登入"Is this what you wanted? On your knees, getting fucked by the man you should be calling 'Daddy'?" In the mirror, I'm on all fours. He flips my skirt up, one hand crushing my throat, the other slapping my ass raw as his massive cock slams into me without warning. I'm trembling so hard I can barely hold myself up. But he won't let me fall. "Ass up." He bends me over, his hand a firm pressure on my back. Lorenzo Vitale. The most feared mafia godfather in New York. He never gives an order twice. ** On my birthday, my boyfriend betrayed me for power—fucking Lorenzo's adopted daughter behind my back. They drugged me, sent me into a BDSM club to become Lorenzo's plaything, tried to destroy my reputation. What they didn't know? Twelve years ago, Lorenzo adopted the wrong girl. I'm the real mafia princess. Now he's begging for me back. But I've already fallen for the man I should be calling Daddy. I fantasized about being fucked by him—a forbidden desire I had no right to feel.
查看更多Seraphina's POVThe silence arrived without warning.One moment we were in the middle of something serious, the next there was nothing left to say, and neither of us reached to fill it. The study lamp threw its circle of warm light across the desk between us. Outside, the garden had gone fully dark.Lorenzo set down the pen. "We've covered what needed covering." He leaned back slightly. "How are you doing? Actually."I blinked."Actually?""You look like you've been sleeping four hours a night for two weeks.""I'm fine.""You keep saying that.""Because it keeps being true."He looked at me for a moment, and then—and this was the part I hadn't expected—the corner of his mouth moved. The almost-smile he deployed rarely and without warning."The last time you said you were fine," he said, "you were sitting on a couch in my house and had been awake for something like thirty hours."
Seraphina's POVI wasn't sure what made me stay. The chair was still where I'd pulled it, angled slightly toward him, and when he didn't reach for anything or check his phone or do any of the things people do when they're signaling that a meeting is over, I found myself still there—the late afternoon pressing against the window, the study quiet around us in that particular way of rooms that have absorbed a long time of serious thought."Sebastian Reyes." Lorenzo said the name like he was picking up something he'd set down a long time ago. "He and I have a history.""I figured that much."He was quiet for a moment. Not the kind of quiet that meant he was deciding whether to speak—more like he was deciding where to start."Twelve years ago," he said, "Sebastian ran a mid-tier operation in the city. Not a family in the traditional sense. More like a network—financial crime, import logistics, a few politicians in his
Seraphina's POVI'd been inside the Vitale estate once before, briefly, moving through rooms that announced themselves in the language of old money and deliberate intimidation—marble, dark wood, the kind of silence that had been engineered rather than allowed to develop naturally. The main rooms were built to make people feel the weight of who lived here before they'd said a single word.The study was different. Smaller. A desk that had actually been used, its surface carrying the faint geography of work—a pen left uncapped, a stack of folders with a legal pad wedged beneath them, a coffee cup that hadn't been cleared away. Bookshelves that held books that had been read, their spines creased and uneven. One window looking out onto the back garden, light coming through it at an angle that had nothing to do with aesthetics.Lorenzo was standing when I came in. He didn't move to meet me, just watched me cross the room with that particul
Lorenzo's POVHer message came in at eleven forty-seven p.m.Two words. No punctuation.I read it once and set my phone face-down on the desk.Nico had arrived twenty minutes earlier with the report I'd requested, three pages folded into a plain envelope, no cover sheet. He'd placed it on the corner of my desk without comment and taken his usual position near the window---not quite standing at attention, not quite at ease, that precise middle distance he occupied when he expected the contents of whatever he'd delivered to require a response.He was right.I read it through once, steadily, then went back to the second page.The timeline was clean enough to be damning. Sterling Prescott had walked out of federal custody at three-fourteen Thursday afternoon. The lobby footage at Seraphina's building had gone dark at eleven forty-two that same night. Two hours of nothing, then normal operations resumed as if nothing had i
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