I clench my jaws tight and grab a full hand of her hair while hissing my climax, and I unload in the back of her throat, pushing her head stronger on my shaft as I don't want her to spill any on the carpet of my office.

I fucking hate dirt! It makes me sick.

She sobs and gags and once I'm done she lifts her tearful, enormous eyes at me, as I pull out.

"Good girl," I smirk down at her, and she stretches that broad smile showing off some perfect teeth.

"Grazie, Don," she whispers sensually, standing up to leave and I spank her butt once she turns around and displays in front of my eyes her firm, round butt with cheeks wrapped in black laces and flowery satin. (Thank you, Don).

I care about my girls. At least the ones in this club, Barrone. It's the core of my business, my favorite, the most luxurious in town, and the only one I manage myself.

My girls working in here are as clean as fucking virgins, given regular medical checks. Paid, no matter how much because Barrone is and will stay the most expensive club in Napoli, with the finest girls, best booze and powder, and the richest clients.

And I have one rule which all my girls know. They have to come to me without make-up on or else they're being sent back and banned from the stage for three months.

Trust me! With this ban, they are losing a few good tens of thousands of euros less to talk about risking to piss me off! I hate to see their faces crossed with the filth of their make-up washed in tears.

I shove my monster back into my pants and zip it up, happy with the unload and ready to hit the weekend and by that I mean going home, to be more specific.

Weekends are mine, no matter what. I usually travel to the cottage in the forest on weekends where I spend a few days by myself and sometimes extend if I'm not needed.

This being-needed thing has been hanging on my neck for four years now, but I've never run away from it. I like being a Don and I'm good at it, but I hate the constant load of danger and the need for vigilance coming with it, always living in matters of life and death.

I heavy sigh escapes my chest while I strongly run my hands on my face and I jump on my feet walking to my desk to light a cigarette, the cigarette after, as they say, and before I crash into my leather armchair the phone buzzes with a notification.

I smirk cockily, satisfied that it's finally uploaded, and I grab the phone eagerly. I have been expecting it.

'Mafia in love - Chapter ten' the notification says.

I dive into my leather chair and lean comfortably against the backrest, sucking thirstily from my cigarette till my cheeks are glued to the sides of my teeth and press the thumb on the pad, turning on the screen and launching the app.

It's Friday evening, and of course, there is a new chapter.

I got hooked on this shitty story from chapter one and I can't believe I'm already reading chapter ten. I don't read but this silly story is intriguing, and I find it hilarious how the author portrays a mafia Don to be a fucking man in love, whipped to his bones by a devilish young woman.

I run my eyes on the lines as the story gets under my skin with the speed of the cigarette burning between my fingers while I suck in the smoke, long and deep.

I almost feel mercy for the poor Don, the hero of the story, but her... God, I would smack her butt day and night till it's red and burns when sitting.

Other times I'm as angry as fuck with the Don. Motherfucker is weak and stupid, fucking sensitive and carrying, swamped in romance, as the author tries to portray him.

Some Don he is!

We do not fall in love! We fuck! Period.

Love is a weakness and almost every time it will be used to hurt us. In our world, having a weakness means being an easy target and ultimately, being dead.

We don't love. We fuck and kill!

But I must admit though, the hot chapters do get my attention, maybe a little bit more than I would like to admit but hey, one is bound to have a weakness, and this is my only one.

I like when they get dirty as shit, and the way this fucking author puts the words... I'll be damn if there has ever been one time when reading a hot chapter and I haven't gotten hard.

Much like I am now.

My monster twitches in my pants as I get deeper into the story, and I shift in my chair feeling my balls getting hard.

A satisfied smile creeps on my lips. The damn author did it again, I mentally cursed, and shoved a hand in the pocket of my pants, apparently for no reason but trust me, the little monster needs a flip.

"He's fucking doomed..." I mumble to myself with a smirk, completely trapped in the story when I hear a knock at my door, and someone enters.

I know it's Fabio. He's the only one allowed to enter without permission but his timing is the worst possible, so I lift one hand towards him, without interrupting my reading. I have to finish this, and I need quiet.

Fuck, I'm breathing heavily and tension pulses in my temples. Deep breaths fill my chest with air, and I feel my chest pressed by my waistcoat which suddenly becomes tight like a fucking corset wrapped around my torso.

The arousal strikes me like a rumble of thunder, and I can't believe that Fabio has found exactly this shitty moment to visit.

I open the buttons of the collar of my shirt not giving a damn that he's still around, crashed lazily on the leather sofa, being smart enough to let me have my sweet time finishing this.

This is a catchy chapter. The Don has the poor girl trapped at his estate, but she doesn't really seem bothered by it. On the contrary, she boldly confronts him, challenging and playing smart.

"You will let me leave eventually," she says grabbing him by his balls and fondling them while his eyes change into a darker shade and become shinier by the second.

He suddenly snaps and curls his hand around her neck, holding her face impossibly close to his, hitting her cheek with his racing breath.

"You don't want to go there, because once you are there, you will never be free again," he warns between clenched teeth, trenching her insides.

"That's my man!" I mumble satisfied and I might seem totally engulfed in my reading, but I can still feel Fabio's stare on me.

I don't give a shit! This story amazes me, but my joy doesn't last long.

She yanks herself from his grip and walks a few steps away from him, soothing the burning skin on her neck with one hand and staring at him speechless.

"We leave in the morning," he informs, and turning around on the ball of his heels he leaves the room, slamming her door behind him.

I scroll some more but the fucking chapter is over.

