Chapter 30: Kira - Marrying the Mafia Daddy

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Dad kidnapped me and I learned Domenico’s ex-wife is very much alive.

In the grand scheme of life, it’s such a small and insignificant amount of time. Still, it feels like a lifetime. Much like my marriage to Domenico. It’s only been a few months, yet it feels like another lifetime.

How many lifetimes does one get? I kind of hope this is my last one. I’m not sure how many more my poor heart can handle. But even as I think that, I’m not sure that’s truly what I hope for. Not when I have Domenico at my side.

Once upon a time, he was the man I was forced to marry in this very church. Now he’s the man I choose.

As I ponder all of this, my hand absentmindedly drifts to the thin, pink line on my forehead. It’s healed nicely, and unless I wear my hair back, no one seems to notice it.

I straighten on the pew I’m sitting on in Saint Benedict’s. Every time I’ve been here during the last couple of weeks, it strikes me how everything here looks and smells the same when I feel like a completely different person.

Unable to help myself, I look behind me at the door, half expecting Domenico to either stand there or walk through. Since the kidnapping, he’s barely let me out of his sight for more than an hour at a time.

Not because he’s controlling me, but because every time I leave a room, he finds a reason to follow five minutes later. His eyes tracking me across the penthouse like I might evaporate if he blinks too long.

I don’t mind, though. How can I when being watched by my husband feels less like control and more like being wanted?

“Kira.”

Father Joseph’s voice pulls me back to the present. He stands at the end of the pew, hands folded, his expression gentle.

“Hey,” I say, smiling warmly at him.

He slides into the pew beside me, leaving enough space that we’re not touching but close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Father.”

“How are you holding up?”

The question hangs between us, simple and impossible. How am I holding up?

“I’m doing okay,” I say. It’s not entirely a lie. “Or getting there, anyway.”

Mom’s death catches me at weird angles. In the shower, mostly. Something about hot water and closed eyes makes the hollow feeling rush back in, and for a minute I’m standing in the cemetery again with frost under my shoes and Domenico’s arm around my waist.

Those moments still hurt, but the hurt is changing shape. Less like a knife between the ribs, more like an old bruise you press on just to feel something. I think it’s because a part of me, one I never really acknowledged, didn’t expect Mom to recover.

I hoped, of course.

I prayed, naturally.

But even then, you can only suspend reality for so long.

“Truly?” Father Joseph probes.

“Sleep comes and goes,” I admit. “Some nights I drop off the second my head hits the pillow and don’t move until Domenico shakes me awake. But other nights I lie there for hours and think about Mom.”

I don’t tell Father Joseph that when I lie awake like that, I count my husband’s breaths and match mine to his until the rhythm eventually pulls me under.

“That’s nice,” Father Joseph observes. There’s a glint in his eyes as though he knows I’m holding back. “And how is everyone doing?”

Smiling, I tell him that Vinny’s on the mend and that he’s calling Domenico twice a day and grumbling about coming back to work.

“I bet he’s going stir-crazy.”

Grinning, I nod. “Oh, he definitely is. Yesterday he texted me because he was annoyed with the ending to a TV show I got him hooked on. He swears he’s losing IQ points the more he watches.” I can’t help laughing.

Paolo is doing better as well. He’s in Chicago with Shirley, opting to stay there for his full recovery. He got cleared for air travel this morning, and the two of them were gone only minutes later.

It’s still weird knowing Shirley’s alive. Every time I think about it, it reminds me of the conversation I had with Father Joseph not long after the wedding. He told me to judge Domenico only on what I knew to be true, and, well, I never did, did I?

I guess I did in my own way. I mean, yes, it scared me to think he could easily kill me. Still, I put it aside as much as I could and got to know the man—my husband—beneath the rumor.

But I never asked for clarification or whether the rumors were true. That’s the thing with the truth, isn’t it? It’s so slippery, and if we think we already have it, it’s all too easy to let your opinion, or in my case, rumors, become the truth.

Aside from meeting Shirley that one time in the hospital, I’ve only seen her twice. Both times, we never did more than nod at each other. Even though a part of me is dying to ask her why she left, and how her and Domenico even managed the elaborate lie, I’ve asked neither.

