Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  Marcello grinned and pulled me to him so that we were full skin upon skin. He lifted my chin until I had to look at him straight on, and I was terrified that I might tear up. “It was a bit better than good, right?” I nodded, and he kissed me on the forehead, nearly blowing my tightly held composure with those lips. “It scares you.”

  I nodded again and put my head against his chest, tracing the skin of his tattooed forearm with one tiny finger, and letting the terror flood over me. Too good. What am I supposed to do with this? It’s too good. And if it ends it’s going to destroy me.

  Marcello seemed to read my thoughts. He calmly held me to him, delicately stroking my hair against my back, and finally spoke. “Abby, I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you.” He paused, running a hand over my incredibly bare and smooth backside. “And I won’t ever let anyone else hurt you either.”

  I was pressed so hard into him that I thought for a moment maybe I could just stay here. Stay like this forever – safe and happy and naked – hiding nothing, and having no reason to. I sucked in a deep breath from his neck and felt my body tingle from head to toe. This man – who and where and why and -

  Criminal.

  It was startling. I had surely known that the questions were still there, awaiting their due time to barge into this afterglow and demand acknowledgement. I had momentarily forgotten, somehow, and I detested them crawling back over my mind with their unwanted onslaught.

  “I don’t - I don’t really know you,” I managed to state, hating myself instantly as I felt his body tense against mine. He pulled back so that I was again forced to make eye contact.

  “You do. You know everything that matters. And I know you,” his hand tightened on my naked hip. His eyes were still warm, but careful now and searching my face. “Ask me what you want to ask me, Abby.”

  But I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything anymore.

  Chapter 6

  Whether or not I still wanted to know all of Marcello’s secrets, there was, I realized, no good way to start that conversation.

  “Oh hey, okay so like if you could just clarify for me the depths of your involvement with the mafia, that’d be great. Cuz I think I’m going to fall in love with you at some point in the near future and the thought of this never happening again makes me want to puke cuz I like, need you now, but I’m still not sure if you’re like, well, a criminal. Are you a criminal, Marcello? Great sex by the way. Five stars.”

  I shook my head. I definitely couldn’t use that speech. Frustration started to work its way up my spine, and I suddenly felt a shot of rebellion at my own lack of courage. I looked at him, waiting expectantly with a pleasant – but guarded, he’s guarded again – expression on his face, and closed my eyes. “The mafia. I sound silly, Marcello – I just have to know... Just tell me I’m ridiculous and I can let it go and you can laugh at me whenever it comes up, okay?”

  He wasn’t smiling anymore, and the pleasantness had faded into something much more foreboding. I searched his face for any sign at all that this somehow amused him – that it was all a rumor-mill myth.

  Marcello’s jaw flexed, and he gave a slight shake of his head, running troubled fingers through his hair. “I can’t tell you you’re ridiculous, Abby. I do very much wish I could.” He lay back down and stared straight at the ceiling, and a cold wave of horror washed over me. “I’m not, per se, what you’re asking. Not exactly. I am a defense lawyer – and I have one client. That client and his associates keep me very busy – to the point where I don’t need to join a firm. I am a firm. And I’m on retainer. For the rest of my foreseeable future.”

  I had also laid back down, dutifully locking my eyes on the ceiling while he spoke. I felt stiff. Like a stone. “And your client?”

  A hard chuckle from Marcello - “You mean who the hell is he, correct?” Another pause. “Stefano Rossi. He is my employer, he is a mafia boss, and I owe him my life, Abby.”

  I was sure I would stare at that ceiling forever, because it had become impossible to fathom moving or speaking while also processing the words coming out of Marcello’s beautiful mouth.

  “He raised me,” Marcello continued. “My parents died when I was very young – two. I barely remember them. Rossi was my father’s best friend. They grew up together in the city. Boys, then men. But Rossi came from a different world. My father easily could have joined it, and I think he would have, but as Rossi tells it, my mother begged him to stay straight. And so he did. They married. They had me. They were not rich. And my father kept his promise to my mother.

