Belonging to the Italian Don - Chapters - Amore Stories

Belonging to the Italian Don


I had an interview with the most powerful don in the city, Alessandro Peretti.

Then he took me, and claimed me as his wife…

Chapter 1

Anna

No criminal should look like that.

I bite my cheek, absently stroking the thick, leather-bound portfolio on my lap. On my computer screen broods a dark, blisteringly attractive man. Not just any man. A criminal. A shadowy figure that’s slipped the grasp of both Italian and American police for nearly a decade. The head of the mafia—Alessandro Peretti.

My skin feels hot. Alone in my grad school office, I almost feel like he’s in here with me. Those impossibly deep, dark eyes. So rich and glinting a brown they’re nearly black. And dark curls to match, swept back from his face. He has a chiseled face, with a hard jaw and chin, both dusted with the dark shadows of a beard. And beneath thick, roguish brows, his eyes absolutely burn. Like he’s looking right at me.

What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like I’m running a fever. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been researching every detail of Alessandro Peretti’s life, from his brutal childhood, where he narrowly escaped a life-threatening encounter with an older cousin—mafia-related—to his later life, his early twenties, when he climbed the ranks of the mafia to become one of the youngest and most feared bosses Italy had ever seen. He disappeared enemies from as far as Canada, Mexico. And yet, was never caught.

Until…

Five years ago. He’s been in a high-security American prison, right here, in the city, for five years.

And today, I am going to meet him.

A warm sensation tingles within me. I clench my jaw, wipe my brow. Something is definitely wrong with me. Maybe I’m getting sick.

Maybe I’m just sick in the head. 

The truth is…ever since I started studying Alessandro, I’ve felt…pulled toward him. I know—that’s awful. Maybe I’m just a bad person. One of those crazy teen girls so blinded by terror and misunderstanding they went to the courthouse to tell Ted Bundy they’d marry him. Is that me? Just some scared little girl, hiding behind cheap attraction?

No—it’s more than that. It’s different.

Slowly, I drag my eyes back to the photo of him displayed on my desktop. Our eyes meet, and it’s like he’s here. In this room. With me. My heart begins to hammer. It’s not the first time I’ve thought like this. Not the first time I’ve imagined what would happen if he were here. What his hands would feel like. What dark words he would whisper against my neck…

“Anna? Anna, Jesus, snap out of it.” I jolt, looking up. Pat, my criminal psych instructor, and my grad school mentor, is standing over my desk, worry etched on her face. “This again?”

“What? No, no—” Heat covers my face. I scramble to close out of the window on my computer, disappointed when Alessandro vanishes. Suddenly, it’s like he’s not in the room at all. Like he never was. “Sorry. God, I’m just…a little nervous, I guess.”

“Well,” says Pat, looking a little dubious. “That’s normal. It’s a big day for you. Are you sure you’re ready? We can always have someone more experienced—”

“No!” Maybe I say it too quickly, or too eagerly. Pat narrows her eyes. I quickly try to recover my professionalism. “No, no. I’ve put way too much time and work into this. I’m the right person to do this. I’m the only person to do this.”

“Hm.” Pat, doubtful again. She’s never believed in me, not really. She’s just like everyone else. But I’m not the meek, quiet girl she thinks I am. And I can do this. I will do it. “Interviews like these are hard to come by, and easy to lose, Anna. I just don’t want you to get choked up just because you care too much about this case. About him.”

Him. God, even the way she says that word, a simple pronoun, makes sweat break out on the back of my neck. “He’s just like any other criminal I’ve interviewed.”

“Well. No—he’s not. He’s more dangerous than anyone you’ve ever spoken to. This man is a vicious, brutal, unpredictable criminal. He’s been responsible for the loss of his own men. I know you know this, but it’s easy to lose perspective when we get in this deep as researchers—and that is what we are, Anna. Researchers. Just here to observe and record. Remember that. It’s different to look at a man on a screen, then see him in person. Especially a man like Alessandro Peretti.”

I nod. I know she’s right. She is right. It’s just—he’s different. There’s something different about him. Something special. I have a feeling that whatever happens in that prison today, I’ll never forget it.

