Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Seventeen

Fausto

After I cleaned her up,we stretched out on the bed. Francesca was quiet as I held her, and I knew what she’d said was weighing on her. But it was inevitable. The sooner she came to terms with the nature of our relationship, the better.

“I am clean, by the way,” I said. I hadn’t ever fucked a woman without a condom before and was tested regularly. And I knew Francesca’s health report was clean, because I’d reviewed it as soon as I brought her to Siderno. With her being sexually active, I’d needed to know if she had any diseases.

“Oh. Right. Thank you.”

I stroked her hip. She was sprawled half on top of me, her tits smashed into my chest. If I allowed myself a riposo each day, this would be exactly how I’d want to spend it. I normally did not give a lot of my time to my mistresses, but I liked the idea of being with Francesca. In fact, I was strangely reluctant to let her go.

I should keep more of a distance, considering her age and inexperience. Younger women were clingier, the ones who texted me at odd hours with bizarre emojis I couldn’t decipher. It was why I usually slept with women in their late twenties or thirties. Otherwise, we had absolutely nothing in common.

It didn’t feel that way with Francesca, though. She’d been raised in the life, albeit sheltered from her father’s activities. But unlike my first wife, who’d also been raised in the life, Francesca and I liked many of the same things. Being outdoors, the farm and vineyard...not to mention the way we fucked. I liked control and she loved to be on the receiving end of it. A perfect match.

I kissed the crown of her head. “You are coming with me on the boat this afternoon.”

She sighed. “You can’t order me around, Fausto.”

Back to this? “I can and you will do as I say.”

“No, fuck that.” She pushed away slightly to frown at me. “I have a mind of my own. I’m not at your beck and call.”

She could not have been more wrong. “You are, for as long as we are fucking. Or do I need to make you admit it again?” It would not be a hardship, that was for certain.

She glared at me. “You are the absolute worst.”

Pressing up, I kissed her, shoving my tongue in her mouth until she softened. Then I kissed her some more just because I liked it. When she gave me one of her little whimpers, I broke off. “I am demanding and a stronzo, but I will make this worthwhile for you.”

“By letting me go?”

“When the time is right, yes. If that is what you want.”

“What about now?”

I chuckled and slapped her ass, which I knew had to be sore. “When we tire of each other and not a second before.”

“Actually I’m pretty tired of you at the moment.”

“Lies.” I cupped her tit and pinched her nipple, kissing her until she writhed against me. My insatiable piccola monella.

Her gaze was unfocused when I finally pulled away. I smiled. “Come. I’ll wash you in the shower and tell you about this afternoon.”

She didn’t argue and I took that as an encouraging sign as I led her to the bathroom. As soon as the water was hot, I tugged her into the shower with me.

“Your shower is bigger than mine,” she said as I nibbled on her neck under the warm spray. “I like it.”

“You are welcome to use it any time you like.” For a brief insane moment, I considered moving her into my suite. But I hadn’t shared my living space with a woman since my marriage, and even that hadn’t lasted long. As soon as Lucia became pregnant, she moved to the opposite end of the castello, into the room Francesca currently used.

I did not want to repeat my mistakes.

Taking the soap, I worked up a lather in my hands and pulled her back against my chest. I soaped her breasts, massaging them and pinching her nipples. She wound her arms around my head, giving me her weight and full access to her luscious body. Cazzo, she was gorgeous. Any runway in Milan would be lucky to have her. I knew many designers and could get her a job with the snap of my fingers, if she wished.

I reached for her clit, stroking and circling with two fingertips, loving the way she responded to me. Never had a lover been so in tune with what I needed, her cravings a perfect match to my own. Francesca’s submission was the sweetest I’d ever experienced. I felt like a god every time she gave in.

Soon she was panting, her ass rocking against the semi-erect cock between my legs. If she kept that up, I’d fuck her again in the shower, and I knew she had to be sore.

I maneuvered her into the spray and let the water cascade down her sun-kissed skin, while I soaped my own body. Her gaze darted between my legs as I washed my cock and balls, and she started to reach for my groin. “Later,” I rasped. In fact, I planned on fucking her all night, if she had recovered by then.

She inspected my shampoo, bringing the bottle to her nose. “This smells amazing.”

