Craving The Mafia's Touch.
His breath hitched when my tongue teased his earlobe.
"Now you have your answer," I whispered, trailing kisses down his jaw. He groaned, hand gripping my waist unconsciously.
I pulled back with a wicked smile, pushing him off lightly. "Prepare the battleground, Dante. Let’s see if you can handle me."
***
By the time night bled into the compound, the arena was alive. Torches burned in iron stands, their flames crackling against the dark sky. The ground was black stone, scarred from years of bloodshed. On one side, long benches stacked with mafia men in tailored suits and women draped across their laps, half-drunk, half-used. They chanted, laughed, their voices raw and wild.
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