Becoming his Mistress: A Zanetti Famiglia Novel Page 2

  “Oh,” I breathe.

  “Go out with me, to my card room. We’ll have some dinner, play some cards, maybe go dancing?” he asks, arching a brow.

  The offer, it’s so incredibly tempting. But the truth of the matter is that I don’t know him. And I’ve never gone out with a man that I don’t know like this before. Scrunching my nose up, hating myself for what I’m about to say, I inhale a deep breath and shake my head.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know you and…” I let my words trail off.

  He nods his head, his eyes dancing as they look over me. “Then I’ll just have to get to know you, tesoro,” he murmurs.

  My thighs clench and admittedly, so does my pussy. Italian. I knew he was Italian and the way he says tesoro, God it’s the sexiest word I’ve heard my entire life. The meaning I’ve heard before, treasure, an endearment, one I’m sure he uses as a throwaway, but damn is it still so fucking sexy.

  He doesn’t allow me to say anything else, he turns around and I watch him unlock the shop’s door, then disappear as quickly and easily as he appeared.

  I smile to myself, a secret smile, a smile of hope for the future. This man, if he comes back, God, I could see myself falling for his charm all too easily. I honestly think that it could be worth it too.

  Not that I think he’ll declare his undying love for me, but he looks like an experience in and of himself, he looks like passion and warmth, like fire and ice all rolled up into one.

  “He looks like a mistake,” I whisper to myself. “A tragically, wonderful mistake.”

  Chapter One

  ONE MONTH LATER

  ARLO

  Wynter’s eyes narrow in my direction. Turning my gaze from hers, I attempt to focus on Gavino and whatever the fuck he’s talking about. I have no goddamn clue, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  The only thing that I can think about is the woman who owns Sugar Cookies and the way her eyes rounded when our hands touched. I want her. I want her like I’ve never wanted another woman in my entire life. It’s an odd sensation, one that I am not wholly sure I actually want, and yet, it’s there.

  “Are you listening to me?” Vino asks.

  Lifting my eyes to his, I notice that his lips are twitching. At least he doesn’t look ready to murder me, unlike the bitch that will soon share my name and my bed.

  “Not really,” I smirk.

  He shakes his head and I follow his gaze as it slides over his wife, then meets my future spouse and goes hard.

  “Offer is still open to fix this,” he murmurs only just loud enough for me to hear.

  Wynter cackles and I grimace at the sound. Luciana, Vino’s wife and my cousin, plasters on the fakest smile known to human existence as she continues to hold a dialogue with the woman.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I tug on the ends. “It’s fruitless and much too late. By this time next week, we’ll be dancing to our first song as husband and wife,” I say, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

  “Cazzo,” he curses.

  I let out a snort, lifting my glass of whiskey to my lips. “Cazzo is right, cugino.”

  “You fuck her yet?” he asks, changing the subject.

  Shifting my gaze back to him, my lips twitch in a smirk. “Not yet. I’m dreading it, though. I wonder if she makes that same screeching sound in bed.”

  “Cold,” he chuckles.

  We spend the rest of the evening in casual conversation, both of us avoiding Wynter at all costs. I’m sure, judging by the looks that Luciana keeps giving me, that my cousin is going to give me complete fucking hell for this, but I can’t be bothered right now.

  Glancing at my watch, I bite the inside of my cheek. I have plans tonight, ones that Wynter can’t know about, ones that I’m sure will cause me more headache and her more heartache than necessary.

  I may not be able to stand the bitch, but I don’t want to blatantly hurt her. But, I’m still going to go through with them, I can’t not.

  Lenora has broken through something inside of me, just the look in her eyes unhinges me in a way where I can’t stay away, I need more. I need to know everything there is to know about her. I need to touch, to taste, to own her.

  “Are you ready or would you like to ignore me some more?” Wynter sneers as she stands next to me, tapping her toe as if I give a single fuck about her feelings.

  Luciana is standing behind her, those seemingly innocent eyes of hers widen and she shakes her head once.