And I’m not going to. Their story is theirs, and if all this death and misery has taught me anything, it’s to treasure the present and look toward the future instead of the past.

Father Joseph clears his throat, and I wonder if I’ve been so lost in my thoughts I’ve missed him saying something. When I turn my face back to him, he smiles warmly.

“The last time I saw you, you mentioned wanting to talk to the CEO of NovaGen. Did you ever do that?”

“I did,” I murmur, nervously brushing imaginary lint from my coat. “Domenico arranged it for me after we got out of the hospital. Roger… um, he isn’t alive anymore, Father Joseph.”

Even though I’ve told myself not to tell anyone this, it’s too big for me to carry around on my own. “I asked Roger why he did what he did, and why he pushed Mom so far. But he… he was a monster. He didn’t care at all and just saw her as a data machine he could pump to get what he wanted.”

Father Joseph moves his hand in front of him, drawing a cross in the air. He studies me for a moment, but he doesn’t ask how Roger died. And I’m grateful for that.

“At the time it seemed important that I asked him if he was the one who left flowers in Mom’s room and got her a better blanket.” I scoff. “At the time, I thought Dad might have done it.”

“And was he?” Father Joseph asks encouragingly.

I shake my head sadly. “No, apparently the nursing staff did that themselves.” I inhale a shuddered breath. “I don’t even know why I assigned it so much meaning back then, or later on. But I did, and in the end, it was nothing. Just one of those things.” I shrug one shoulder.

“Maybe it wasn’t nothing,” Father Joseph says after a lengthy silence. “Maybe you were looking for proof that the wrong people cared. Your mom’s nurses didn’t have to bring her flowers or find her a better blanket, Kira. They simply wanted to.”

“Maybe,” I allow. And I can believe that as long as it wasn’t one of the NovaGen nurses.

I don’t know how long we sit there in companionable silence, but it’s long enough for my legs to grow restless. Just as I’m about to stand and tell Father Joseph I’ll see him after the weekend, he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Will you pray with me before you leave, Kira?”

* * *

Even though the water’s cooled, the bathroom is steamy and warm. The air is thick with the vanilla scent from the bath oil I added hours ago. I’ve been in this bath for so long my fingers are pruney and the bubbles dissolved a long time ago, but I couldn’t make myself get out.

Maybe because, for once, there’s nowhere I need to be. No hospital room. No funeral to get through. No crisis waiting for me the second I stand up. Just warm water, silence, and enough time to realize how strange it feels when nothing is actively falling apart.

Of course, the silence also gives my mind far too much opportunity to wander toward my husband.

After Domenico drove us home from Saint Benedict’s, he disappeared into his office to take care of some business. That was—I check the time on my phone—two hours ago.

What could possibly be taking this long?

I stand up, water sluicing off my skin, and grab the towel hanging on the warmer. The towel is soft against my skin. I dry myself slowly, taking my time with each limb, each curve, my fingers tracing the places Domenico’s hands have been.

My hip, where his grip left faint bruises days ago that haven’t fully faded. My throat, where his palm fits as if it were made for me. My inner thighs, still slightly tender from this morning, from the way he’d held me open and licked me until I came so hard I saw stars.

My pussy clenches at the memory, fresh heat gathering between my thighs. I try to distract myself by applying lotion, but that turns out to be a spectacularly bad idea when every stroke of my own hands reminds me of his.

By the time I’m done, I’m so turned on I’m practically panting.

I have half a mind to march into Domenico’s office and demand that he… no, wait. The memory of my shopping trip with Carly hits me like a spark of genius, and an idea takes shape. I’d bought several sets of lingerie on that shopping trip, all of them hidden in the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Grinning, I stride into the bedroom and open the drawer. I pull out each set so I can study them. In the end, I decide on a light blue set with fabric so thin it’s almost translucent. Lace, strategic cutouts, and thin straps cross over my body in a pattern designed to highlight rather than conceal.

