When She Tempts: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 2)

Days pass, and we barely leave the house. Giorgio keeps me in bed. He’s ravenous and insistent on getting his fill of my body.

The hours blur, as do the lines between us. I wonder if he regrets keeping me at an arm’s length for so long now that he knows how it could have been during all those days he insisted kissing me was a mistake.

He doesn’t say things like that anymore. No, now he showers me with praise. He tells me he’s never kissed softer lips. Never touched more supple skin. Never fucked the way he’s been fucking me.

With abandon and an utter disregard for consequences.

Last night, Giorgio taught me just the way he likes to be sucked off—deep and messy. I sat on my knees as he fed me his cock, coaxing my throat to open up for him. When I finally took the entire thing, he smoothed a palm over my wet cheek and said, “This is the only time I want to see tears on your face, piccolina.” It turned me on so much, I had to touch myself while he fucked my mouth. We came at the same time, him down my throat, and me all over his floor.

I want to do that again. The memory makes me reach behind and cup Giorgio over his pajamas. He’s still asleep but already at half-mast. I felt him prodding my behind all night long as he cradled me to his chest.

I don’t think I’m going to fall back asleep. Early morning light streams through a gap in the drawn curtains, and I let out a silent yawn before I flip to the other side and look upon Giorgio’s sleeping face.

Even when he sleeps, peace doesn’t reach him. The line between his brows is softer, but it’s still there, and there’s tension in his jaw.

I know what his dreams are made of.

Revenge.

He’s told me more about his mother during the quiet hours we’ve spent in bed. It’s obvious he loved her, but I can’t say I like her very much. I pity her for what she lived through, but at the same time, she seems cruel for making her son feel like a burden. What he must have felt like at ten to think he’s responsible for why his mama cried every night? Her pain was too much for her, and she made him bear it. That boy grew into a man who still believes he’s bad to his very core.

I let out a slow breath and carefully slip out of bed to use the restroom.

After I do my business and wash my hands, my gaze catches on my reflection in the large mirror.

My body’s changed over the past few weeks from all the working out I’ve been doing. I look stronger, my posture’s as good as it’s ever been. Giorgio and I have resumed our classes, even though we often get distracted and end class with our clothes scattered all over the gym’s floor.

When I return to the room, Giorgio is awake, and he beckons me to him. I climb over his legs and settle on his lap, but when I kiss him, he only gives me a peck.

“I have to leave for the day,” he says, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“It’s so early. Where are you going?”

“Sal’s sending me to Milan to retrieve something for him.”

I wrap my fingers around the pendant at my neck. “Jewelry?”

“Yes. A lot of it.”

“Why does he want you to get it for him?”

Giorgio raises one muscular shoulder before letting it fall. “I’d bet he’s looking to sell it. His expenses have risen now that he’s preparing for a war, and his income has fallen off a cliff.”

Anxiety fans through me. “When are you leaving?”

He kisses me again and then gently lifts me off him. “Now. I’ll likely be back tomorrow.”

I watch him as he dresses—white shirt, navy slacks, and a pair of platinum cufflinks. He slips on his jacket and then puts on his watch.

The last piece of the ensemble is the gun he extracts from the dresser and slides inside his waistband.

And just like that, he goes from Gio to a man of the Casalesi.

In the darkness of this room, it’s been easy to forget who we are in the outside world, but it’s been a temporary reprieve. All of this will end, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to really consider what will happen then.

Gio turns to me, and I sit up on my knees on the edge of the bed. He pulls my mouth to his and gives me a thorough kiss. Heat floods my core, and I’m about to beg him to stay for a little longer when his phone rings.

He glances at it and swears under his breath. “I’ve got to go.”

“Please be careful.”

He meets my gaze and gives me a soft smile. “I will be, piccolina. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

After he leaves, I can’t fall back asleep, so I laze around for an hour and then head down for breakfast early. I decide to start roasting some potatoes, so that when Tommaso gets in, we can make a goat cheese and sun-dried tomato frittata, and we can serve it with the potatoes and a leafy salad.

When I get to the kitchen, Polo’s already there.

“Up early?” I ask as I walk over to the espresso maker. I haven’t seen much of him since the incident in the dining room—the memory of which still makes me break out in a sweat—so I awkwardly avoid looking him in the eyes.

“Yes. It’s going to be a long day,” he says, taking a sip of his cappuccino. “I wanted to get a head start.”