  “They died. A car crash. Similar to Celia’s passing, in some ways. Sudden. Ruthless.” His voice sounded like stretched steel now. “I had no one – no living relatives, nowhere to go except the foster system, and Rossi took me in. Legally adopted me. Raised me. He put me through law school. He paid for my wedding. He never, not once, pressured me to be involved in his dealings in any way. He wanted to respect my father’s choices by giving me my own.”

  Not real. This is not real. This is Hollywood big-screen movie bullshit. This isn’t possible. Abigail Greene does not sleep with mafia bosses’ adopted sons.

  “It’s odd, the way history repeats itself. About the time I think I would have gotten very involved with Rossi’s dealings, simply from the deep loyalty I have for the man, I met Celia. As things with her progressed, she begged me not to. Just like my mother with my father.” He chuckled, and it was a hollow, haunted sound. “Instead, Rossi set me up with my own private law firm, and I basically have handled all of his legal matters from there on out. His, and his employees.” He cleared his throat, and I could tell he was faltering.

  “Celia. When Celia died, I kind of lost my shit for a while, you know. I had this little girl to protect in this fucking horrible world where people just die – they just fucking die. I mean, imagine being the adopted son of a mafia boss, but losing your parents and your wife to basic, run-of-the-mill bullshit car accidents. The irony. The fucking irony.” Marcello paused, struggling to maintain composure.

  Suddenly I felt like a monster for making him drag all of this up and out of his psyche when he had probably worked very, very hard to safely bury it. The pain in his voice made me so viciously sad for him, and I knew he was only doing this for me. Marcello Morano wouldn’t knock on those ghosts’ doors for anything – not anything.

  But he was opening them up wide for me.

  “Rossi, he took care of everything. He bought me this house, set up steel-tight security all over the perimeters, made it so that I barely have to leave the house at all, aside from some courthouse visits, that is.” Again he laughed weakly, and there was an empty, shattered quality to the sound. “He all but bought Winston for Gia. That place is crawling with his employees – I'm sure you didn’t know that. Bodyguards – protection – everywhere. I don’t think he could live with himself if something were to happen to Gia after... after everything else. I know I couldn’t.” Marcello’s voice had grown so husky and broken that he seemed unable to speak anymore.

  All of the new information that had come from his mouth was circling around inside of my head with an odd, whimsical chaos. I was at Winston every day. I knew none of this. Whatever cover was going on was so efficient that as far as I knew, none of the other teachers had a clue, either. Unless they’re part of it.

  “So yes, Abby. I guess I am criminally involved. Not in the way you imagined, but involved nonetheless. And Rossi – Rossi is a lot of things. Maybe he never intended to be some of those things. I don’t know. I do know he’s the only father I’ve ever known, Abby, and he protects his family fiercely. There are far worse people in this world doing far worse things than Stefano Rossi. He has my love and he has my loyalty. And Gia is safe. Gia will always be safe.”

  I turned to him finally and one solitary tear was escaping down his cheek. I pulled him to me forcefully, and took his face in my hands. The strong, commanding façade was tormented – broken. “It’s okay. Do you hear me?” I place
d a kiss on his cheek, catching his tear. “You never have to hide anything from me, Marcello. You’re safe with me.”

  Something else inside of him came to life then. Marcello embraced me with a near violent passion, attacking my neck with his mouth and penetrating my body deeply with no warning. Joined together once again, I returned his energy and clung, squeezed, clawed – bracing for each thrust and pushing back with everything I was. My climax came quickly and I let loose an animal-like scream of pleasure just as he passed his own threshold and joined with an angry, satisfied moan. Pulsating and sweaty and surrendered to each other as we were, I felt that we had just made a very important pact with our bodies, from which there would be no release. Not ever.