As I step into it, the lace settles against my skin like a whisper, cool and delicate. I adjust the straps until everything sits where it’s supposed to.

My breasts are pushed together, the cutout between them framing my cleavage. The bottom half clings to my hips, the lace scalloped along the edges, and there’s another cutout just below my navel that exposes a strip of skin down to where the fabric meets my pussy.

I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself. Not because I look different. Because I feel different.

The last time I waited for Domenico in this bedroom, I had no idea what would happen when he finally walked through the door. I remember the nerves. The uncertainty. The feeling that I’d somehow ended up inside a life that belonged to everybody except me.

Tonight, I know exactly what I want.

Smiling at my reflection, I climb onto the bed and position myself almost exactly the way I remember from that first night. The similarity makes something warm unfurl inside my chest. Back then, waiting for Domenico felt like having my sentence handed down.

Tonight, it feels like foreplay.

And unlike on our wedding night, I have a way to contact him now.

Grabbing my phone, I open the camera and snap a few pictures. Once I have one I’m satisfied with, I open my text messages and pull up my thread with Domenico, or ‘Daddy’ as he’s named in my contacts.

I attach the photo and type out a quick message.

Me

Stop making me wait, Daddy.

Then I hit send and set the phone down, and wait.

The bedroom door opens less than two minutes later, and Domenico fills the doorway. “My naughty wife,” he rasps as he walks in and slams the door behind him.

His eyes are dark, almost black in the low light. Heat pulses between my thighs at the intensity in his gaze as he drinks me in. His eyes travel from my feet to my face and back again, slow and deliberate, and when his gaze lands on the cutout between my breasts, his jaw tightens.

“Fuck, baby.” That’s all he says. Two words, rough and low, and then he’s moving toward me.

Usually, that look is enough to make me stop caring what happens next because I know I’ll enjoy whatever he does to me. A lot. Tonight, though, I already know what I want, and if he gets his hands on me now, there’s no chance I’ll stick to the plan.

“Stop.”

The word leaves me before I can overthink it, and to my surprise, he does. Huh. The great Domenico DeLuca actually stopped because I told him to. One could get used to that.

His eyes narrow slightly. “Something you want to say?”

A grin pulls at my mouth. “Sit down.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and for a second, I’m convinced he’s going to remind me which one of us usually gives the orders around here. Instead, something wicked flickers across his face.

“Feeling brave tonight, wife?”

“Very.”

He sits on the edge of the bed. My pulse jumps as excitement spreads through my veins. I slide off the mattress and step between his spread knees, suddenly very aware of how little the lingerie covers. Domenico’s gaze drops to my breasts, then lower, and his hands start to rise.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Daddy,” I purr, batting my lashes as I look up at him.

The sound that leaves him is somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Careful.”

“Or what?”

“You’ll find out.”

God, I hope so.

I take hold of his tie and slowly pull it loose. Unlike him, I don’t rip anything. I make him sit there while I undo every button of his shirt one at a time, deliberately letting my fingertips brush his chest whenever I expose another inch of skin.

By the third button, his jaw is clenched. By the fifth, his cock is visibly straining against his pants. I glance down at it and smile.

“Enjoying yourself?” he rasps.

“You have no idea.”

“Mmm, I think I do.”

Once his shirt is open, I push it over his shoulders and let it fall behind him. Then I sink to my knees.

Domenico goes very still. “Kira.”

I reach for his belt. “Shh, I’m busy.”

I open his pants, free his cock, and wrap my hand around him. His head falls back for half a second before his gaze finds mine again. I barely get my mouth around him before his hand fists in my hair.

“Get up here, baby.”

I pull back. “What? Why?”

“Just come here.”

Before I can argue, he catches me beneath the arms and hauls me onto the mattress with him. I laugh in surprise as he falls onto his back and manhandles me over his body until I’m straddling his chest, facing his feet.

“Domenico, what are you—”

His hands close around my thighs and drag me backward. Oh. Ooh. His breath hits the soaked lace between my legs at the exact moment his cock brushes my cheek.

“You want Daddy’s cock in your mouth?” he asks.

I swallow. “Yes.”