  “Giving you time with my cousin, getting to know your new family is not ignoring you, Wynter,” I announce as I stand to my feet.

  Gavino chuckles somewhere behind me, but he doesn’t say anything and I watch as he collects Luci and guides her away from our quarrel.

  “If I wanted to marry your cousin, I would,” she snaps.

  I snort. Luciana wouldn’t have her, not for a fucking minute. She may be a woman who knows her place, who knows the life and her role in it, but she is not docile.

  She is, after all, a Zanetti.

  Her father’s blood may run through her, but mine does as well. People may think me weak because I chose not to take over the Zanetti famiglia when Antonio Rossi was taken out, but that wasn’t the case.

  Being the Boss, it isn’t for me. I don’t have the desire to be in charge. I like where I am, as the Underboss, I’m able to slide in and out of places seemingly undetected. With my position, I’m able to hear, see, and know everything that I need to in order to help gain money, power, and control for the famiglia—even if that means I have to marry this dark-haired Barbie doll bitch.

  “Time to go home before you make a scene,” I announce as I reach forward and wrap my fingers around her elbow.

  She tries to pull away from my touch, but I hold firm, probably bruising her skin, not giving much of a fuck if I do.

  “Let me go,” she grinds out.

  Jerking her closer to my side, I dip my chin at Salvatore Junior, the Consiglier who is enjoying dinner with a female companion at the table next to ours. He lifts his chin, his eyes not hiding his distaste for this woman next to me.

  In fact, none of my friends, none of the men close to me actually like this woman. She’s a zoccola of epic proportions.

  Once we’re outside the cool breeze of the evening slaps me in the face, sobering me completely. Guiding her over to the car, I tug the passenger door open, then none-too-gently shove her inside before I slam the door behind her.

  Jogging over to the driver’s side, I inhale a deep breath before I sink down onto my plush leather seat.

  Wynter opens her mouth, but I hold my hand up in front of her face to stop her tirade before it can even begin.

  “You will need to learn your place. In two week’s time, my ring will be on your finger, your last name will be Zanetti and you will cease to exist as you have. You may continue with your shopping, your boozing during the day and your club. I honestly could give a fuck what you do, as long as you don’t shame me in the process,” I attempt to explain.

  She crosses her arms beneath her chest and lifts her chin in defiance. “So, you want me to have zero personality, to just be a doormat, to just accept whatever you do and say to me?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” she squeals.

  My hand shoots out, my grasp firm as my fingers wrap around the front of her throat. Her eyes widen and she stares at me with her lips hanging open, looking like a goddamn codfish.

  “Nobody would miss you if you were gone, you know why?” I ask. She presses her lips together and narrows her eyes. “Aside from you being a screaming cunt, you serve zero purpose as my wife, except for who your father is and the fact that you’ll carry my children. Other than that, fucking pointless. You do not exist anymore, Wynter, not after you become my wife.”

  “I hate you,” she grinds out.

  I snort, my eyes finding hers and staying connected to them. “The feeling is goddamn mutual. You wanted a powerful husband and to live a
life of luxury. Your father wanted you and your bills off of his back. We need him for his contacts and that is how this world works. You’re a woman. You receive company when asked, throw parties when asked and spread your legs, guess when?”

  “Asked,” she grits out.

  “Good girl,” I murmur, sliding my thumb along the center of her throat. “You don’t question me, you don’t question anything. You follow orders and when we’re in the company of anyone, anyone at all, you play quiet, soft, and sweet. Can you be a fucking actress, Wynter? Or will you mysteriously die one day?”

  “Actress,” she whispers.

  “Now, let’s get you home, yeah? Busy couple of weeks ahead of us.” I smile, releasing her neck and starting the engine of my car.

  The ride home is in silence, thank fuck, and my mind has one thing and one thing only on it, Lenora Lewis and how to get inside of her sweet, sweet, fucking body.