“I won’t let you down,” I tell Pat. “I promise.”

But even I don’t believe myself this time.

***

At the prison, the paperwork is taking forever. I pace in the cold, stripped lobby. Hard, reflective grey floors. Pocked, stained white walls. Flickering fluorescent lights.

Alessandro came from rich, self-made wealth. He owned vineyards and European supercars. He owned men, by the debts he held over them.

I swallow, pacing faster, my mouth dry. Pat is right. Now that I’m here, the gravity of this man and what I’m about to do is sinking in. He is dangerous. He is a criminal.

What if he wants to harm me ?

I slow my pacing. Stop. Heart hammering. What would it feel like? To be looking into those fevered black eyes, Alessandro’s powerful hands, wrapped around my neck? I shiver, because it doesn’t send fear through me. I’m such a mess that it makes my heart beat fast, it makes my skin bristle with static, come alive.

I’ve had dreams like that. Of him doing that. Not with the intent of causing me harm. For much weirder, better reasons. I flush. I really am going crazy, aren’t I? I want to sleep with a criminal. A mafia boss. Probably a total psycho. The thought makes me laugh, and the man checking me in at the desk gives me a pointed, judging look. Great. Now he thinks I’m crazy, too.

Really—maybe I am.

But I don’t have a chance to wonder if that’s true or not. Because suddenly, it’s time. Suddenly, the guard is coming forward.

He’s leading me deeper into the building, through big, buzzing, reinforced steel doors. It’s a labyrinth, and with every turn and twist we take, I am more lost. I’m so deep in I know I couldn’t find my way out, even if I had to.

And then we’re entering the room, and I’m seeing him, the man I’ve been dreaming of, the man I have been studying like an invasive species, through the glass.

And he is more beautiful, more bewitching than I could ever have imagined. Everything I thought he would be.

No—more. And it takes my breath away.


Chapter 2

Alessandro

A young grad student wants to talk to me.

I find this amusing. I drum my fingers on the cold surface of the table that will divide us. Eye the thick, bulletproof glass partition. On the other end is a heavy plastic phone the grad student will soon pick up. What will she ask me, I wonder? They said she’s studying something relevant. Criminal law? Psychology?

I don’t really care, either way. The only reason I said yes to this charade was to break up the monotony of yet another day in the high-security prison I’ve called home for five years.

I wait for what feels like forever. My amusement soon wanes into annoyance. Finally, I hear the heavy, steel door swing open. Followed by the clunky footsteps of a prison guard—and the click of a woman’s heels on the concrete floor.

An instant later, the prison guard pulls out her chair, and she sits.

The thoughts in my head go mute. The prison guard is saying something, to her or to me, but I’m not listening. I’m not sure I’m breathing. It takes that long—the space of an instant—for me to want her.

She’s young, maybe twenty-five or six. Blonde hair, but the dirty kind, loosely curled and to her shoulder. She’s…breathtaking. No. Flawless—her skin bright and lustrous, her brown eyes soft and full of spark. She wears a getup I can tell doesn’t suit her: a button-down, slacks, and a matching blazer. It all looks rumpled, a size too big. The only effect is that immediately, I want to take it off of her. She’s talking to the prison guard, smiling warmly.

Then she turns to face me.

Our eyes lock. The effect is immediate. Heat rocks through me. My body is on high alert—and then she bites her bottom lip.

To my shock, I harden.

Shy, with a nervous smile in her eyes, the grad student picks up the phone on her side of the glass. Slowly, I do the same.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft, small, but sure. A little breathy in a way that captures my attention. A lock of hair falls into her eyes.

Something awakens inside of me.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she says, flustered. A little laugh. “I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be.” My voice is a growl, the words an instinct. Her eyes dart back to mine. “Tell me your name.” She inspires an immediate need in me to command. To dominate.

“A-Anna.” She laughs, shy. A flush brightens her face. My entire body tenses, and I lean forward. Already loathing the glass, the metal, between us. “Sorry. Anna Mahan. And—you’re…”

“Alessandro. Peretti. But you already knew that.” The way she bites her lip. The way she flushes. The blush creeps down her neck to stain her chest. Her button-down isn’t buttoned all the way, but open at the top. Revealing just a modest, tantalizing triangle.I feel like I’m running a fever. “Call me Ale.”