“Che buon profumo.”

Her lips tilted. “Are you teaching me Italian?”

“Yes. Do you have another lesson today?

“No, tomorrow.”

“In Italiano.”

She began washing her hair, so I reached and moved her hands out of the way so that I could do it. “Dimmi.”

“You are being so extra right now.”

I knew what that meant from my son, so I smacked her ass lightly. “Tell me or I will put you over my knees and spank you harder,” I said in Italian, knowing she’d never know what I was saying.

“It’s not a punishment to hear you speak Italian and not understand you.”

I liked that she found my language arousing. I decided to help her. “No, domani.”

“No, domani,” she repeated in an accent far more Canadian than Italian.

“You’ll learn. You will be ready to tell me to fuck you in Italian very soon.”

“Teach me how to say that,” she said as she moved under the spray to rinse her hair.

“Ti prego, scopami. Sono la tua puttanella.”

“You said more than ‘fuck me.’”

I grabbed her waist and pulled her wet body flush to mine. I said, ‘Please fuck me. I am your little slut.’”

“Oh, God.” Her fingers threaded through my hair, her eyelids hooded. “Why is that so hot?”

“Because you like it dirty, just like I do.” I pushed her against the tile and ate at her mouth, devouring her as I thrust my tongue inside. She kissed me back, meeting me eagerly, and my balls were heavy again with the need to have her. Cristo santo, what was she doing to me? If I weren’t careful this girl would make me weak.

Besides, I didn’t have time for this. The break I had taken to fuck her earlier was already pushing it. I couldn’t stay longer. There were arrangements to be made for the meeting this afternoon.

With regret, I broke away but didn’t let her go. I stared down into her beautiful eyes, her lashes like wet spikes, and held onto her jaw. “On the boat today is a meeting. It is supposed to be friendly, which is why I am bringing you. But this man is no friend, capisce? He will have a woman with him, as well, so I need you to be respectful at all times. This is a test, Francesca.”

The haze of desire faded from her expression, her gaze growing hard. She didn’t like what I was telling her, which is what I had expected, but I didn’t care. She gave herself to me, and there was no going backward.

“What if I fail your test? Will you send me home?”

“No. I’ll take you down to the dungeon and let you spend a few hours there until you learn your place.”

She gasped, a flash of fear crossing her face. “You wouldn’t.”

I wouldn’t, but she didn’t need to know it. “I told you, I am keeping you until I am done with you, Francesca Mancini.”

I pushed through the glass door and stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. I heard her mumbled curse words all the way out to my closet. “You have an hour to prepare yourself, monella. And do not wear the black bikini.”

Only I was allowed to see her in that tiny scrap of a suit from now on. Francesca was mine, and I’d kill any man who tried to take her from me.

* * *

Francesca

We tookthe helicopter to the yacht this time, and I was both excited and scared. Fausto smiled indulgently at me, while Marco ignored me from his seat next to the pilot. The ride was so much fun that I forgot all about how I was now officially Fausto Ravazzani’s mistress.

It could be worse. You could be married to his son.

True. At least now I got great sex and then he’d set me free. Who cared what label he put on it? Afterwards, I’d return to Toronto or New York, get a degree and live my life. As used goods, my father wouldn’t be able to marry me off to anyone else, which meant I had my whole future ahead of me.

It was perfect, actually. Why hadn’t I thought of this in the first place?

I slid a glance at Fausto, wondering if I could get him alone on the boat after the meeting ended. I might want to try deep throating him again.

He flicked a switch and his voice entered my headphones, “Whatever you are planning, my answer is yes.”

He could read me so well.

I slid my hand up his thigh, toward his crotch. He didn’t stop me, just arched his brow. I found his dick and squeezed, pleased when his head dropped back and he closed his eyes. “Cazzo, you are making me hard again.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Not before my meeting. Afterward you may do whatever you wish.” He took my hand, kissed my fingertips, and placed it in my lap.

“Can we stay on the boat a little while?”

“If you’d like. We could even sleep out here. Marco can retrieve us in the morning.”

That sounded like heaven. “I like when you spoil me with sex and outings.”

“Then prepare for more of both. I like to see you happy, Francesca.”