“Well, Giorgio left for the day, so if you need any help, let me know.” I grind the espresso, waiting for the noise to finish before I ask, “You’ve been out of the castello a lot lately, right? Something going on?”

He sniffs. “Just some stuff with my extended family. I’ve had to take care of some things, but it’s all good now.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

CRACK!

I whip around at the sound to see Polo’s ceramic mug shattered all over the floor.

He curses under his breath and reaches for a towel, shooting me a strange look. He looks tired, dark bags under his eyes. “I’m jittery. Too much espresso.” He sinks to the ground and starts wiping at the spilled coffee.

“Don’t worry, it happens.” I kneel down and help him get the mess cleaned up, but my movements slow when I notice how his hand is trembling.

“Are you all right?”

He finishes cleaning up the spill and hurries to the sink with the dirty towel. “I’m fine,” he says, his back to me. When he’s done washing his hands, he takes a clean towel to dry them, and then chucks it onto the counter.

I eye his back. He’s so tense. I wonder why.

He turns, and one glance at his face tells me something is terribly wrong.

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, and the way he’s looking at me from beneath his brows makes an icy chill curl up my spine.

“Polo?”

He doesn’t answer. There isn’t a hint of humor in his expression.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my pulse picking up.

He takes a step toward me. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Giorgio lately. Have you realized by now he’s a liar?”

I frown. “Polo, what are you talking about?”

“About a year ago, I wrote a letter and asked Giorgio to give it to my father. I never got a response.”

I step back. His face is blank, but my alarm bells are ringing. Why is he telling me this? “I’m…sorry?”

“You see, I was sure my dad would want to write a few words back to me. I asked Giorgio if he was sure the letter got delivered, and he assured me that it did.” Polo’s lips curl into a bitter smile, and he takes another step in my direction. “He lied. He lied, Martina, but I won’t lie to you. I’m telling the truth when I say you only have Giorgio to blame for what’s about to happen next.”

The backs of my thighs bump against something. I raise my palms ahead of me, fear coiling inside my gut. “Polo, stop. I’m sorry Giorgio lied, but what does that have to do with me?”

Darkness spills into his eyes. “Unfortunately, everything.” He spreads his arms. “Look at this place. Look at what his money’s gotten him.” He keeps advancing. “And look at me, Martina.” He plucks at his T-shirt. “I have nothing to my name. Nothing. Why do you think Giorgio’s hidden me from my father all this time? It’s not because he’s trying to protect me. It’s because he knows that given the same opportunities, I’d do far better than him. I wouldn’t be a lone wolf acting on the sidelines. I’d be ruling the Casalesi right by Father’s side.”

A sour taste floods my mouth. My forehead wrinkles as my mind scrambles to piece it together. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. “Your father…”

He smirks, stopping so close I can smell the cocktail of sweat and faint cologne. “Yes. My father. Our father. Sal Gallo.”

The pieces click, but there’s no sense of satisfaction that typically follows solving a puzzle. Instead, there’s just cold, hard fear.

Sal. That’s who I saw in Polo. There’s something about his eyes, his cheeks, the divot in his chin. No wonder I didn’t make the connection. The similarities are so subtle they’re barely there. In Giorgio, they’re missing altogether, but in Polo, some of Sal’s genes won out.

Goosebumps erupt across my skin, and in my head, someone is screaming RUN.

“We have the same story,” Polo says, slapping his palms down against the table on either side of me. “Sal made both of our mothers pregnant.”

“You mean he raped them?” I force past my dry throat.

Polo shrugs. “My mother never hated Sal the way Giorgio’s did. She accepted that sometimes things just happen. She made her peace with it, and so did I.”

“What the hell are you saying, Polo? Let me get this straight. You want to work for Sal? Whatever peace your mother made with what happened to her, I don’t think she’d ever want her son to idolize the man who raped her!”

It happens so fast. One moment I’m shouting at him, and the next my cheek burns from his slap. It’s more shocking than it is painful, but it tells me something that makes my blood run cold.

He has no qualms about hurting me.

Polo grips my chin, his fingers digging into my flesh, and leans in. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, so shut the fuck up.”

He tries to drag his nose over my cheek. I jerk away, and he snickers, finding my resistance amusing.

“When I realized Giorgio would never help me get in contact with my father, I took matters into my own hands. I found a way to reach Sal, and I told him all about who I was, how I ended up with Giorgio.”

