Ch 004: To Be Or Not To Be?

~ALESSIA~

———

The celebration carries on around me, but I sit frozen in my seat, my chest tight with hatred and rage. My fingers grip the fork beside my plate so hard, I fear it might snap.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Come on, Becca. Tell us already!”

The women press her, their voices eager, but I can barely hear them over the pounding in my head.

Becca only smiles widely. Her eyes find mine across the table again.

“He wants to keep things quiet for now,” Her voice is heavy with faux sweetness. “He’s still stuck with another leech of a woman, but once he’s done with her, we’ll finally go public. Then the wedding planning can begin.”

I almost laugh.

The fucking audacity!

“He better get rid of her soon,” Marie adds with a grin. “I can’t wait to see the ring!”

That is all I can take.

I reach for my phone and handbag, standing up from the table. The table falls silent as all eyes turn to me.

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” I say with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Excuse me, girls.”

Without waiting for a response, I walk away until I reach the hallway. I push open the bathroom door, step inside, and close it behind me with a soft thud. My back meets the wood and I let out a deep breath.

I stay there for a moment, head pressed to the door, eyes shut.

Alessandro. That cold-hearted bastard.

I clench my teeth, trying to steady the storm inside me. Becca’s voice echoes in my head. The way she looked so proud. Like she’d won.

A soft knock comes on the door, interrupting my thoughts. A calm, deep voice follow.

“Mrs. Mancini. Everything alright in there?”

It is Nico.

I straighten quickly. “Y-Yeah… Just a second.”

“Alright.”

His voice fades.

My hand reaches for the doorknob, but stops halfway.

I stand still, as another thought crept in.

What if… what if I just check?

I barely have any privacy in that mansion. And ever since I saw that black card in his apartment, the curiosity has only grown louder. The mystery of Nico Rossi isn’t letting me go.

“Just a quick look,” a tiny voice whispers in my head. “It wouldn’t hurt to know.”

My grip on the doorknob tightens, then loosens.

Letting my curiosity win me over, I turn around slowly and reach into my bag for my phone.

Opening the browser, I type his name into the search bar of the adult site.

The very first video nearly makes me drop my phone.

I stare, frozen, as I watch the image on the screen.

Nico is completely naked, towering over a brunette woman. His movements are slow as he pumps his cock into her with a kind of reverence that nearly makes my now swollen center release a tear.

And oh god. His length… it is the thickest thing I have ever seen.

~~~~~~~~

~NICO~

For most of the ride back to the mansion, Alessia is silent.

It isn’t supposed to bother me, but I notice how she keeps throwing glances at me through the rearview mirror. Quiet, curious glances. Like she has questions hanging on her lips but doesn't know how to ask.

I keep my eyes on the road and try to ignore her. Her body language already says enough. She is thinking about that card she found in my apartment.

I almost smirk.

Not to sound like a cocky jock, but from the very first time we met, I didn’t fail to notice the way she looked at me. That conflicted gaze of attraction and annoyance. But either way, she couldn’t stop looking.

And the truth? As much as I try to be professional, I cannot take my eyes off her too.

The way her hips sway when she walks. The confidence in her stride. That wild fire in her turquoise eyes that screams temptation.

She looks like seduction and trouble stitched into one perfect body. Her skin is like warm honey. Her lips, soft and full, practically begging to be kissed.

She isn’t just beautiful. She is perfect. The kind of woman a man worships. The kind of woman I’ll gladly accept to bed if she is a client. But she is my boss’s wife.

Which means she’s off-limits. Completely.

“What’s your rate?” Her voice suddenly comes from the back.

I meet her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes blazes boldly with fire.

“I beg your pardon?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the window. Then back to mine again.

“You’re a pleasure escort, aren’t you?” She asks. “How much do you charge?”

For a second, I try to convince myself I don’t know where this is going. Maybe I am misinterpreting her question.

But deep down, I know I am not mistaken.

“Honestly, Mrs. Mancini,” I say, keeping my tone polite and controlled, “we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding hers. Because if I look at her too long, I’ll forget everything I am not supposed to do.

I should’ve seen this coming. After just one week working as her bodyguard, I already have her figured out.

She is a woman starving for attention, for touch, for things she probably haven’t properly had in years. I mean, the very first time we met, her moans and the sound of a vibrating dildo was what greeted me.

“Aren’t you a professional?” She says again, pressing. “What’s your price?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask, my fingers tightening around the wheel.

“Because I want to hire you,” she answers. Just like that. No shame or hesitation. Just blunt honesty. And somehow, it makes me admire her even more. “I want to hire you to be my pleasure escort.”

My jaw clenches. My knuckles go white around the wheel.

And worse than anything, I feel myself harden. The pressure behind my zipper grows unbearable.

There is something about her that gets into my head. She is soft but bold. Graceful, but unafraid to leap into fire. The kind of woman who will not bat an eye even if the consequences kill her.

But this is suicide.

The wife of a dangerous mafia boss asking her bodyguard to fuck her in secret?

I swallow hard, refusing to look at her in the mirror again.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mancini,” I say, keeping my voice low and cold. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll advise we keep our relationship professional.”

She doesn’t say a word for long seconds. And I don’t know if I should feel relieved, or disappointed.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Stop the car,” she says suddenly. It isn’t a request. It is a command.

This time, I look at her. And that is my biggest mistake.

Because when our eyes lock, the quiet fire in hers makes me swell harder.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Just stop the car. Now.”

I clench my jaw and pull over by the roadside.

“Turn around,” she continues softly. “Look at me.”

I am not a man who takes orders from anyone. But something in her voice makes me listen.

Slowly, I turn in my seat.

Our eyes lock.

Just like I feared, I find myself drowning in her beauty again. Her hair falling over her shoulders. Her lips slightly parted. Her dress hugging curves that makes my mouth dry.

“Watch.” She says.

And right there, under my gaze, she reaches behind and unzips her dress.

My breath catches.

“Mrs. Mancini…” I try to stop her but she stubbornly continues, sliding the sleeves down her arms.

I should get out of the car. Drive off. Call Alessandro and ask for a reassignment before I do something truly unforgivable.

But I do not.

I just sit there, watching her like the devil himself is holding my leash.

Her dress falls, baring the most perfect set of round, perky breasts I have ever seen in my life.

My cock throb, twitching in my pants. Painfully hard.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” she whispers, her eyes burning into mine. I can hear the heat in her voice, feel the tension building between us like smoke.

“Will you be my pleasure escort... or not?”