The Italian

December, 18 Months Later.

She arches her back, her body straddled over mine as she rides my cock. My hands hold her hips, guiding her to where I want her.

In, out, deep… so deep.

My legs are spread, and our bodies are covered in perspiration as we writhe together. Her long, dark hair falls down her back as she watches me with her big brown eyes in the diluted light.

Sex.

My necessary evil.

At least three times a week I have it. Sometimes with one girl, or two from one of my brothels. Other times, I go traditional and meet a woman. Tonight, it’s with one of my general managers, Sophia. She’s beautiful—everything a man could need. We fuck often but she leaves me still hungry and unsatisfied.

They all do.

We’ve been at it for an hour and I’m nowhere near close to coming.

I hate this. I hate that I have this need to fuck, yet can’t come when it’s happening. It’s the worst kind of torture.

Sophia moans, half in pain, I know I have to let her go. I’ll have to finish myself off.

Fuck this.

I close my eyes and go to my kink—the only thing that can get the job done.

Olivia.

I imagine it’s her on top, riding me. I envision her blonde hair and those big blue eyes. I feel myself relax as I imagine her looking down at me.

Soft and lush.

“Clench,” I command.

She tightens and I smile. There she is. My tight girl Olivia.

I lose control, and in one motion, I flip her onto her back and lift her legs over my shoulders. I let her have it.

Deep, hard pumps.

I give it both barrels. The bed is smashing against the wall as I take what I need from her body—what I’ve been trying to achieve for an hour.

I hiss as I tip my head back and come in a rush. My cock jerks so hard that it’s almost painful.

I open my eyes and look straight down into brown ones. My heart drops.

It isn’t her.

I pull out and fall onto my back beside Sophia, gasping for breath.

She rolls herself so she’s half on my body, and she kisses me. I scrunch my face up and pull my lips away. I don’t want to kiss.

“Wow.” She smiles as she struggles for air. “You’re incredible.”

I close my eyes, my heart still racing. Disappointment floods me about the only way I can get over the line…. every single time.

This fascination with Olivia needs to fucking stop.

February, 2 months later.

I watch as a boat slowly pulls into port and the passengers get off. The sea breeze whips through my hair.

We are sitting in a bar having a late and lazy lunch in Venice. Our guards are strategically out of sight, up against the walls. Andrea laughs at something on his phone before he shows me a meme as he scrolls through Instagram. I smile.

We’ve been here for a week. Drea had a break from work and wanted a short getaway. We’ve laid in the sun, eaten, drank, and laid low. While he’s so relaxed that he’s nearly asleep… I’m not. I’m not sure I even know how to relax anymore.

It’s been such a long time.

“Can I get you anything?” the waitress asks as she smiles down at Andrea.

I smirk as I watch her. She’s been circling him for hours, and knowing him like I do, she will be beneath him in his bed tonight.

“Yes,” he replies. “Two more Aperol Spritz, please.” He gives her a cheeky wink.

“Yes, sir.” She smiles.

I look through the crowd and see a woman in a red dress with blonde hair. I sit up suddenly.

Is that her?

“What?” Drea asks as his eyes follow my line of sight. “What are you looking at?”

“That woman in the red dress over there.”

We both watch, and then she turns. I exhale heavily and slump back into my chair.

It’s not her.

Andrea looks over at me and frowns. “Are you still thinking about her?”

I pick up my drink and sip it. I crunch on a piece of ice as my eyes go to him.

“How long has it been?” He frowns.

“Since what?”

“Since you’ve seen her.”

I shrug. “A long time.”

“You still picturing her to come?”

I drain my glass, unwilling to answer his question. I don’t know why I told him that. Momentary drunken insanity.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I shrug. Fuck knows. Least of all me.

“You can have any woman in the world you want. Every beautiful Italian woman on the planet is madly in love with you, yet you choose to pine over an Australian who lives on the other side of the world.” I exhale heavily. “She’s probably happily married to someone else by now, Rico.”

“She’s not.”

His eyes widen. “You’ve been watching her?”

I pick up my second drink and sip it as I stare out over the sea. “Maybe.”

“And?”

I crunch on my ice. “She’s still single.”

“So, bring her here.”

“And offer her what, Drea?” I sit back in my chair, dejected. “We both know…” I pause as I try to articulate my thoughts. “I can’t. It’s not like she lives here. If I bring her here, I have to have an offer.” I sigh sadly. “No woman in their right mind is moving to the other side of the world for a mob boss. Not a woman like her, anyway.”

He watches me for a moment. “What if she was working here and you accidently ran into her?”

“But she’s not.”

He smirks. “You’re Enrico Ferrara, aren’t you?”

My eyes hold his.

“I’m pretty sure you have most of Italy on your payroll, brother.”

I stare at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Something to think about, right?”

“Hmm.” I smirk as his plan begins to play out in my head. I sit back and sip my drink. My mind begins to run at a million miles per minute.

What if I brought her here and ‘accidentally’ ran into her?

For half an hour, I go through the possibilities in my mind.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Drea says.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply, distracted as I begin to scroll through the names in my phone. I get to the one I’m looking for: Giorgio work. I dial the number.

“Hello, House of Valentino,” he answers.

“Giorgio,” I say. “It’s Enrico Ferrara.”

“Ah, Rico. Long time no speak, my friend. How can I help you?”

I smile. “I… need a favor.”