All Chapters of Forceful pleasures: Subjected to the Don: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Giovanni’s POVThree months ago – New YorkThe bar in Lower Manhattan was loud, dim, and full of people trying too hard to forget their problems.I had come for a business meeting — a quiet sit-down with a few East Coast associates about territory lines and shipping routes. The kind of conversation that happens in back rooms with expensive whisky and careful words.The meeting ended early.I stayed for one drink.Then I saw her.She was at the far end of the bar, perched on a stool like she owned it, nursing a glass of something dark.Her ginger hair spilling down her back in wild waves and storm-grey eyes that looked like they could cut glass.She was drunk — not sloppy, but the kind of drunk that makes a woman dangerous.Her black dress clung to every curve – full breasts, small waist, and hips that begged to be gripped.Long, curvy legs crossed at the ankle and her red heels dangling.She caught me staring.Instead of looking away, she lifted her glass in a mock toast and smirked.

Brenda’s POV (Flashback – 12 years ago)I was twenty-two years old and drowning.The restaurant in Palermo was a tourist trap: overpriced pasta, waitresses in tight black dresses, and men who tipped with wandering hands.I worked the late shift six nights a week, smiling through gritted teeth while my feet bled in cheap heels and my daughter slept at my mother’s apartment across town.That was the night a man named Rico walked in. The most dreadful and dangerous I'd ever known. No, he didn’t look dangerous, nor did he look like someone who could snap a person’s neck backwards in five seconds.Instead, he looked like money — quiet money. More like a humble billionaire with his dark suit, no tie, silver at the temples, and his eyes like the colour of wet slate.He sat alone at the VIP corner table; he ordered a bottle of Barolo and a plate of bruschetta he barely touched.When I brought the wine, he looked up at me and smiled. I noticed how he’d watch me arranging the wine glass.His g

Giovanni’s POVThe bedroom was quiet except for the soft sound of Nella’s breathing and the faint wet glide of my hands over her skin.She lay on her side, naked, one arm tucked under her head, the other hand resting protectively over the gentle curve of her stomach.The pregnancy was visible now — not huge, but unmistakable.A small, perfect swell that made something primal twist inside my chest every time I looked at it.I knelt beside the bed, one knee on the mattress, working the cinnamon-shea ointment into her calves first.Her skin was warm from the shower, flushed pink in places from the hot water and the allergic rash that had appeared after the dinner.The scent of cinnamon filled the air — sharp, sweet, and grounding.The smooth movement was soothing her skin and making her feel relaxed.She closed her eyes.I continued. "How do you feel now?” I asked.“Much better,” she replied”“Hmm hmm. That’s what I want to hear.”She sighed – small, involuntary – when my thumbs pressed

Nella’s pov“Food is ready, ma’am.” The maid said after knocking twice.For the first time since I got to the villa, I counted the stairs. Sullen and slow.Giovanni was already seated when I came into the dining room. He didn't look up from the document in his hand when I sat down. We had settled into this—the performance of ignoring each other across a table laid for two by staff who had learned not to make eye contact with either of us.The dining space was quiet except for the careful clattering of the cutlery. The maid served risotto with saffron, mushrooms with grilled chicken, and roasted vegetables. It smelled good, but I had no appetite.I hadn’t seen him until dinner.This was not unusual. He moved through his own house like a ghost—present everywhere in effect, rarely visible in form. I would find evidence of him before I found him: a jacket folded over a chair, a glass rinsed and set upside down on the kitchen counter with the precision of a man who did not trust other peo

Giovanni’s POV“The meeting starts now,” my assistant announced.The company’s quarterly review happens every July. It’s the first time since Nella moved to the villa. The meeting was taking place on the 28th floor of Macini Tower.I sat at the head of the long table, suit jacket unbuttoned, my fingers steepled under my chin as the CFO words were about projected Q3 earnings for Macini Holdings—the conglomerate my father had built from nothing and left to me 10 years ago when he died of cancer.We were still majority shareholders, but the board was filled with men who had known my father longer than I had been alive. They respected power, not sentiment.I gave them neither.“—The net income of the great Macini Holdings should increase and not decrease...”My phone vibrated once against the table.I ignored it, focusing on the CFO’s words.Then it vibrated again.I glanced down.It was an unknown sender. However, an image appeared in place of a text.A single image.I tapped on it.The