He lets go of me and drops his hand back down to the table. “It wasn’t easy getting in contact with the don of the Casalesi. I sent letters to the church in Casal, hoping someone there would get my messages into the right hands. Eventually, someone did. I went to the post office whenever I could get away, and one day, a reply came. It was beautiful, Martina,” he says, a sick smile playing on his lips. “My father wants to see me. He told me he’s angry that Giorgio kept us apart, says he’s never trusted Giorgio fully, and trust is important to him, especially now. Turns out my father is at war with your brother. I had a feeling Giorgio was doing something behind the don’s back. I told Sal I might know where Martina De Rossi is hiding, and he was very interested to learn more. I’m going to do even better. I am going to earn Sal’s trust by bringing you directly to him.”

My stomach plummets. Dem. If Polo gives me to Sal, Dem will do everything he can to save me.

Everything, including giving up on his claim.

I can’t let that happen.

“Polo, don’t do this,” I beg, clutching his shirt with my hands. “My brother will give you whatever you want.”

But he’s not listening. He takes my wrists into his hands and tugs me into him. “Giorgio has everything I’ve ever wanted, and it’s clear he has no intention of sharing.” His nostrils flare, and then his gaze lands on my necklace, the one Giorgio gave me. “So I’m going to just have to take it myself.”

I have to get away.

Not wasting another second, I shove him as hard as I can, but all I manage is one step before he flings out his hand and wraps it around my wrist. He tugs me back, takes my other wrist, and holds me with an iron grip. Breath fanning against my face, he demands, “What do you see in him anyway? He’s a sick man. I thought you’d understand that when you went inside the cottage.”

A shaky breath leaves my lungs. That’s why the lock on that door was broken. Polo.

“The only sick man here is you,” I hiss.

Somewhat miraculously, I realize I know how to get out of my current position. Giorgio taught me. My training clicks into place, and I push my wrists deeper into Polo’s chest before sharply jerking them back.

He doesn’t expect it, and his hold on me breaks.

Not wasting a second, I run around the kitchen island, putting it between us.

His eyes flash with excitement. “Are you going to put up a fight, Mari? You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

I sprint toward the door leading outside and make it halfway before he tackles me to the ground.

Shit!

My kneecaps connect with the hard floor, and pain shoots up my legs. I gasp as he rolls me onto my back, but just as he’s about to straddle me, I pull my legs in, bending at the knees, and shove my feet against his chest.

He falls, grunting in pain.

RUN.

I do. I nearly make it to the door when he gets to me next, gripping my biceps and spinning me around.

My back collides against the door, and he wraps his hands around my neck.

Eyes wild and terrifying, he squeezes and says, “After I give you to Sal, he’ll reward me generously. I’ll ask him to make you my wife.”

The spike of nausea is so sudden that for a second, I’m sure I’m going to throw up.

He presses me into the door and rocks his hips into me, his erection obvious. “I’m going to fuck Giorgio out of you. I’m going to make you forget you ever touched him.”

The backs of my eyes prickle, and fear pounds against the back of my skull, but for the first time in my life, I’m able to push against it.

C’mon. I know this. We practiced this.

I take one of his fingers and bend it backwards. He screams in pain, let’s go of me, and the rest is a blur. I think I manage to land a kick between his legs before I’m flying out the door and running toward the staff house.

“Allegra! Tommaso!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Help!”

I think I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t dare look. The staff house is close, and Tommaso and Allegra will help me as soon as I get inside.

Thirty meters. Twenty. Five.

As my hand curls around the handle, I’m afraid it’ll be locked, but thank God, it opens easily, and I tumble inside.

Sophia jumps on me while I lock the door and draw the chain, her yelps and barks reaching a fever pitch. She probably senses something is wrong. “Come with me!”

I race around the house, checking and locking all the windows and doors as quickly as I can. “Tommaso! Allegra!”

There’s no response.

Where are they?

My stomach seizes. If they already went to the castello or are out at the greenhouse, it’ll mean I’m on my own here. They won’t hear me screaming from all the way out here.

I check to make sure I have my phone with me. As soon as I find them, we need to call Giorgio. He’ll know what to do.

“Hello! Tommaso, are you here?”

Sophia won’t stop barking. She comes up to me and then runs to the bottom of the stairs, looking back as if she wants me to go up there.

A horrible premonition washes over me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I run up the stairs, following the dog all the way to the bedrooms. I’ve never been up here before, but Sophia’s barking at one specific door, so that’s where I go. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My hands shake as I grip the handle.

When I open it, I immediately take a step backward.

A scream claws up my throat

My vision blurs.

Tommaso and Allegra are in bed, lying in pools of their own blood.