Chapter 5

“Fuuuuck me, Adrian!”

Selene screamed out in ecstasy as she experienced a wave of pleasure surge through her bones. This was her fourth orgasm that morning.

Adrian had her hands pinned up against the headboard as he slammed into her pussy continuously. He knew she liked it rough; they all did, and he was a master at this game.

He pulled out from her vagina, pulled her up from her back, and turned her back to face him. He replaced his cock with his fingers and pleasured her while she screamed to the high heavens.

She could not take it anymore. She wanted relief, but far be it from her to tell Adrian Vitale to stop. Aside from being a mafia underboss, he had the best dick game in town.

She knew what to do. It was her turn to give back, so she faced him, bent down, and put her mouth to work. She took in his whole dick in her mouth, stroking and swirling her tongue on the tip of his huge dick.

Every now and then, she would glance up at him to ensure her focus was precise.

Adrian had his eyes closed and head thrown backward, letting out a manly groan signifying how much he was enjoying himself. He held her head as he fucked her mouth, eventually cumming on her face.

“Fuck, Selene. You are such a bad girl.” Adrian said

“I’m a bad girl for you,” she replied, beaming with joy.

Selene Bianchi was a mafia princess from the Bianchi family. With both her parents gone and having no brothers, she was basically the head of her family’s operations. She had always fancied Adrian and hoped that when he was finally ready to get married, she would be his wife, and they would lead together.

However, with the marriage arrangement between Rhea and Adrian, it wasn’t going to be possible anymore. And she was disappointed and jealous.

“You’re rough today,” she panted, nails raking down his back.

Adrian clenched his teeth. “You like it that way.”

“True, but I wonder… is this frustration over your little new wife?”

“This marriage means nothing,” he replied. “It’s a business deal.”

“Then why haven’t you touched her?

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Selene. I came here last night to detox myself from the wedding drama. I just needed to fuck.”

Selene turned on her side, propping herself up on an elbow. “You do realize this marriage isn’t enough to shield you from the Morettis’ wrath, right? A few hours ago, their shipment was ambushed. Your new in-laws are out for blood.”

Adrian took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his chest. “I know.”

Without another word, he got out of bed, dressing swiftly.

Selene watched him button his shirt, crossing her legs at the ankle. And with that, he walked out, leaving her reminiscing about the wonderful time she just had.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the dining hall of the Vitale estate, but Rhea barely touched the cup in front of her. She sat at the long, polished table, dressed in a silk robe loosely tied over her slip dress, the delicate fabric clinging to her curves.

She heard the front door open.

Heavy footsteps.

Then silence.

A moment later, Adrian entered the room, looking handsome despite the fact that he hadn’t been home all night. His black dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing his hairy chest, and his sleeves were rolled up, giving him a casual look. He had a slight dishevelment; he didn't look unkempt, but it was evident that he had spent his night elsewhere.

“Good morning.” Rhea greeted, putting her cup down.

Adrian barely looked at her as he walked toward the bar cart, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “Is it?”

Rhea breathed deeply. She knew exactly where he had been. The scent of another woman’s perfume clung faintly to him—one she didn’t wear.

Still, she made her features into something soft and understanding. She would rather not push him; no, she wanted to make him see her.

She whispered softly, "I waited for you last night."

Adrian took a slow sip, his sharp eyes flicking to her. “I was busy.”

Rhea tilted her head slightly, letting her robe slip just enough to reveal a hint of her breasts. “I know you have responsibilities. I just…” She hesitated, her fingers circling the rim of her coffee cup. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

Adrian’s grip on his glass tightened slightly.

He shouldn’t be noticing her.

Not the way the silk of her robe clung to her tiny waist, the way the morning light showed the smooth skin of her thighs where her slip dress barely covered her. Not the way her lips parted when she spoke. He could see her succulent breasts through the silk robe and it seemed to be calling out to him

Damn her.

He turned away slightly, as he was beginning to feel his cock twitch in response to what his eyes were seeing.

Good,” he said flatly. “Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

Rhea looked down, her expression perfectly composed to look soft. But inside, she caught the flicker of tension in his posture, the way he refused to fully look at her. She knew he was responding to her body.

“I wasn’t asking where you were,” she murmured, still circling the rim of her coffee cup absentmindedly. “I just thought, maybe I should start getting to know you.” She let out a quiet laugh. “I mean, I’m your wife now.”

Adrian was amused, even though there was no humor in it. “Wife is a title, Rhea. Nothing more.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes holding his in something softer— something almost vulnerable. “It could be more.”

His jaw tensed.

Rhea shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the movement drawing his eyes to her before he could stop himself. The silk of her robe shifted slightly, revealing more of her thigh, and for a second, he imagined how easily that fabric would slip away if he pulled at the knot holding it together.

He felt his cock almost rise at that sight.

Damn her.

“You don’t have to like me, Adrian,” she continued, her voice low. “But I’d rather not be strangers.”

Adrian studied her for a beat, his mind warring between his instincts. She was his wife, but she was also a Moretti. A woman raised in enemy blood was sent to him for peace.

A peace that was being threatened.

“You want to know me?” he asked, voice low. He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. “Alright. Here’s something you should know, wife—I don’t believe in fairytales. And I don’t trust anyone.”

Rhea’s lashes lowered. “That’s a lonely way to live. I intend to be loyal to you, my husband.”

She didn’t break eye contact. Instead, she leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on the table, the neckline of her slip dipping just enough to tease.

She excelled at portraying the innocent, obedient wife. But there was something dangerous about the way she looked at him just then, something that made his blood heat in a way he didn’t like.

A heavy silence stretched between them as they stared into each other’s eyes before he stepped back, breaking the moment.

“Don’t waste your time playing house,” he said, his voice quieter this time.

Then, without another word, he strode past her, his body tense, his mind a mess of thoughts he would rather not entertain.

Rhea watched him go as she smiled to herself.

She was playing house.

And she would make him believe it.

Even if it was all a lie, there was still hope.

Meanwhile, across the city, the Moretti estate was filled with tension. Enrico Moretti sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his most trusted men. Dante leaned forward, his voice filled with urgency.

“The Vitales are playing us, Father. They hide behind this marriage while attacking us in the dark.”

“Think about it,” Dante pressed. “Who else would dare touch our shipment? No one but the Vitales has the power or the audacity.”

Some of the older men murmured in agreement, but Enrico was still unconvinced. “We don’t move without proof.”

Dante’s expression was visibly angry. “And if we wait for proof? What then? We’ll be picking up more of our dead men?”

Before Enrico could respond, the room erupted in chaos.

Gunfire.

Bullets tore through the windows, shattering glass. Men ducked, reaching for their weapons. Enrico shot up from his chair, barking orders.

Dante calmly pulled his father behind cover. “Stay down!”

But as the gunmen stormed inside, Dante made his move.

Amidst the chaos, a single shot rang out—clean, precise.

Enrico Moretti crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Dante’s eyes widened in shock, playing his part flawlessly. He grabbed his gun, firing at one of the masked attackers, dropping him instantly.

By the time the dust settled, the gunmen had fled, and the Moretti men stood in stunned silence.

“Get the doctor!” someone shouted.

Dante knelt beside his father’s lifeless body, his hands shaking. He looked up at the others, his voice hoarse. “It was them. The Vitales did this.”