The Italian Dom by N.J. Adel
CHAPTER 2
Domenico
My idiot cousin, Stefano, nudged me in the ribs, as we sat for the Christmas dinner. “She kicked you in the nuts, and you still look at her like she has a magic pussy. Che cazzo?”
I glared at him, but then my eyes, as if they couldn’t bear a second away from the wild, blonde kitten that hadn’t left my mind for months, returned to study her beauty.
Nicole Baldi. Twenty-one. Studying architecture at IIT Chicago on a full Bellomo scholarship. The sister of Tino’s obsession. She’d been under his protection and care for the past seven years—after he killed her fucking father.
The athletic, feisty blonde with the perfect round tits I was dying to squeeze and ass I couldn’t wait to smack while I made her scream my name wasn’t as strong as she pretended to be. Underneath the challenging, bright blue eyes, the smart mouth, the proud chin and all the attitude, there were pain and anger and wounds and scars.
I didn’t know what drew me to her more, her beauty, the challenge of bringing a strong girl to her knees, the sweet taste of revenge I’d savor when I succeeded or the vulnerability deep below in her that made my protective instincts go haywire.
It was like I wanted to tie her to my bed, shove my cock in each one of her holes, make her submit to me, only to me, and show her the consequences of rejecting Domenico Lanza, but at the same time, I wanted to wrap her in a fuzzy blanket, hold and shelter her from all the evil in the world.
In the past couple of days, I’d pretty much done nothing but study Nicky, learning her details as if she’d been a target I was set to hit.
Her favorite color was purple. She had no trouble showing off the curves of her body in fit dresses, smiled at the attention, but she cringed at any touch, friendly or not. Her smart mouth dripped with scalding sarcasm and sass, and she giggled like the whole world couldn’t get to her. But I saw the darkness below this whole façade. The aches that seared once all the distractions faded and she was left with nothing but herself and the past.
Above all, I saw the way she looked at Tino, her sister and their bambino. The way she looked at my capo, his wife and son.
Nicky might have said she hated the Mafia and the men that belonged to it to the core, but in fact she was jealous.
Yes. Jealous of all the love, protection, care and attention a Mob wife and child could get. Jealous of how a man like Tino or Enzio would stop at nothing to get the girl they wanted. Jealous of the happiness Angel and Bianca felt despite everything they’d suffered to have their happy families. Jealous of the family itself, the one she wouldn’t allow herself to have because she was too scared to open up to anyone, too proud to admit she needed to feel the same way even with a dangerous Mafioso.
If I was being honest, I was jealous, too. I wanted what my cousin and friend had. A family that would survive anything. A woman that would want and care for a man like me despite the impossibility of it.
Enzio Il Tagliatore was a merciless, psycho sadist that liked to cut people to death. He didn’t care if it was an enemy or a family member. If anyone crossed him, they’d go under his knife. Still, Bianca found it in her heart to love him, even though he’d killed her first husband, his own brother.
Tino Il Lupo got the girl he’d stalked since she was a child, the girl his son almost married, and she looked at Tino like he was a fucking god and gave him another son instead of the piece of shit that almost disgraced our family.
Psycho bastards like Il Tagliatore and Il Lupo found their happy ever after. Why couldn’t I have mine? After all, I was the Lanzas’ enforcer and soon to be Enzio’s underboss. I, too, was a psycho bastard just like them.
Except some might say I was the worst of them all.