Mafia Mistress by Mila Finelli

Chapter Nineteen

Francesca

I wascertain I would die that night.

For the first few hours, I explored the yacht. The ship was amazing, with no detail or expense spared. I saw all the bedrooms, the living areas, the bathrooms. Only one room remained locked, and I assumed that was Fausto’s office. The crew nodded politely, and I came to quickly realize they didn’t speak much English. When I asked for a snack, they brought me more prosecco.

I ended up back on the pool deck where I found bottles of water in the mini fridge. They brought me dinner, which was some amazing shrimp and lobster pasta dish that I wanted to eat every day for the rest of my life. Then I watched the sunset over the water, wishing I had a phone to call my sisters.

Wait, there had to be a phone on the boat, right? Fausto had taken a call at one point.

Wandering to find a crew member, I asked about a phone, holding my hand to my ear. He shook his head. “No, signorina. Sta nell’ufficio.”

“Ufficio?”

He waved me forward and led me to the locked door near the master suite. Fausto’s office. Shit. “Grazie,” I said, inwardly sighing. Then something else occurred. “Television?”

“Ah, sí.” He nodded and motioned for me to follow. In the master suite, a television was hidden in a cabinet. I clapped my hands, beyond giddy to be saved from total boredom.

“Is there a remote?” I moved my thumb to mime a remote.

He lifted his hands and shrugged, his expression saying he had no idea. Then he pointed to a drawer under the television. Ah, that made sense.

I pulled open the drawer and I found a remote there, along with stacks of DVDs. Old movies? I examined the titles, hoping to recognize at least one.

They were all Italian porn.

Jesus Christ, Fausto. One track mind much?

At least it would save me from silence...and maybe help me learn Italian. Especially dirty Italian, the kind Fausto would like. Not that I cared what Fausto liked at the moment, that asshole.

I chose one featuring two men and one woman. The slot for the disc was on the side of the TV. It took some time to figure out, but I finally got it playing. The production values were hilarious, the plot ludicrous. Nice to see that Italian and American porn were similar in that regard. It wasn’t particularly arousing, so I wondered what Fausto liked about it.

Then the men began to dominate the woman...and it all became crystal clear.

Of course, he liked watching her being tied up and held down, flogged and teased. I added the captions and tried to study the words, but I found my eyes fluttering. I fell asleep to the sound of moaning.

A jolt woke me sometime later.

The TV had turned off, so the room was pitch black, and the wind was howling. The yacht moved as though we were at sea, and my stomach lurched. Had we left the inlet while I was asleep?

Someone pounded on the door. “Hello?” I called.

It opened and one of the crew members peered inside. I could barely see his face, but his expression did not reassure me. “Signorina, si fermi qui.” He gestured to the bed. I understood the word here, and I assumed he was telling me not to move.

“Are we in danger?”

He gave me a helpless shrug that said he didn’t understand. “Si fermi qui, per favore.”

“Okay,” I said, practically being drowned out by the sound of the wind and waves crashing outside the yacht. The boat rose and fell, and I dug my fingertips into the mattress as best I could. Holy shit. Were we going to sink?

The crew member disappeared, leaving me alone in Fausto’s big bed. Rain pelted the glass, sheets of it coating the deck beyond. The wind was louder than I’d ever heard, a fierce roar so strong it was a wonder the roof didn’t blow off. I didn’t have any personal experience to compare this night with, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a tropical storm. Worse, a hurricane?

Fear turned my blood to ice. I couldn’t move, my body frozen in dread as the waves rocked the yacht. Should I be searching for a life preserver? I stared out at the black water and shivered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a great swimmer. I certainly couldn’t swim to shore, which meant I’d either drown or become shark food if the boat sank.

Oh, God.

The waves seemed to be getting larger. Angrier. I tried to think of it like a roller coaster, a ride I had to endure for a little bit, but it didn’t work. The longer it went on, the worse it became. At one point, my stomach revolted and I had to rush to the toilet to vomit. I had no one to hold my hair, no one to tell me this was all going to be okay. I was in the middle of a terrible storm all alone in a place I barely knew. If we died tonight, I would never see my sisters again. I would slip under the waves and disappear.

That scared me like nothing else.

