength had deserted her and breathed, in barely a sigh, "Zero. Tolerance. Policy."
He almost patted the small of her back. "Excellent."
How she found herself, minutes later, in the back of his limo instead of hers, she couldn't quite say. Those moments after she'd surrendered to him were just that much of a blur, but someone had rearranged her clothes—sans the tights, and now she was kind of draped over him diagonally on her side on his lap. He was holding her close and whispering soothing nothings, occasionally kissing the top of her head, rubbing her back a bit absently. She could feel his phone vibrating in his pants pocket, but he hadn't so much as reached for it to shut it off. He just ignored it in favor of soothing her.
Ally heard him lower the glass between himself and his driver. "Take us to the cabin, Maury, please."
"Sure thing, boss."
Ally tried to stir but he wouldn't allow it—not by anything overt, not saying anything preventative, but by merely contracting his arms and pressing her against the solid—somehow annoyingly comforting—wall of himself.
"But I have meetings I need to attend—things to do." Her words were uttered against the rich cashmere of his coat and muffled into unintelligible murmurings.
Enzo had a good idea what she was saying, though—probably not a lot different from what he would have said if their positions were reversed—he had a business to run and things to do.
But he couldn't stand the idea of having just spanked her as severely as he'd ever spanked anyone in his life and just letting her go on about her business. He wanted…well, if it came down to it, he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted from her, or he wasn't much interested in examining what that might be, but he knew he wanted to spend more time with her than just long enough to blister her behind. And what he wanted, he got, one way or the other.
Too exhausted to argue, she fell into some kind of twilight sleep, almost, where she could hear what was going on around her but couldn't quite bring herself to do anything about it. She knew she should have stood up to him more about the spanking, definitely, and now about whatever it was that he was doing with her, but she felt more exhausted than she'd ever felt in her life, as if all the stress of the past nine or so years—with her father dying and trying to pass the business on to her, and then trying to keep it going while she learned the ropes without him—had coalesced into a pure, bone tiredness that she wasn't sure she was ever going to be able to recover from.
She felt the car stop and heard Maury open the door for them, but it was Enzo who lifted her in his arms and carried her through the door of his cabin. That term had always been used very loosely. It was a property that her family had owned when she was very young—before Enzo had become a part of their lives. When they had owned it, it had been a pretty bare bones cabin—a summer retreat on a small, private lake where there were very few other family camps. They'd made a few changes—adding indoor plumbing, for one, since her mother had refused to use an outhouse after the first time she discovered she was sharing it with a raccoon. But they hadn't done much else, because, at that time in their lives, they didn't have the money, and by the time they did, they weren't spending much time there, so it wouldn't have been worth the investment.
Her father had given him the property when he had made Enzo his second in command, and the young man had spent nearly all of his leisure time fixing it up. He'd turned it from a three-season camp to an actual home, moving in there, rather than retaining the tiny, sparse apartment he'd had forever because the rent was cheap, and he spent most of his time at the Cerones, anyway. He'd been in construction before he'd worked for the don, so h
e could do all of the work himself and enjoyed it as a way of relaxing. He raised the roof and added four bedrooms upstairs, expanding what had laughingly been called the kitchen, which had consisted of a sink, a trailer sized fridge and a Coleman stove when Ally's family had owned it, into one that any chef would be envious of. He'd also built out the bottom floor until the place was a veritable showroom, with a wraparound deck that extended down to an elaborate dock, extensive landscaping and even a mock widow's walk cupola on the roof. He had taken what had been a dilapidated old garage that had become her father's tool shed and made it into a small guest cottage not far from the main house.
Ally hadn't been there in years—not since he'd finished the job entirely and had thrown a bit of a housewarming party for his friends. And right now, she wasn't in any kind of condition to admire what he'd done with the place. All she wanted was a cold shower—for various reasons—and her own bed.
"Do you need to use the phone?" Enzo asked politely.
Ally frowned. She had a cell. Why would she need his phone?
She asked him that very question, and that chin hit his chest again. She was beginning not to like that look on him at all. "So you can speak to whoever it is you need to, to make sure that everyone on your end knows that our little agreement is to be strictly adhered to."
"Oh. Yes." She blushed—which seemed to be becoming a habit around him—that she hadn't thought to do that herself. "May I use your office?" It would afford her at least some privacy from prying ears. She wasn't any too interested in him hearing her eat crow when she spoke to her lieutenant.
Transgressions Page 2