“Ah-lay,” she repeats. Testing the feel of my name in her mouth. It’s alluring than it should be “Ale.”

“Yes.” I lean forward. Her eyes find mine again. I must know: “Why are you here, Anna Mahan?”

She swallows. Her nerves are turning mine on, too. If she were closer, I’d massage her shoulders. Her neck. Until her head tilted back into my hands and her eyes fluttered shut with ease and pleasure.

Beneath the metal table, out of sight, I reach to adjust myself. Finding myself aroused.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt this way about a woman. And it’s never happened this fast.

This girl is different. There is something…perfect, about her. If I could reach through the glass, if I could break it to get to her—I would.

“…studies.” She stops suddenly, and I realize that while I’ve been fantasizing, she’s been answering my question. Her eyes meet mine, wide. “You—weren’t listening to a word of that, were you?”

“No,” I say honestly. “I’m sorry. You’re…distracting.”

“Distracting?” Her flush deepens. “I’m sorry. Shit. I’m really sorry. It’s my first time doing this, I know I should be more professional. It’s just, I’m—”

“No, don’t apologize.” Anger flashes through me. Not at her, but at myself. “You have nothing to apologize for. The fault…is with me. Anna.”

Her lips part when I say her name. She likes that.

“You’re a student,” I say, finally able to focus. Suddenly, I want to know. About her. Her life, her days. What fills them, who. Who touches her at night. Who makes her flush the way I’m making her flush right now. I am indiscriminate. I want to know everything. “What are you studying?”

“C-criminal psychology.” She drops her gaze. Is she embarrassed, to call me what I am? A criminal?

“That is very impressive, Anna.”

A flicker of a smile. She’s shy. Her averted eyes are the color of raw honey.

“Why me?” I ask.

“It’s…your criminal record. I mean, it’s—well, for lack of a better word, impressive.” The smile she flashes is bright, less shy. A glimpse of a more confident girl.

What does that confidence look like in privacy? Unclothed?

“And your being in prison is a little, well—surprising, frankly. See, I’ve done a lot of research on you. Your past, your alliances. I’ve studied your history, and you’ve been a successful member of the Italian-American mafia your whole life. When you were imprisoned five years ago, it was for white-collar offenses, but…”

Hmm. Interesting. Her intelligence has my mind sparking. She’s not just a beautiful girl, a perfect face, a supple, shy body. She’s not simple, not at all. There’s more to her. And it’s stimulating. “But?”

“Most of your crimes preceding are…” she swallows, a shadow of fear in her eyes. “Violent.”

“Yes. I am not afraid of violence.” I like that she knows that. That if I were her man, if she were mine, she would always be safe with me. I would do anything to protect her.

“That much is clear.” There’s a waver in her voice. “I want to talk about that. The violence. And the crime that wound you up here, and what your experience has been like.”

“We only have an hour. There are more interesting topics we could discuss.”

She’s begun rooting through her book bag, settled on the floor at her feet. But at my words, she looks up at me. The angle does her justice. I can think of a few more positions I’d like to see her in, this Anna Mahan.

“For example…?” Her face is pink. I bet it’s hot to the touch.

What other places on her body are, too?

“I want to know about you.”

She laughs softly, opening a folder on her side of the table. “Oh—no, you wouldn’t want to hear about that. I’m not very interesting.”

“I find that extremely hard to believe.” I do.

“It’s true. If I were really that interesting, I think I’d be on your side of the glass.” She jolts after she says it, looking embarrassed. “Oh. God, I’m sorry. That was a really tacky thing to say.”

I smile. Witty. Off the cuff. I’m liking Anna more with every moment. With every word she speaks. But if she insists we don’t talk about her for this precious hour, we won’t. I’ll do whatever she wants. I’ll say whatever the hell she wants me to say. I know how to speak, what stories to tell to make her fall for me. I’m rusty. And she’s clever. Can I do it in the space of an hour? I don’t think I can bear the thought of this being the last time I see this girl.