  It was the last thing I wanted in the world, but I had insisted on going home that evening. My flight, my family, and my obligations were looming over my still-foggy brain and demanding attention. Marcello had protested, and eventually caved, under the one condition that his driver, Harrison, take me home.

  Marcello’s parting kiss was so passionate, so hungry, that I knew if he were to ask me to stay just once more, I’d be powerless to refuse. He seemed to reign himself in, however. I did the same, noting the nearly palpable wall of caution that immediately shot up between us as we parted.

  Neither of us knew how to do this.

  This being my second ride home from Harrison, I felt almost ridiculous not speaking to him. He was pleasant but somewhat terrifying – a large man who seemed physically capable of a lot more than driving a luxury vehicle. We pulled up to my curb, and I began to exit quietly.

  “Thank you, Harrison,” I managed to say, alarmed at the sound of my own voice.

  “You’re most welcome, Miss Greene. I will accompany you to your door,” Harrison returned, exiting the car himself and coming around to let me out.

  I felt real alarm now, and stepped out with a quick, questioning glance up at this giant man, officially dressed in suit and tie at what had to have been near midnight on the eve of Thanksgiving. “It’s okay – you don’t have to come with me.”

  “Mr. Morano’s orders, Miss Greene. I will see you to your door.” He smiled, as if to reassure me, but the good humor did not reach his eyes. This was not an option.

  When my apartment door was shut and locked behind me, I listened to Harrison’s footsteps echoing down the stairwell and leaned against the wall with overwhelmed exhaustion.

  Alone at last.

  Visions of Winston flashed through my mind. “That place is crawling with his employees.”

  I went to the windows and closed the blinds tightly, suddenly feeling very strongly that I might not ever be truly alone again.

  Thanksgiving was a train wreck. The “quick visit” to Marcello’s that I had thought would give me peace of mind had instead made me instantly, completely insane. I couldn’t focus on anything or anyone. All I could think of was him.

  My parents, as predicted, dutifully inquired as to whether or not I was “okay”. And I had told them the only thing I knew how to tell them.

  “I’m fine.”

  However, Felicity Howard was not to be so easily placated. We met for drinks after my return and she demanded to know everything. Everything. Perhaps I left out a moaned “Marcello!” here or there, but I did my best to relay all that had happened. Marcello hadn’t asked me not to tell her, and I felt if I had to accept the mafia’s presence in his life, he could surely accept Felicity’s presence in mine.

  She listened without interrupting a single time – almost unheard of for Miss Howard – and when I was finally done with my story, she simply stared at me, eyes wide.

  “Say something, Fel. Fucking say anything,” I pleaded across the table.

  Felicity closed her amber eyes, inhaling deeply and dramatically, and put her hand to her chest. “I feel like I’m probably not supposed to know most of what you just told me, Abs.”

  I looked at her closely to see if she was kidding. She was not. “Oh, Fel. If I know, you know. That’s how it's always worked.” I waved a hand in the air and sipped my drink, feigning carelessness.

  “Um, I think I’m not entirely wrong when I say that this is a little bit ‘new territory’ for us, wouldn’t you say?” She then seemed to purposefully compose herself. “Oh well. Too late now, right?” And a kind of hysterical laughter escaped from her mouth. It was much higher pitched than normal, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her. For a while we were just two laughing idiots at a table in a bar, probably assumed heavily intoxicated by anyone who noticed. The laughter felt good – a release I had needed badly.

  “So, you mean to tell me all of that happened and he hasn’t even fucking called you since?” Felicity spit the words out between giggles.

  “I didn’t give him my phone number.”

  That was the end of all composure. We laughed to the point of nearly being kicked out of the restaurant for causing a scene. By the time we left I had cried actual tears from the endless waves of irony and amusement that kept flooding over me.

  It was insane. The whole thing was insane. The more days that passed, I was starting to wonder if I had imagined it all. I probably could have convinced myself that I had, if that dull, achy, need in the pit of my stomach would just fucking go away.

