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Tied Up Don
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2025-11-18 08:00:21CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE
VERONA, ITALYDante’s arms wrapped around me like iron as he lifted me from the desk, our bodies still slick and connected, his cum leaking down my thighs.“Not enough, amore mio,” he growled, voice rough with that pent-up frustration from two weeks apart. “I need more of you. All fucking night.”I laughed, breathless, nipping his shoulder as he carried me to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.The massive bed waited, sheets rumpled from our earlier neglect. He dropped me onto the silk, his eyes dark and hungry, cock already twitching back to life. But I wasn’t done playing.“Remember my promise, tesoro?” I purred, pushing him down onto his back. “You did good. Now, let me reward you.”He smirked, that dangerous Mafia don glint in his eyes, but he let me take control, for now.I grabbed the silk ropes from the nightstand, tying his wrists to the headboard, tight enough to hol
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My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Tied Up Don
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEVERONA, ITALYDante’s arms wrapped around me like iron as he lifted me from the desk, our bodies still slick and connected, his cum leaking down my thighs. “Not enough, amore mio,” he growled, voice rough with that pent-up frustration from two weeks apart. “I need more of you. All fucking night.”I laughed, breathless, nipping his shoulder as he carried me to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us. The massive bed waited, sheets rumpled from our earlier neglect. He dropped me onto the silk, his eyes dark and hungry, cock already twitching back to life. But I wasn’t done playing. “Remember my promise, tesoro?” I purred, pushing him down onto his back. “You did good. Now, let me reward you.”He smirked, that dangerous Mafia don glint in his eyes, but he let me take control, for now. I grabbed the silk ropes from the nightstand, tying his wrists to the headboard, tight enough to hol
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Restructuring The Claimed Territories
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE ITALYThe air reeked of blood and smoke as I stepped over bodies littering Bassano’s streets, my boots crunching on shattered glass. Ricci’s men lay broken, gunned down, throats slit, not a single one spared. My crew moved like vultures, stripping weapons, torching trucks, and dragging corpses to the river. The Brenta swallowed them without a trace. I scanned the carnage through my binoculars, Carlos still standing in the square, blood dripping from his knife, his men securing the perimeter. He’d held the line, just like I knew he would.I pressed my earpiece, voice cold. “Nikolai, finish the cleanup. No loose ends. Every body, every bullet, gone.”“On it, capo,” Nikolai replied, his men already hauling crates and burning evidence.I switched channels, calling Dante. “Tesoro, it’s done. Ricci’s down, Russians too, all dead. Bassano’s ours. Hit the west now, full sweep. Take every fucking inch of
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Ricci's Downfall
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEBASSANO DEL GRAPPA, ITALYSunset bled red over the Brenta River, the sky turning to bruised purple as shadows swallowed the warehouse. My men were ghosts in the dark, snipers perched on rooftops, scouts hunkered in the reeds, Nikolai barking low orders through the comms. I crouched at the river’s edge, binoculars pressed to my eyes, Glock heavy on my hip. We’d been locked in since last night, no sleep, just adrenaline and black coffee. Ricci’s move was coming, and I was ready to make him regret every fucking step.My phone buzzed, Nico. “Catalina, my guy inside confirmed, Ricci’s rolling out. Trucks loaded, Russians leading the charge. They’re heading for Bassano now, full force.”“Good,” I said, voice like ice. “Tell the spy to pull out. No traces.”“Already gone,” Nico replied. “He’s out clean. Your call on the strike.”I switched to the earpiece channel for my crew. “Hold po
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Preparing For The Turf War
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVE BRENTA RIVER, ITALY The Brenta River’s banks were dark and silent, the water a black ribbon under the moonless sky. For days, I’d been moving my men into position, silent as death, taking out Ricci’s scouts one by one, knives to throats, bodies dumped in the current. My crew slipped into their places, wearing stolen jackets with Ricci’s crest, posing as his own. Each night, we tightened our grip, setting up a makeshift base in an abandoned warehouse along the river, crates of ammo and guns stacked in the shadows. No one saw us. No one heard us. We were fucking ghosts. Dante was holding the west, just like I told him, his men ready to carve up Ricci’s smaller turfs in Treviso and Mestre. He was in position, waiting for my signal to strike, a wolf on a leash, and I knew he was itching to tear into something.
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent A Double Plan
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVELUCCHESE ESTATE NIGHTThe study’s heavy oak door clicked shut as I stepped inside, the scent of leather and whiskey thick in the air. Dante was already there, leaning against his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the king who’d just charmed a senator into submission. His eyes locked on me, dark and intense, as I crossed the room and slid onto his lap, straddling him. My fingers traced his jaw, his stubble rough under my touch, while his hands settled on my hips, pulling me closer, a casual intimacy that felt like home.“Talk,” he said, voice low, his thumb brushing the curve of my waist.I leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “Nico’s heading to Bassano tonight to brief Carlos on Ricci’s moves. I’m backing my brother once we confirm the dates. Ricci’s Russian dogs, Roma, Kolya, Dima, are gunning for his turf. We need to make sure Carlos is ready to bleed them dry.”Dan
My Mafia Husband Thought, I Was Innocent Her Brother's Turf Is Their Target
CATALINA’S PERSPECTIVEITALYMorning sun burned through the estate’s windows as I zipped up my boots, the house dead quiet without Dante. He’d peeled out at dawn for a meeting with a Senator in Rome, cutting deals to keep our empire’s shiny mask intact. I checked my phone, 9:03 AM, no texts. Perfect. Time to hunt. I was done playing spy from a distance; today, I’d stalk Ricci’s turf in Padua myself, get eyes on his slimy moves. I threw on a black leather jacket, shoved a Glock under my shirt, and tucked a blade in my boot. Ricci’s crew was still licking their wounds from the port we torched, and I’d make damn sure they stayed spooked. I hit the road, my sedan eating up the miles to Padua. The city was a circus, tourists clogging the streets, vendors slinging espresso. I parked near Piazza della Frutta, cap low, blending in like a ghost. By noon, I’d clocked one of Ricci’s lieu
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