  ELENORA

  Like clockwork, my apartment intercom buzzes. I shouldn’t get excited, not at all. Running my sweating palms down my thighs, I hurry over to the speaker to ask who’s there, even though I know. I know exactly who darkens the stoop to my apartment complex.

  Chloe, my roommate, snorts from her place on the sofa. She rests her head against the arm and turns her gaze over to me.

  “Why don’t you just sleep with him, it’s obvious all he wants is a booty call,” she announces.

  Frowning, I push the button of the com and ask who’s there. “Arlo,” his deep timbre announces and I swear, I melt a little.

  “Be right down,” I say, far too excitedly, then turn toward Chloe. “Why do you say that?” I ask her.

  “Who comes over to a girl’s house at ten o’clock for a date? I mean seriously, what will you do?”

  “He works late,” I defend. She arches a brow, pressing her lips together. “You don’t think he works late?” I ask. She shrugs, then sighs as she sits up.

  “I think a lot of things, most of which is shit. Plus, I’m single, so really, ignore me,” she states as she stands and walks away from me.

  Doubt.

  It niggles in the back of my mind as I gather my purse and open my door. I haven’t let Arlo upstairs into my apartment yet. Something is holding me back, maybe Chloe is on to something. Maybe my subconscious won’t let me allow him into my life further because I don’t trust him?

  Maybe I just don’t trust anyone, that is most likely the real truth of it. I’ve been dealt some hard truths in life, and one is, you can literally only trust yourself, and even then, that is sketchy because hormones will fuck you up and fuck you over.

  “Tesoro,” Arlo croons.

  His voice, God, that voice, it could make my entire body melt right where I stand. He reaches for me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest. Tilting my head back, I look up into his eyes, those blue eyes that have become part of my dreams.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  His lips twitch in a smirk right before he lowers his head and brushes my mouth with his own in a soft, gentle, kiss. “Come to my casino with me, have a cocktail, play some cards,” he softly demands.

  I’ve been playing it safe. Only walking down to the corner café with him for the past two weeks. Before that, he showed up at my shop every single day with coffee and lunch for two weeks straight. He’s taking things slow, and I know that it’s only for my benefit, not his.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I decide to be a bit more bold than I normally would. “Is this a booty call for you, Arlo? Is that what we’re doing here?”

  He blinks, his eyes widening and then his lips turn up into a small, beautiful smile. His hand wraps around the back of my neck, his fingers warm and firm as he gently massages me.

  “You’re sweet, Lenora. So fucking sweet,” he murmurs. “Merda, but you are too good for the likes of me.”

  I press my lips together, lifting my own hand to cup his stubbled jaw. “Not that sweet,” I say.

  He smirks, dipping his head again, his lips just a whispered breath away from my own. “You are, trust me on this one. You truly are.”

  Lifting slightly, I close my eyes and press my mouth to his in a kiss. I plan on just touching my lips to his, unable to resist just a small taste of him.

  Except, he dominates the moment, dominates me. His hand moves from the back of my neck to cup my head, then he gently positions me, slanting my head and when I gasp, his tongue fills my mouth.

  Reaching out, I wrap my fingers in the lapel of his jacket, holding onto him, pulling him closer, wishing that we weren’t standing on the sidewalk in front of my building, wishing that we were anywhere else.

  Then, he pulls away and I whimper, my eyes slowly opening, my body in a complete daze.

  “Arlo,” I whisper.

  “Carlo,” he murmurs.

  “Hmm?”

  His lips quirk into a small smile. “My real name, it’s Carlo. Nobody calls me that, but I think I’d like you to, Lenora.”

  “Elenora,” I correct, my lips twitching into a small smile. “My real name, it’s Elenora. I hate it but say it, Carlo. Let me hear you say it.”

  My fingers are still gripping his jacket, my eyelids lowered and feeling heavy as I look up at him through my lashes.

  “Elenora,” he rasps.

  He says it like a prayer, no, he says it and it sounds intimate. My own name washes over me, and suddenly I don’t hate it any longer, in fact, I squeeze my thighs together still wishing we weren’t on the street corner.

