All Chapters of Mr. SCARPA: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

1 Montana's POV * * “I’m Officer Bridge and this is my partner, Officer Ferrari. Do you mind if we come inside?” ..... After Ben had left to drop his mother off at the elderly day center, I receive a text from the hospital I had visited a week ago that I am pregnant — over a week gone. It was not a good thing. Ben didn't want kids. The doorbell rings at that moment, giving me a shock to the bones. 'Oh my God. It must be Ben.' I drop the phone onto the table, thinking it might be Ben. It's still a bit too early to be home so, maybe his mother had forgotten her scarf again. But when I open the door, I see two Italian Polizia standing stiff and silent on the other side. The taller one exhales slowly, as if the moment itself wearies him and he takes a step back. The shorter one leans forward instead. “Are you Montana Rossi?” “Yes, Mr. Police man. Why?” I ask. My stomach is already beginning to knot. The police don’t come bearing good news, I can tell. He took off hi

3Torre's POV**The kid wailed like the world was ending.Like I gave a fuck about her tiny-ass problems.But I tried. I fucking tried to make the little devil stop. Unfortunately for me, nothing worked. Nothing settled the screaming demon.I’d called Falcone earlier and the bastard told me to check her diaper. I did. It was clean. She’d eaten, too. I even shoved that stupid teething ring in her hand, her own little prize, and what did she do?She threw it and screamed louder with her tiny face all scrunched up like she was being skinned alive.Fuck.Big, fat tears streaked down her cheeks. I bounced her on this body worth a fortune in Kuwaiti dinar and held her close, closer than her mother ever got to hold me.Her name is Alessia. She is eight months old. And she is Vittoria’s daughter, not mine. Even though everyone believed otherwise.It was a deal between her mother and me, to keep the little girl alive. And Christ, I’m regretting not letting this little monster join her mother

5. Torre's POV * * Indeed, Rossi’s fucking house looked like something out of a Dreamland fairytale. There was a bright, welcoming garden of orange flowers lounged outside like it didn’t know it belonged to a dead man. Neatly trimmed grass kissed the path that led up to what was now, legally and spiritually, my fucking property. “Well, it's a property in debt to me now, you dead motherfucker.” I knocked and the door creaked open to reveal pale Montana. She was in casual black cotton shorts and a soft yellow shirt. This was the kind of casual comfort women wore when they thought no one important would show up. There was a dog that was not even Italian-bred, hovering by her bare legs. It was shaggy, wide-eyed and seemed loyal to the bones. Montana wasn’t Italian, that was obvious. Her skin was soft like powdered sugar, but those dark coils? They could’ve belonged to a woman from Naples, like my mother’s. She looked up through those wild lashes, revealing her ocean-blue w

Torre’s POV **I closed my eyes and slid my fucking trigger hand into the dark. The cotton of my briefs pressed tight, but I didn’t care. The chair creaked beneath me as I leaned back in my private office. The light overhead buzzed low. On the projector screen, she was already there. Montana—my dream girl.She was on all fours with her husband, Benedetto Rossi, behind her. He was fucking her slow. The bed dipped under their rhythm. I watched Benedetto slide out of her, and when he pushed back in, she let out that moan—the one I knew too well. Her arms gave out. Her breasts met the sheets. God, she collapsed like she needed it more than air.My cock stirred. Just a twitch. Pale Montana deserved a punishment for falling apart from that position. I spread my legs wider. My hand moved lower, cupping my balls. My boys were both cold and heavy. I squeezed them tight and muttered, “What’s the rush, boys?”I always took my time.Her eyes fluttered in the video. It was half-lidded and daze