As the waves continued to batter the yacht, I clung to the bed and prayed, queasy and miserable. I could only wonder, had Fausto known the storm was coming? Was this his way of punishing me?

* * *

Fausto

When the stormabated at daybreak I was in the helicopter, flying toward the water. The wind hadn’t completely died down, and the pilot struggled to keep the craft righted. I didn’t care. I had to get to the yacht.

There had been no way to reach her last night, or I would have gone. But the wind had been too fierce, too sudden to risk a small speedboat or the helicopter. I hadn’t even been able to reach her by phone to reassure her, as we’d lost service early on in the storm.

I knew the yacht was sound. Nothing, not even a category five hurricane, could capsize a boat that big, equipped to handle rough seas. But for someone not used to the ocean, a storm such as the one last night could be terrifying. I hated that I put her through it. Instead of letting her come back to the castello, I’d left her on the yacht, alone and with no way to reach me, surrounded by a crew that spoke little if any English.

Bastardo!What had I been thinking?

The night had been a sleepless one. I paced and worried over Francesca. At dinner, Zia had given me an earful about my treatment of Francesca, hissing, “Vecchi peccati hanno le ombre lunghe.” It was true. Old sins did have long shadows, and I knew that what I’d done would have long-lasting repercussions.

While I regretted leaving Francesca the instant I departed the yacht, I could not weaken and reconsider. I intended to live with the consequences, good or bad. Of course, if I had known about the storm, I would have handled things differently. I prayed she would forgive me.

As we approached, the yacht was still, the waters once again calm. I held onto the door handle, tossing my headset onto the seat next to me, and as soon as the helicopter touched down, I was out and racing along the deck.

A lump of fear lodged in my throat as I opened the suite’s door. Francesca was sprawled out on top of the bed, limbs askew, asleep in one of my dress shirts. My shoulders relaxed slightly, until I got close enough to see the dried tears on her cheeks.

Something in my chest turned over.

I found a soft blanket in a drawer. Carrying it to the bed, I crawled next to her, gathered her to me and covered us both. She sighed and nestled closer, her eyes never opening, and I sagged into the mattress, exhausted. I should have been here last night, as we’d planned. Or we should have been in my bedroom inside the castello. My anger over her disobeying me was not an excuse for isolating her and scaring her half to death.

Marco had tried to tell me as much on the ride back to the estate yesterday, but I hadn’t listened, so full of my own importance that I couldn’t see reason. I closed my eyes, determined to make this up to her. I wanted my sweet girl back.

Though I meant to stay awake, I must have slept because movement at my side brought me out of a deep fog. I felt her edge away, and I instinctively reached for her. “No. Non muoversi,” I mumbled, telling her not to move.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, her voice distant, and I released her.

She was gone for quite some time. I was beginning to worry when I heard the latch. I pushed up to my elbows as she emerged, her face clear and freshly washed. She stood by the side of the bed and crossed her arms. “When did you arrive?”

“At daybreak, when the storm abated. Dolcezza—”

“No, Fausto. You do not get to call me that. Not anymore. You left me here. I was all alone,” her voice cracked as it trailed off, and I was on my feet instantly.

Crossing to her, I pulled her tight to my chest. She pushed back, trying to get away, but I didn’t let her. I held her tight, whispering, “I am sorry, Francesca. Mi dispiace. Perdonami, bellissima.” I repeated it again and to my astonishment she broke out into tears, her fingers clinging to my shirt.

The sound of her misery tore me apart. I kissed the top of her head and sat, holding her on my lap. “You’re safe now,” I told her. “You are safe. Nothing will ever hurt you.”

“I was so scared.”

“I know, but you were not in danger. This boat could never capsize.”

“That is what they said about the Titanic,” she said, her face buried in my throat.

The Titanic hadn’t capsized, but I didn’t say as much. “You were safe, though I know storms on the water can be very scary.”

“I was terrified. And I got sick. Twice.”

“Oh, piccolina.” I squeezed her, hating myself even more for not being here. “I am so sorry.”

“All because I wore a bathing suit you didn’t like.” She pushed off my lap and stood, glaring down at me. “I hate this. I don’t want to be your mistress or your prisoner or your daughter-in-law. I want to go home.”