  “Carlo,” I breathe.

  “Hmm?”

  Inhaling a deep breath, I look up at him, knowing that what I say right now, it will change everything about us. I can’t wait, I want that, I want him. I’ve been desperately craving him for much longer than I’m willing to admit, even to myself.

  “I don’t want to go to your casino,” I whisper.

  “The café then?” he asks.

  I shake my head, my blonde hair flying around my shoulders. His eyes widen, then a slow smile appears, and it looks predatory, downright feral. The promise of this smile is everything I’ve feared and every single thing that I’ve been dreaming of all at once.

  “My place,” he chuckles.

  I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. There will be no going back from this. Not once I agree. I am so excited. I can hardly wait.

  “Yes, Carlo. Your place,” I whisper.

  Chapter Two

  ARLO

  Morally, I know what is right and what is wrong. Unfortunately, my career is one hundred percent morally wrong, no matter how many times I slip into the confessional booth and ask for forgiveness of my sins. It’s wrong. I am a bad guy. I know it and yet, I wrap my hand around Lenora’s and walk her toward my car.

  God will forgive me for this sin as well, even when I know that Lenora never will. She won’t either. She will hate me. I have no doubt about it, but the hate will be worth it just to have a bit of happiness, even for a short time.

  Happiness.

  A word that I’ve never really understood. In my life, in this world, happiness isn’t something we usually get. Gavino found his in Luciana, and he’s one of the lucky ones, but it is definitely not normal. It is not for me, except maybe I can escape to and inside of Lenora. Maybe I can have bits and pieces of a happy illusion when I’m with her. Maybe.

  Opening the car door, I try not to think about the fact that Wynter vacated this exact seat less than thirty minutes ago.

  If I’m going to do this with Lenora, for more than just one night, and something tells me that I will not have enough of her after one night, then I need to push Wynter out of my thoughts—even my hatred for her.

  After closing the car door, I jog over to the driver’s side and quickly sink down as I push the ignition and start the engine. Shifting the car into drive, I freeze when Lenora’s fingers wrap around my thigh.

  “Tesoro?” I ask when she doesn’t speak immediately.

  “I’ve never done anything like this
before. I hardly know you, and I’ve just, I’ve never done this,” she whispers.

  For a brief moment, I think that she’s somehow a virgin, then I shake my head at the idea. That would just fucking add to my guilt, and I definitely do not need any more of that shit.

  Turning my head, I look over at her, lifting my hand, I cup her cheek and stare into those eyes that fucking own me. Deep green, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, almost otherworldly. Blonde hair, green eyes, and fucking perfect—Elenora.

  Releasing her, I begin to ease out into traffic and head toward my condo. “Do you mean you’ve never had sex before, or something else?” I ask.

  I hear the hitch in her breath, then the small laugh that follows. “I have had sex before, Carlo,” she whispers. “I’ve never gone to bed with someone that I don’t know that well.”

  Moving my hand toward her, I wrap my fingers around her thigh and gently squeeze. “Relax, Lenora, I know you’re a good girl.” I grin before turning my focus back to the road.

  A thought hammers through my head as soon as I ease onto the interstate toward the Queens Midtown tunnel.

  I need a place in Manhattan or at least somewhere closer to her.

  My condo is too far away, and if I want to continue this with Lenora, I need to have a place for us to be together. Driving an hour each way just isn’t going to fucking work.

  When we arrive at my place, I kill the engine after parking in front and walk around to open the door for Lenora. She allows me, smiling up at me as she slips her trembling fingers in my palm. Gently, I tug her to her feet and guide her toward the building’s front door.

  Tomorrow, I decide to add real estate shopping to my list. I already have a place for Wynter and me here in Brooklyn, now I need one for us.

  “You’re quiet,” she whispers as she walks next to me.

  I shake my head once, ridding myself of all thought of Wynter, of real estate and anything else that isn’t Lenora.