Married to the Mafia Boss

Arianna

It feels like everywhere I go; I see Carmine. Every time I turn a corner, he’s there, and most of the time, he’s alone.

And so am I.

Since the night of the race, his dark eyes have been seeking mine out far more regularly. I remember the feel of his bulging cock against my ass as he ground against me, holding onto me, and the feeling of his strong fingers digging into me, claiming me as his own.

I’ve always liked him. I’ve always thought he was more than good-looking, but lately, I don’t know. Recently, I want to risk everything and just kiss those lips, and run my fingers through his hair. There’s an animalistic undertone that has entered into whatever you call this relationship we have. A raw, bare instinct that draws us together.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

As I sip on some fruit juice in the kitchen, I think about our latest encounter. It was this morning just outside the bedrooms. Carmine was walking down the hallway when I opened my room, and he stopped right in front of me to look down at me. He’s only four inches taller than me, but he has such a presence that I feel like he towers over me, casting me in a shadow of protection.

He had smiled that wry smile that I love so much and had given a little bow. “Good morning, Ari,” he said slowly. “If there was such a thing as beauty sleep, then you’ve slept too much.”

It was corny, and I grin now into my juice as I think about it. He left when Alessandro called from downstairs, and I noticed Katya coming out of her room at the end of the hallway. I hustled downstairs without a word to her, and I hoped what transpired stayed between us.

Whatever I’m feeling now, I have to keep it in check. My father and brothers would never allow me to see just anyone. It would have to be someone they approve of, and although Carmine is family to us for all intents and purposes, they would never agree to us being together. They’re so overprotective of me, and I know Carmine was a player in his twenties, but I don’t remember him being with anyone recently.

I wonder, if I brought it up casually, maybe with Dominic first, perhaps I could get away with seeing him. Would he want to see me, though? Maybe I’m reading too much into it, and he’s just being friendly.

Then I remember how we danced together, and a heat settles between my legs, a heat I’d love Carmine to attend to personally.

I look up as my mother walks in. “Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, setting my now empty glass down.

We leave, getting into an armored vehicle. We make it to the salon with no incident. As I sit down and they start taking off my old nails, I watch, mesmerized at what she’s doing.

“So, what’s been happening with you?” Sonya, the nail technician, asks me.

“Nothing much, racing around and being bored,” I sigh. “My brother won’t let me do anything I want.”

“Like?” she asks.

I stare at her, and she asks again, “What do you want to do?”

Join the family business, but I can’t say that. “It’s just that anything I propose he shoots down and doesn’t think it’s my place to interfere with business.”

“My mother was the same,” Sonya says, chewing on her gum. “You just have to figure out something they will be agreeable with that will benefit you and them.”

“Nothing will benefit my brother,” I mutter.

She looks at me seriously. “You keeping out of mischief would. Find a good hobby or something you are passionate about. Preferably something that costs money so that you can stick it to him at the same time.”

My mother sits at the desk next to mine, and we fall silent.

I think about what Sonya said. There’s nothing I’m inherently good at-except for racing. I’m good with cars, but you have to be a trained mechanic to work on cars, or you can get into a lot of trouble.

Not just working on cars, though; I love to race. I turn to my mom and find her looking at me thoughtfully. “What?” I ask.

“You looked so seriously now. What’s worrying you?”

Perfect opportunity.

“The fact that I have no ambition or drive in life, Ma. I mean, I have no purpose, no reason to live.” I pout slightly. “And everything I think of Alessandro denies me.”

“I’m sorry, Cup Cake, we’ll find something for you to do,” she promises me for the hundredth time.

“I know what I can do, or I’ve thought of something I can do that I’ll really enjoy and that I can work hard for every day,” I say, waiting for her response.

Her eyes are curious, and she prompts me, “What is it?”

“Racing,” I say, grinning. “I could become a professional racer. I’ll practice at Yonkers or Aqueduct raceway. I can represent the family in car racing.”

My mother looks away, and I know she’s against the idea, so I give a heavy sigh. “But no one cares what I want.”

“That’s not true.” She turns back to me. “Just racing is not ladylike, and honestly, Arianna, it’s so dangerous.”

“Have I caused or been in one accident when I was driving yet?” I shoot back. “Have I ever totaled my car or written off anything?”

She sighs, looking at her nails. “Not too long,” she tells Janet, her nail technician. “No, you haven’t, but I don’t see how I could convince Alessandro to let you do this.”

“If he lets me do this, I’ll practice until I win all the races. I’ll be the best female racer that New York has ever seen. Please, Ma, please help me. At this rate, I will wither away into a ball of nothing.” Okay, maybe I went a bit far.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll speak to your father about speaking to Alessandro, but I can’t make any promises.”

I can’t move to hug her, but I give her an award-winning smile. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“No promises,” she says, and we return our attention to our appointment.

Sitting at dinner that night, Alessandro looks dead straight at me and says, “Dad says you want to be a racer. Is that true?”

“She already is a racer,” Dominic says through a mouth full of food.

“I want to be a professional racer, legit and above board.” I look at Alessandro. “I mean, I’d need help getting started. Getting the right car and gear and teams and stuff.”

“You’re going to set this up all yourself?” he asks.

I nod, my fingers crossed under the table.

He sighs and spears some lettuce onto his fork. “What’s with all the healthy food, Ma? I hate salad.”

“Don’t be ungrateful. You need to take care of your heart,” my mother says.

My shoulders drop. It looks like he’s going to move on to another topic now. There was that dream.

“Fine,” he says after a moment, “If it will get you to stop nagging me, fine. First, you get the team together and find decent people, too. I don’t want my sister dying on a racetrack.”

I squeal and jump up, almost knocking over mine and Sofia’s wine. I run around the table and hug him. “Thank you, Alessandro! I will make you so proud.”

He nods, glancing at Katya, who is smiling brightly. I don’t think my mother spoke to my father at all. She talked to someone with far more influence over my brother.