  The first day back at Winston after the break seemed so incredibly normal that I almost managed to get through the entire day without wondering which of the school employees were also Mr. Rossi’s employees. Almost.

  The thought crept in at the end of the day as teachers gathered at their classroom doors and hall monitors appeared to perform their mundane tasks. Gia gave me her usual hug, beaming smile, and skipped away out the door. I watched intently to see if anyone seemed to be paying more attention to her than to the other children. No one did.

  Sitting at my desk I turned over the fact that Marcello and I had not spoken since that night. I truly hadn’t offered my number, nor had he given his. But the directory sat in my drawer just inches away from my fingers, and Google sat fucking everywhere.

  We were purposely not calling each other.

  It was a stalemate of sorts, but not the kind that I thought implied disinterest or indifference.

  What had happened between us was amazing and terrifying. It had been unplanned, unpredicted, and undeniable. I ached to touch Marcello every second of every day, and I just as equally went cold with horror at the thought of ever seeing him again. He had so easily owned everything that I was. And just as I had thought that night, naked and bare in every way possible with him at my side, if it ends it will destroy me.

  But something couldn’t end if you refused to let it begin. All I had to do was be the same Abigail Greene I had been for the last twenty-four years of my life. All I had to do was everything I had already done. Marcello had only come into my life because I had barged into his – twice. All I had to do was not make that mistake ag –

  “Abby.”

  Marcello entered my classroom, and slowly proceeded to make his way to my desk. He was grinning, and I immediately hated him for coming here. This was mine. Winston was my safe place. How dare he.

  “You don’t seem very happy to see me, Abby,” he was leaning against my desk now. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to not want him.

  “Mr. Morano, of course I am always happy to see the parents of all of my students,” I spoke like a well-versed robot, hearing the absurdity in my words as they came out in perfect, polite tones.

  Marcello was grinning wider now, and had that damn eyebrow raised. He grabbed my face in both hands and knelt down until we were eye to eye. “I missed you too, Abby.”

  And then he was kissing me.

  Chapter 7

  If the kisses confirmed anything, it was that I definitely did not hate Marcello Morano.

  I temporarily forgot where I was while warm lips consumed my own and strong hands pulled me up to him. My fingers in his hair, twisting and tugging, I wanted him as much as ever.

  He managed to pull back an
inch or so and, breathing rapidly, was grinning again as he said, “So I guess you are happy to see me, then.”

  I gave him the biggest eye roll I could manage, and tried to pull away further. “This is a place of education, you know,” I admonished, attempting to sound severe, but smiling too widely to even mildly pull it off.

  “I am always open to learning, Miss Greene,” he replied with a devilish smirk, arms remaining solidly connected around my lower back. Pressed up against him, I could feel exactly how “open” he was to a lot of things right now. My body was getting an all-over tingly sensation, and I felt that same delicious hunger growing inside of me again.

  Felicity suddenly burst into the room, a coffee cup in each hand, oblivious to Marcello’s presence. “Abs, I make you no promises about the coffee today. Bonaparte made the last pot and we all know how well that always – ” She pulled up short, eyes wide, seeing Marcello and I embraced. “Holy shit. I can come back later.” And back out the door she went.

  Marcello was laughing and I couldn’t help but join him. We untangled ourselves from each other and I retreated to my desk chair again, as though it in any way would save me from him.

  “That’s Felicity. I don’t think the two of you ever met,” I raised an eyebrow at him, hinting at the elephant in the room.

  Marcello sighed. “Yes, I do make it a point to stay away from Winston.” He didn’t explain further, but continued talking. “I haven’t met Miss Howard, but I assure you there is not much that I do not know about her.”

  I tensed slightly. “Right. I guess that would make sense. You own the place, right?” I waved a hand, indicating the entire school.

  Marcello pulled a chair up to my desk, straddling it backwards and still maintaining his playful demeanor. “Not at all. But I know the place. Well. And I know Miss Howard and all of the teachers at Winston. Well.”