Married to the Mafia Boss

Amelia

Thank God we don’t have to share a bed. It makes this honeymoon just a little easier. I wasn’t looking forward to this at all, and Frankie was so on edge when we arrived that it was giving me anxiety. Now, though, he’s relaxing, and I must admit it brings back fond memories for me.

The easy banter that existed between us was something I always appreciated. He doesn’t speak down to me like I’m a stupid woman, and we’ve always had interesting conversations. That was never our problem.

I won’t lie, I partially attribute the easiness of this trip to the numerous glasses of wine and cocktails I’ve been enjoying, and I note he hasn’t been shy about the beers and whiskeys either.

On the third day, I leave the room and pass a man wearing a suit in the hallway. I give him a small smile and notice he has a tattoo of a cross and prayer hands on his neck. He doesn’t smile back at me, and I shiver as I walk away from him. He’s kind of creepy.

I take the elevator downstairs, and I go to the dining hall. I dish up a generous helping of eggs and bacon with some toast and sausages and then find a table. Frankie has probably noticed my absence already and will be down in no time, I’m sure.

As I eat, I stare absently ahead at a man seated by himself, reading a newspaper. He doesn’t touch his food at all. He turns the page, and a tattoo on his hand catches my eye. Another cross and prayer hands. It must be popular around here or wherever they are from. Maybe they’re together! Oh, perhaps they are brothers. Why do I even give a shit? I chuckle to myself and blush when the man glances at me. I turn my gaze down to my breakfast and eat quickly. I wonder what the plans are for today.

Once I’m finished, I decide to see if there are any activities today and as I walk out through the front door, I bump into a burly man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, though he looks awkward in them, as though he’s not used to dressing that way. He grunts at me to watch where I’m going, and I glare at him as he walks off. On the back of his calf is a cross with prayer hands.

That’s so weird. It must be a conference or something happening at the hotel.

The weather outside doesn’t look promising, and I nearly scream when I hear Frankie’s voice behind me, “Looks like rain.”

I turn to face him. “No beach today, I guess.” I shrug.

“A day in, reading perhaps?” he offers, and I nod. “Sounds great.”

“We can get room service for dinner and watch some movies if you want?” he offers.

“Sure, if I can pick the movies.” I smile.

He nods. “Of course, you can.”

These first three days have been easygoing, and I’m actually enjoying myself.

We spend the day sitting in the living area, and so far, we haven’t killed each other. We checked with the hotel, and the weather seems to be an unexpected storm passing through. It should be sunny again by tomorrow, so we spend the day unwinding and reading.

I order us food and wait until the room service arrives, and I let the waiter wheel the cart into the living area where there’s a small table to eat at. He lays the food out and is about to leave when I pipe up, “Hold on.”

I take Frankie’s wallet from the side table and pull out a fifty. “You forgot your tip.”

Do I feel bad about just taking money from Frankie’s wallet? Not at all, the guy needed a tip, and I don’t have any cash on me.

I put the wallet back as Frankie walked out of his room, dressed in a pair of slacks and a golf shirt.

“A bit formal for dinner in our room,” I comment. I’m in my pajamas, and Frankie eyes me out. “A bit casual for dinner in general.”

“This is proper home attire,” I say, trying to sound posh.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair. I smile, “Your hair is perfect, don’t worry.”

He smiles and sits down. “What did you order for us?”

“We can’t be Italians unless we try the actual Italian dishes.” I lift the metal cover off his plate. “Spaghetti with a creamy sauce.”

Frankie looks at me skeptically. “Do we know if the chef is an Italian Nonna with years of family recipes passed down?”

“I doubt it.” I beam at him. “So it isn’t going to taste like Nonna’s cooking.”

Frankie sighs. “I resign myself to that fact. Right, first dinner and some wine, and then a movie. Do you know what you want to watch?”

“There are some options picked out on the table.” I sit in my place. “You can browse and pick the least offensive chick flick you’ll watch.”

“Do any of them have action?”

“Define action? Like adventure and guns or great in the sack? Cause they all have only the one kind.” I grin at him evilly.

He chuckles. “I’ll look later. Buon appetito!”

“Grazie,” I say, uncovering my food.

We eat in silence for a moment until Frankie stands and pours us a generous glass of wine each. I take a long sip. “At least the wine is good.”

“It’s not just me then,” he says, pulling a face. “Did you order dessert, at least?”

“Ice cream and chocolate sauce,” I push the rest of my food away, “which sounds much more appetizing.”

“I know we shouldn’t drink on an almost empty stomach, but we’re not novices. We’ll survive,” Frankie says, reaching for a bowl of ice cream and standing up. “Let’s watch while we eat.”

We both flop onto the sofa, and Frankie looks at the list I’ve prepared. He flips the TV on and selects one of the more romantic movies. “This should be right up your alley.”

We settle back and soon abandon our ice cream for more wine. I notice how freely it flows, but both Frankie and I are seasoned drinkers.

I lean against him, getting comfortable, and turn my head to look up at him to find him inches from my face, looking into my eyes with those piercing gray-blue Sorvino eyes. I’m not drunk enough to do this, and it would be a mistake, but I can’t help but lean up and kiss him.

He kisses me back, and we start to kiss hungrily. We turn to face each other, our kisses getting more heated until he pulls away from me. Forever the controlled one.

I just want closure from him. Is that too much to ask for? Instead of asking him to explain himself, I get up and straddle his lap, looking down at him. I lean down and start to kiss him again. I feel his hands cup my ass and squeeze. He always did like my ass.

His hands move from my ass, up and inside my shirt, cupping my bare breasts. I moan into his mouth, grinding my hips down onto his hardening cock. He flips me over and starts to undress me, and my mind drives me wild. It isn’t long before he carries me to his bed, his perfectly made bed, and drops me onto the sheet, clawing at my pajamas to get them off.

I paw at his pants, undoing his belt and dropping his slacks to the ground. He’s hard and ready for me. His fingers dip between my legs, and I groan as he plays with me, he always had a way with his hands.

He picks me up and tosses me up the bed so I’m higher and he’s lower. I know what he’s going to do, and I have no complaints.