He dragged a fingertip along my jaw, and my chest squeezed. The fierce il Diavolo, feared mafia boss, wanted to make me happy. Was he softening toward me?

The helicopter started descending, and I nervously grabbed Fausto’s arm as I watched out the window. The yacht’s helipad was underneath us, blue water on all sides. It was beyond extravagant, a luxury even my family couldn’t afford.

When we touched down, Marco got out first and opened our door. Fausto stepped out then helped me to the ground, making sure I kept my head down until we were safely away from the spinning blades. Six crew members, including the captain, were there to greet us, and they all bowed saying, “Buona sera, Signorina Mancini.” I doubted they remembered me from my trip with Giulio, so this must have been Fausto’s doing.

News of il Diavolo’s new mistress has traveled fast.

He took my hand and exchanged a few words in Italian with the captain. Then Marco, Fausto, and I went into Fausto’s suite. He dropped onto the plush cushions and spread his arms and legs, the king of everything around him. Marco took one of the chairs, but I wasn’t certain what to do. Should I leave them alone? Should I sit?

“Come here,” Fausto told me, patting to the cushion next to him.

I didn’t like being ordered around, but I supposed this was hardly the time to take a stand. Not in front of Marco. Besides, Fausto had said this was a test. I didn’t really think he’d send me into the dungeon...but I didn’t want to risk it, either.

When I slid onto the cushion next to him, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and for the next thirty minutes he and Marco talked in Italian, ignoring me. I wasn’t sure if I felt grateful or irritated, but soon I yawned, feeling the day’s activities catch up with me.

Fausto’s hand landed on the back of my neck and he squeezed. A simple gesture, but one my body clearly loved because heat bloomed between my legs. A gentle roll of desire that was never far when this man was around.

He put his mouth near my ear. “There is wine and food on the patio deck. You can go out and enjoy yourself, if you like. Our guests should be here imminently.”

Our guests. Such an odd way of phrasing it, when nothing here was mine. “All right.”

I started to get up but he didn’t release me. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Glancing over, I could see he was in his full mafia king mode. Power came off him in waves and I could have jumped him right there. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but I decided to play his game. Leaning in, I kissed his cheek. “Grazie, Fausto.”

This must have appeased him because his eyes softened and he released me. I put extra swing in my hips as I walked out, hoping he could see the outline of my ass through my thick cover up.

The pool deck had tables of food set up, with bottles of prosecco and wine already on ice. I helped myself to a glass of prosecco and some raw shrimp. I’d skipped lunch to have sex with Fausto—a decision I didn’t regret—but now I was starving. There was an antipasto board, so I loaded up on various meats and cheeses before relaxing on one of the lounges. My ass was still sore from Fausto’s hand, but the reminder made my nipples perk up. I was definitely not complaining about his moves in bed.

A small motorboat approached. Three people were seated on board, two men and a woman. These must be the people meeting with Fausto. I shielded my eyes and watched as they pulled alongside the yacht. The crew rushed over to help secure their boat and assist them. Fausto and Marco appeared from nowhere, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes as the guests climbed onto the deck.

One man was likely a guard, considering he was huge and had a gun poking out from under his jacket. The other man, who was probably in his early thirties, was incredibly handsome. He wore light linen pants and a tight t-shirt, managing to look both casual and expensive at the same time. The woman at his side was in high heels and a gorgeous sundress.

“Enzo,” Fausto greeted, shaking the younger man’s hand. He spoke rapid Italian, his sexy mouth moving quickly as everyone was introduced. Then he turned to me and held out his hand. No words, just held out his hand.

I knew what that meant.

Rising, I threw back my hair and strolled over to him, right into his side, and he slipped his arm around my waist. “Enzo, this is Francesca. Dolcezza, this is Signore D’Agostino and Mariella.”

“Ciao,” I said with a small nod. “Mariella, would you like some prosecco?” I held up my glass. Fausto gave me a squeeze, which I supposed meant he approved.

Mariella looked at Enzo—which made me want to roll my eyes—and he nodded, saying a few words in Italian. All I caught was, “d’inglese.” Then Enzo gave me a tight smile. “She doesn’t speak much English. I told her to practice with you.”