“Ask me whatever you want,” I say, steepling my hands and resting my chin on them. I smile when our eyes meet, and her flush deepens to scarlet, eyes wide and bright. “I’ll tell you every secret I have, Anna Mahan.”

Slowly—she smiles back. And I think I’ll do anything, anything in the world, to see that smile again.

***

“But…you were just a boy.” Anna is as close to the glass partition as she can get without being physically pushed against it. Over the course of the hour, she’s put her hair back in a clip and lost her blazer, rolled the sleeves of her shirt to her elbows. “How could your father ask you to do something like that, Ale? It’s…it’s cruel.”

We are discussing my childhood. Maybe it was a cruel one. I don’t really care. All I care about is keeping her here, keeping her hung on every word. My eyes travel over her beautiful face, the curve of her neck, the twin lines of her collarbone. And lower. She’s leaning forward. I can see the slight curve of a stylish undergarment.

“Who is that for?” Envy ripples through me.

Anna blinks. “Who is what for?”
“Your undergarment—it’s nice. Pretty. Lace. And white.” The hunger in me is beginning to grow claws. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last with Anna here, but not here. Present but just out of reach. And even after an hour—far from mine. “Is it for your boyfriend?”

To my shock, she laughs. “I don’t have a boyfriend. But that was a discreet way of asking.” More to my shock, she does nothing to adjust her shirt or her position. Letting me look.

And I do. “You wear white lace for…?”

“Myself.”

That is…alluring. I imagine her in her home. Silk robe, a glass of white wine. Wearing matching undergarments. Standing before a mirror. Then I imagine myself behind her—my rough palms exploring her body, her supple curves, her stomach.

“Ale…”

I snap my gaze back to her. “Hm.”

“What are you thinking?” Her lips are parted. Hair loose in her eyes.

Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me?

Before I can answer, the buzzer sounds and the prison guard enters. Anna jumps up, apologetic, already gathering her things. No. No. This can’t be the last time I see her. This can’t be the end.

We’ve only just begun.

“Anna.”

She whips back around, grabbing the phone and holding it to her ear. “Ale—I’m sorry, I have to go, my time is up. I’ll…I’ll come back. To interview you again.”

“Promise,” I order her, my voice low and cold, our gazes locked.

Fear echoes through her face. But something else, too—interest, or flattery. Or hope. “I will,” she says softly. Her voice impossibly sweet. “I will come back, I promise.”

Slowly, she hangs up the phone. I do the same, my eyes never leaving her. She’s cast a spell on me. I can taste her in the air, impossibly. It’s not enough. I want to taste all of her. Have all of her. I want to make this woman mine, and no one else’s.

She waves, her honey-colored eyes strangely sad.

Anna Mahan never returns to interview me again. It’s the first promise she breaks to me. It’s not the last.


Chapter 3

Anna

“I…I had the dream again last night.”

Kat looks at me, brows raising as she chomps on her salad in the faculty room. “The one about the mafia guy sleeping with you?”
“Hey!” I swat her arm, giving her a look of admonishment as heat rushes up the back of my neck. “Don’t say it like that, it’s not like that.”

She snorts. “Yes, it is.”

It is. The dream is simple, and it’s always the same. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m half-asleep in bed, touching myself. But when I wake up, it’s not my hand that touches me—it’s his. His dark eyes, flashing up to meet mine in the darkness. His gaze, hot, intense, blazing, never leaving mine—even as his mouth makes contact. I melt, running my fingers into his rich, black curls. I move my hips, until—

I gasp awake. Alone in my apartment. The same every time.

“What is this, like the tenth time?” Kat rolls her eyes. “You really, really need to get laid.”

Maybe she’s right. What she doesn’t know is that everyone I’ve slept with since I met him, since that one, fateful day in the prison—hasn’t met my expectations. I’m starting to realize they never will. Only one person can. One man. One criminal.

“Why did you never go back, anyway? Because you’re too aroused for him to keep it professional?” Kat waggles her eyebrows, grinning wickedly. “Look, I’ve seen photos. He’s gorgeous. Like, insanely hot. I’d let him hit it, too.”