"Fottuto pezzo di merda!" I growl and throw the phone on the desk, fuming in anger. (Fucking piece of crap!).

The amount of times the author drops the story right in the middle of the hero's action pisses me off, I mean... he has just gotten some fucking balls to finally be a man in front of this spoiled little brat, and now...

I hiss another growl and stand up walking to the glass wall of my office offering me a glamorous view of Napoli, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand and shoving the other one in my pocket.

"Stupid fucking writer!" I curse again.

"Something your excellency doesn't like?" I hear Fabio mocking me.

"What?" I snap as if woken up from a nightmare and twist on my heels to face him.

Shit! I forgot he was here.

I stare back at him, looking at his smiling face while he peacefully waits for me to come back to reality from the different dimension where this shitty book is taking me, every fucking time.

That's it! I'll fucking drop it! No more reading. No more! You hear that, shitty writer?! Your story sucks!

And while I curse on repeat in my mind I fetch the phone from my disgusting expensive desk and delete the app.

Trash! That's what this author is. Trash!

I grab the whiskey glass and throw the booze down my throat, feeling it burning my chest all the way to my stomach.

"When did you come back?" I finally asked Fabio who is smart enough to give me time to recollect.

That's why I love him! My dear friend slash brother Fabio knows exactly when to talk and when to keep his fucking questions to himself.

"This morning. It was a damn long flight this time," he complains standing up and fixing himself a glass.

He twists his torso and looks at me with a questionable look, raising his glass, and asking if I want one.

"Sure. Why not?" I reply throwing my hand in the air and trying to look unconcerned but in reality, I'm still lingering in the fucking story of the fucking Don who is fucking in love.

"So, what do you have for me?" I asked Fabio, rushing to take his mind off my earlier show, feeling so not up to his questions.

"Well, you were right. The buyer was from the States, but this was all I could find. I have a company name that looks legit, a normal construction company spread all over North America. I even met the CEO, and he did seem willing to meet you but other than that... He had no fucking idea about the shipment coming from Italy," he shares the results of his trip.

The thing is, I've lost a fucking good deal. Some big-shot businessman offered less than I did and still got the deal and that tells me that I have a leech right in my garden.

One that waits and hits when I least expect, and I hate fucking leeches because they suck from you and then sell you with the first chance they have.

"Fabio, you're better than that," I say, disappointed with the truly little amount of information he has come back with.

"Raffa, I traced the shipment. It was undiscoverable until it reached the Puerto Rico waters and then... it just vanished. I sent the guys to the port. Nobody knew anything about it," he tries to explain.

I hum, frowning my eyebrows while staring at him but actually not looking at him, but rather through him, trying to link the dots of his details and make sense out of the things he's telling me.

Now, if an entire vessel vanished with no trace, and I know how Fabio is investigating things, it means this is no ordinary businessman trying to be a mob in the States.

He is the mob, one damn smart guy and with fucking strong connections which means he's no easy target.

And I fucking hate hard targets when I lose a deal because that means I can win only by eliminating the target.

I lost the count of them but never avoided any.

"Who's the owner?" I asked while tilting my head to the left and lit myself a new cigarette.

"Vincenzo Benito," Fabio replies casually, standing up to throw a file on my desk where surely I'll find all the details.

He sits back with a small groan, telling me he can't wait to rest totally oblivious to my shock and to the fact that all my muscles have stiffened, and my body has become cold as ice.

I know that name. I definitely know that name, but I can't put my finger on it right now.

I heard it before when I was young and I'm sure it hasn't been in incredibly happy circumstances.

Old memories start flashing before my eyes and I frown my eyebrows as if reliving those moments again. I see my father talking with one of his guys in his office and then another tall guy enters.

I used to hide behind some half walls in the garden and watch my father in his office. I was mesmerized by the way he always kept his back up straight when talking to others, looking from up and giving orders like a king.

Everybody listened. Everybody, to the last of his guys, stood heads down when my father was talking, and I found him the strongest man alive.

Later on, I found out on my skin that looking at people from up did not bring you faithful men but rather scared people around you who almost every time would become your enemies ready to stab your back the first chance they had.

I remember how furious I was when they brought my father home. Dead. And I always blamed the new, tall guy that visited him just a few days before.

I killed him, of course. The first time I was allowed to carry a gun I searched for him, found him, and shot him dead in a filthy coffee shop where he used to spend his time.

I hoped to feel free by killing the mother fucker, revenged, tasting justice but it was anything else but that.

They say your first victim will hunt you forever, but it wasn't like that for me at all. He was my first and true, it had been hunting me for some time but when I started to work for my grandfather Capozzi many others were added and so the memories of the first murder started to fade till I remembered nothing of it.

Actually, I do remember one thing. It didn't bring back my father and that was disappointing.

And so, I've learned that each crime has its own purpose at that very moment and that's it. Expect nothing back, it's nothing but a solution for the moment.

"Do it quick, lead the raids by yourself, have no mercy, and keep the families connected," my grandfather used to teach me when he appointed me Don, four years ago. "And most important of all, never have mercy on traitors. They stab you once, they'll stab you again, no matter how much mercy they ask or how much they swear to be faithful. They are like rats, eating you to the bones!"

He died soon after. He was my last relative and someone to trust, except for Fabio and Nonna.

I had to thicken my skin and become the Don, hating it and loving it at the same time, dreaming of the day when I retire.

This is what my weekends are for, a gift to myself, a prelude for my retirement.

"The letter..." I mumble remembering where I've seen that namebefore.

~~~~~
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