Fausto pressed a kiss to my temple. “And Francesca may practice her Italian with Mariella.” He released me and I took this as my cue to entertain the womenfolk so the menfolk could talk business. “We won’t be long,” he said, and pressed a brief, hard kiss on my mouth.

The men left us alone, and so we went to the pool and got drinks. Mariella seemed sweet. She knew more words in English than I did in Italian. “Big Bang Theory,” she explained. “I love Sheldon.”

I just smiled. “How long have you and Enzo been married?”

“No, we are not married. He has a wife in Napoli.”

Open mouth, insert foot.“I see.”

“Like you and Signore Ravazzani,” she continued, as if I needed further explanation.

“No, I get it.” Mafia men were not known for their monogamy. “More prosecco?”

Standing, I brought the bottle over to our lounges and refilled our glasses. Just two mob mistresses, hanging out on a yacht, drinking together. Happens every day, right?

Mariella took her sundress off, and I could see why Enzo would cheat on his wife with this woman. She was flawless. Tall and thin, with long perfect limbs and olive skin. Her hair was dark brown, which hung down past her shoulders to showcase her fine features. I felt like a dowdy frump next to her. She reminded me of Katarzyna. What was it with these mobsters and their stick-thin mistresses?

She looked at me. “Are you not wearing a suit?”

The stubborn Mancini in me wanted to show her that I wasn’t embarrassed of my big boobs and plump ass. I whipped off my cover and was instantly reminded that I’d deliberately worn the suit Fausto had ordered me not to. Whoops.

Didn’t he know how I felt about his orders? Outside the bedroom, at least.

Mariella smiled. “You are gorgeous.”

“Grazie. You are also gorgeous.”

She shrugged. “I try to stay thin. Otherwise Enzo find someone else.”

“So let him,” I said. “No man is worth starving yourself for.”

“Enzo is worth it.” She held up her hands and measured out what had to be nine inches. “Very worth it.”

I collapsed into a fit of giggles. Who said women from two different countries couldn’t speak the same language? “Yes, that might be worth it!”

“Fausto is the same, no? Women talk of him all over Calabria.”

Really? I sucked back the rest of my prosecco. “Let’s just say he is definitely worth it.”

Mariella laughed. “See, I knew. You can always tell a man with a big dick. He’s very sure of himself.”

“We call that BDE. Big dick energy.”

We both broke out laughing, and I suddenly had to pee really badly. “I must use the toilet. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, face tilted toward the sun, so I refilled my glass and carried it inside with me. The men were seated near the bar, Fausto on the sofa next to Enzo, with Marco and Enzo’s guards in chairs. Everyone turned my way as I came in. “Just using the toilet,” I announced, and kept walking toward the corridor.

My skin prickled in the silence and I glanced over. Fausto’s eyes were narrowed on me, his jaw tight. Was he annoyed that I interrupted?

Then I remembered my bikini.

Shit.

Well, that was too bad. I was allowed to wear what I wanted. If Enzo wanted to gawk at my boobs, who cared? I’m sure he’d seen plenty in his time. Mine were certainly nothing special. And if Mariella was anything to go by, he preferred flat-chested women who modeled on the weekends.

I lifted my chin and continued to the bathroom. Not going to lie, I was pretty buzzed right about then. I didn’t care about Fausto’s anger...unless he was going to spank me. And then I was definitely up for it. I chuckled as I locked the door behind me and did my business. Then I washed my hands and checked my front and back in the mirror. I looked pretty good, actually. The time I was spending in the sun had given my skin a slight glow and today was a good hair day.

When I walked back through the seating area, I waved at the men. “Mi scusi!”

Enzo’s deep voice uttered a string of Italian I didn’t understand, except for the last word, “puttanella.”

Slut.

I nearly tripped. Was he saying that about me? That asshole. Slowing, I waited to hear Fausto put Enzo in his place. Pull a gun or smack the back of his head. Whatever Fausto did, I knew it was going to be bad.

Instead, he laughed.

That motherfucker actually laughed.

Enzo had called me a whore and Fausto had laughed, like it was a big joke. Like I was a joke. Just a warm pussy to stick his dick in at the end of the day.

Fuck. Him.

I would make him regret that laugh if it was the last thing I ever did.