“Then take it.” His fingers hook beneath the thin fabric covering my pussy. “But I’m not sitting here doing nothing while you have all the fun.”

Before I can say anything, he grabs the lace covering my pussy and rips it. I jerk at the movement, but there’s no time to mourn the pretty piece of lingerie. Not when he drags his tongue through my folds with a pressure that has me seeing stars within seconds.

“Mmm,” I moan.

I grab his cock and pump him a few times, loving the way his breathing changes and the sounds I can hear even though his mouth’s buried between my thighs.

Leaning forward, I snake my tongue around his purple tip, flicking it over his slit and licking away the pre-cum. I want to take him into my mouth, but when his hands grip my thighs harder, I almost scrape him with my teeth.

Instead, I continue to lap at the head like it’s a lollipop while tightening my grip and jerking him off the way I know he likes. Every time I get it right, he rewards me by pushing his tongue deeper inside me.

God, he’s good at this. So good I’m already trembling, my orgasm building low in my belly, a tight coil of heat that’s winding tighter with every stroke of his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” I mewl against his cock. “Daddy, please don’t stop… don’t stop. Don’t… mm!”

His tongue finds my clit and circles it, fast and relentless, and I come with a broken cry. My inner walls clench around nothing, my hips jerking against his mouth while he licks me through it, until the sensitivity becomes too much and I have to pull away.

I finally crawl off him and collapse at his side, breathless and shaking, my face pressed against his hip, my lips inches from his cock. It’s thick and hard and leaking against his stomach, and I want to taste more of him, want to wrap my lips around him and suck until he comes down my throat, but before I can move, his hand finds my hair.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “If you put your mouth or hands on my cock again, I’ll come. I only have so much restraint, baby.”

I push myself up and move so I’m straddling him, my thighs on either side of his hips, his cock lying hot and heavy against my stomach. Then I kiss him. Hard, desperate, my tongue in his mouth, my hands on his face, and I grind myself against him, my wet pussy sliding along his length, and the friction is so good I moan into his mouth.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper against his lips. “All the way, Daddy.”

His hands find my hips, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. “How do you want me, baby?”

I falter. Because the truth is, I don’t know. I know what I like when he uses his mouth. His fingers. I know how badly I’ve wanted more every time he’s teased me with the head of his cock. But this? Taking all of him? I have no clue.

He sees it on my face. The hesitation, the uncertainty, and something shifts in his eyes. “Let me,” he says.

He flips me onto my back in one smooth motion, his body covering mine. Then, just as I predicted earlier, he tears the rest of the lingerie from my body. It’s so expected and so Domenico I can’t help laughing.

“You owe me a new piece,” I say with a mock-pout.

“I’ll buy you one for every day if that’s what you want,” he growls. “As long as I get to rip them off you.”

“Deal,” I gasp.

Domenico’s piercing blue eyes find mine, and I feel like he’s holding me captive with his gaze alone. It’s so intense, so all-consuming.

“You want my cock inside you?” he asks.

“Mm, yes.”

“Ask me for it, wife.”

“Please put your cock inside me, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Hold yourself open for me.”

I move my hands to my pussy and use my fingers to spread my folds. The exposure makes me blush even though there’s no one here but him and he’s seen every inch of me more times than I can count by now.

Domenico positions himself between my thighs, his cock thick and hard. He rubs the head against my entrance, the pressure making my breath catch.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do. His eyes are dark blue, almost black in the low light, and they’re fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my chest tight.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” I whisper.

His cock presses against my opening, the head slipping inside with a stretch I already recognize. My breath catches anyway.

Then he pushes deeper, and deeper, and… “Blue!” I pant, while simultaneously clawing at his shoulders and pushing him away. I’m honestly surprised I remember that word right now.

Domenico goes completely still. “Are you okay?” he immediately asks. “Do you need me to—”

“Give me a minute.” I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe through the burning stretch deep inside me. “I just need… don’t move yet.”

Jesus Christ. I knew he was big. I’ve seen how big he is. But apparently knowing something and actually trying to fit it inside your body are two very different things.

“It hurts,” I whimper.