𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

45 || Footsie

I would have been impressed, had I not figured it out before stepping foot onto American soil. But her ability to figure out what no one outside this room knew, was slightly impressive.

Nico Blaine wasn't a nobody working for a somebody.

He was that somebody. A somebody notorious for his power over the majority of the city's criminal world. A somebody that's remained a mystery to everyone because he hid behind his alias. Rosso.

The click of a gun echos, and the devil of a man places his gun atop the table, he doesn't touch it but the barrel point's in her direction.

She chuckles, I meet Nicos gaze while my hand finds the edge of her chair, and I drag her impossibly closer to me. Away from the barrel of the gun, and right into my side.

My response clear.

Her bare knees brush mine and when she shifts, I can feel the silk of her dress inch higher up her thigh. It proves as nothing but a reminder of how little she's managed to put on and get away with.

Because when she leans forward, the lace at her bust slips down, more so than it already is and for reasons  I can't comprehend, I hate it. "Now, have I proven my dick's big enough for a seat at the table? Or do you want me to keep talking? cause I can go on forever-"

"Enough." It's the Italian that speaks up, his voice reeking with authority as he wears his outrage on his face. "What business we have with him, doesn't involve you."

Celina stiffens, his words clearly having an affect on her. But she quickly relaxes back into her chair, focusing her attention on picks up her utensils and digging into her second steak. "What is it you two want from my husband?"

Satisfaction seeps beneath my muscles and settles into my bones. I shouldn't like the way I sound on her mouth as much as I do.

"Husband." Alessio echos a deep laugh, keeping his gaze peeled on her. He doesn't look at me, he's too weary.   It doesn't stop him from speaking to my wife the way he's done so many times before, as her superior.

"What exactly do you think you'll achieve with this little tantrum?" His voice is levelled, but filled with rage. "Aside from desperately trying to get your fathers attention." And then his gaze slides briefly to me. "When will you realize Silvio isn't as bad as your husband makes him out to be?"

I remain silent, but his deliberate words don't sit well with me. However, I don't overreact with a response, instead I look from him to the girl curiously watching at his side.

The woman at my side makes the subtlest of movements to get out of her seat. Only, before she can act on her anger, my hand finds it's way to her thigh, and my fingers skim the soft bare skin there, anchoring her down.

I don't glance at her, I remain indifferent, until she eventually settles, choosing to instead find comfort in her steak knife. "Giana," her drawl is lazy while everyone watches the way she expertly fiddles with the blade like its a second instinct. "Tame your little bitch."

Sensing she's teetering the edge of a dangerous cliff, I lean over, and bring lips to her ear, my words for her only. "Behave yourself."

The Don of the Italian mafia tenses, and I know he's doing everything in his power to remain calm. Not only out of respect for Silvio Ademaro, but because the slightest outburst could-would cost him.

I slide my gaze to the blue eyed Italian girl by his side. I wouldn't hesitate to retaliate.

"You're an Ademaro." He eventually grits, relaxing back into his seat, throwing his arm over the back of Giana's chair, the move clearly possessive. "Amend things with your father and I'll give you a seat at my table."