“Kat.” But I laugh. It’s easier to make fun of it. This. My weird, telepathic intimate relationship with the imprisoned lead of an Italian mafia syndicate. “No, it wasn’t that. It was…” I hold my breath. I’ve never told anyone this. The only people who know are me, my supervisor, and the prison warden. “He was asking for me, that’s why. He wanted me to come back.”

“Oh. Oh.” Kat looks at me more seriously. “Jesus, Anna, no wonder you’re having wet dreams about him. He’s probably having wet dreams about you.”

I flush. “Keep your voice down.”

“I’m not judging. You know I think it’s hot.”

Is it? Ale is…beautiful. Beautiful, and brilliant, and dangerous. He’s a criminal, even though he’s never been convicted. And he’s done other terrible things. Caused his men harm. Made them disappear, as though they’d never been.

I’m such an idiot for wanting him—even if it’s just in my dreams. And it is, of course. Just in my dreams. If I wanted to sleep with Alessandro Peretti in real life—now that would be insane.

Wouldn’t it?

“Oh, shit,” I say. “I gotta go. We’re doing dinner at my dad’s.”

“Oh, God,” says Kat. “Meeting the wicked stepmother?”

“I can’t keep cancelling every week, they’re getting suspicious. And she is not my stepmother. She’s his girlfriend.” I jump up, shoving books and papers into my backpack. “And I don’t know if she’s wicked.” I hesitate. “Yet.”

“They’re always wicked,” Kat calls after me as I turn and hustle out of the faculty room. “Watch your back!”

***

Dinners at Dad’s have always been tense, ever since I moved in with Mom during the divorce when I was thirteen. Now I’m twenty-six, and I still feel like a helpless, chastised teenager whenever I sit at my dad’s table.

Tonight, his new girlfriend Vickie is joining us. I was hoping she’d be some kind of buffer to the tension between me and Dad. I was wrong.

“You should really visit your father more,” Vickie says, her eyes narrowed.

She has the same yellow, leathery quality to her skin as Dad. Both lifelong smokers, and it shows. In fact, Vickie has the bad form to light a cigarette, now, right here at the dinner table. I try not to look repulsed, knowing it will just set Dad off. He’s already stewing, already not talking, already three gins deep. Just like I did as a kid, I don’t make eye contact with him, and I don’t speak unless spoken to.

“He’s lonely out here, with you kids in the city,” Vickie continues, blowing a blue ring of smoke to the side. “Why is that? You and your siblings—do you think you’re better, or something? Your dad has worked hard his whole life—”

“I know.” I blow out a breath, instantly regretting it. My body goes cold. I look at my dad.

His face is red. “Did you just interrupt Vickie, my guest? Apologize. I won’t have you being rude at my dinner table.”

Heat fans up my face. I drop my gaze. Weirdly—my mind goes to Ale. What would he do, I wonder? If he heard someone talk to me like that, even if it was my own father? I swallow my humiliation. As always, I want to fight. And as always, I know it’s better to just keep my mouth shut.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer.

“I’m sorry, who?” Barks my dad.

I flinch. “I’m sorry, Vickie. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“So ungrateful,” she says with contempt. “You’re lucky your father tolerates you. You’re lucky he invites you to dinner, cooks you a meal, lets you sit as his table.”

It’s an oven-ready meal, I think, but don’t say. That’s not cooking. And anyway, he only invites me here to berate me and humiliate me. I keep all of this to myself, hunching my shoulders over to make myself smaller. Maybe I should get a boyfriend from the mafia. His family would probably cook from scratch.

Half-hysterical, the thought makes me smile. My dad slams a fist down on the table, so hard both Vickie and I startle. All of the plates and silverware clatter loudly.

“Just what are you smirking at, Anna?” Dad’s face is ruddy. Sweat beads on his forehead. “Who do you think you are?”

“I didn’t mean to, I was just—”

“Just what? Mocking me? Mocking my woman? In my house, at my table?” Uh-oh. He’s way drunker than I realized. He must have been drinking even before the meal, before I got here. He doesn’t usually get this angry until after the fifth or sixth. A sick fear washes over me. My body senses danger.