I would never allow it, not yet, but I suspected she didn’t want to hear that at the moment. I had to use honesty and finesse to coax her anger away.

I rubbed her hip. “You don’t mean that. You are angry—and you have every right—but I am asking for your forgiveness. I should not have left you here alone. I let my temper and jealousy control my tongue. If there had been any way for me to get to you last night I would have tried, but the wind was too strong.”

She slapped my hand away. “I don’t believe you, not after you said the separation would be good for both of us. What the fuck did that even mean?”

“It meant I was angry, Francesca. I was trying to spare you my temper. But I regretted leaving the second we lifted off.”

“Bullshit.”

“I will never lie to you. I am many things, most of them terrible, but I am not a liar.”

“If you regretted it, then why didn’t you come right back?”

“I had to stand by my decision. Changing my mind is a sign of weakness.”

She gave a humorless laugh and dragged a hand through her long golden hair. “I am not one of your soldiers, Fausto. Mistress or not, you cannot treat me like shit.”

“I want to spoil you and treat you like a goddess, if you’ll let me.”

“Until the next time you get angry and put me in your dungeon. Or leave me in the middle of a hurricane.”

There was no hurricane, but I didn't bother correcting her. “I promise I won’t banish you to the dungeon or the yacht the next time you piss me off.”

“Or anywhere else. You won’t banish me anywhere, Fausto.”

She was forgetting who held the power in our arrangement, and I would need to remind her as soon as her temper cooled. “Or?”

“I’ll stab you with something sharper than a pen.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “Many have tried, Francesca. I wouldn’t recommend it.” Rising, I cupped her jaw in my hands. “The devil cannot be killed.”

I pressed my lips to hers, moving softly, letting my body convey my apology. My regret. I needed to reassure her that I would never let her down again. And I craved reassurance that she was still mine.

Her lips parted and my tongue swept inside, desperate to taste her. She was warm and slick, and so sweet I could feel blood pumping to my dick. The boat rocked gently, our bodies swaying ever so slightly, pushing her tits into my chest, and I hoped this meant she had forgiven me. We could spend all day on the boat, fucking.

I reached under the dress shirt hanging down her thighs to cup her ass—and she wasn’t wearing panties. I sucked in a breath. “Cazzo, you are so sexy.”

“I had no clothes to change into after I puked on my black bikini.”

I gave her ass a slap. “I like you in my clothing.”

“I can tell.” Her eyes dipped to my crotch. “But I am not fucking you today, Fausto.” I trailed my fingers to her seam, but she edged away. “Did you not hear what I said?”

“I feel as though you need a reminder as to how our relationship works.”

“And after last night, I feel as though you need a reminder that this pussy belongs to me, until I decide you’ve earned it.”

The back of my neck itched, my chest hot. “Not even close, Francesca.” I started toward her and she retreated, step by step, until I had her pinned against the wall. Then I slid my hand between us and cupped her. “This pussy is mine until I decide it isn’t.”

She started to argue, so I grazed her folds with my fingers, brushing over her clit. Her body softened, relaxing into the wall and into my hand. “You are not playing fair,” she whispered.

“I never do. This is mine—and I will fuck it raw until I’ve had enough.”

“You are an asshole.”

“The biggest.” But I didn’t want her to regret giving herself over to me. While I craved having her again, her submissive compliance was a thousand times more satisfying. Was I growing soft when it came to her? Possibly, but I couldn’t seem to help it.

I let her go.

“Come. Let’s return to the castello. Zia is worried sick about you. Not to mention that Giulio nearly punched me when he learned where you were last night. They deserve to know you are all right.”

“I wish he would have punched you. You deserve it.”

When I took her hand, she said, “Wait, what am I going to wear? I don’t have any clothes.”

“I’ll find you something to cover your legs. But keep my shirt on, because I love the way your tits look in it.”

She rolled her eyes and walked to the television. “Fine, but I am taking some of your porn back with me.”

I smothered my grin. “I see you were busy exploring. Which one did you like best?”

“I’m not watching them to get off. I am trying to learn Italian from them.”

Madre di Dio. Learning dirty talk in my language from porn? This girl was going to be the death of me. “Bring four or five. Just for variety.”