“Hmmm.” He released one of her thighs so he could slide his fingers between her lips and stroke that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of her. “What is it you want, piccolina? Tell Daddy what you need.”

  Humiliation somehow only sharpened her need. But she was too far into the game to be concerned with what it said about her that she enjoyed his taunting and teasing. “I-I want to come, Daddy. Please.”

  “And you promise you’ve learned your lesson about being a polite, respectful little lady?”

  There was absolutely nothing ladylike about being spread out like a pagan feast for a man who made her call him Daddy, begging for an orgasm. But she was hardly in a position to point that out just then. “Yes, Daddy. Please let me come.”

  “I suppose since you asked so politely.”

  Finally, she thought when he lowered his head to her pussy once more. With his fingers still moving inside of her, he pressed his tongue to her swollen clit.

  “Oh, God!” Pleasure exploded inside of her as he worked his magic, every nerve in her body suddenly alive with electricity. Back arched, fingers twisted in the bedspread, she rode out the orgasm, bucking and writhing beneath him. He didn’t stop until she collapsed on the bed, panting and whimpering.

  “My sweet Amara.” Releasing his hold on her, he stood and stripped out of his expensive suit, leaving it puddled on the floor behind him when he moved to the bed.

  He guided her back so she was resting on the pillows. Her muscles felt like water and she wondered if she’d ever regain the use of them. Kneeling between her thighs, he lowered himself to her, his cock filling and stretching her as he slid inside of her.

  When he kissed her, she tasted her own sweet, spicy juices on his lips.

  “Come with me, tesoro mio.”

  My treasure. If she hadn’t already been in love with him, she might have fallen for him right then, with her body still humming with pleasure and him sweetly murmuring the language of their homeland in her ear.

  His movements drove her up and up again, just teetering on the edge of reason. She went over with a sigh, gentle waves of pleasure washing over her as she fell. He followed her with a final thrust and a growl of release before he collapsed beside her and pulled her into his chest.

  They lay tangled together, with nothing but the sound of their heavy, labored breathing to break the silence.

  “Amara.” His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke. “Ho un debole per te.”

  I’m weak for you. The admission rocked her, and it was a long while before she could answer him. “Love doesn’t make us weak, amore mio. It makes us both stronger.”

  At least, she hoped it did. They would both need every ounce of strength they had to face what was coming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Something was wrong. Yawning widely, Amara stretched and rolled onto her side. It wasn’t until she burrowed into the hard, lean body beside her that she realized what felt so strange: she wasn’t restrained.

  The show of trust both warmed her and brought the guilt rushing back to the surface. How could she be deserving of his trust, when she was harboring a secret that could destroy everything?

  Beside her, Emilio stirred and she abandoned her negative thoughts to grin at his sleeping form. It wasn’t often anyone saw a man as powerful as Emilio Rinaldi in a defenseless state. Taking advantage of the situation, she slid her hand under the sheet and wrapped her fingers around his impressively hard erection.

  Straddling him, she slowly lowered herself onto his hard length. When she was fully seated, she closed her eyes and rocked her hips forward.

  “What are you doing, piccolina?”

  She opened her eyes to find him smiling up at her. “Taking advantage of you,” she told him with a smug smile of her own.

  “Is that so?” His hands slid up her thighs, over her stomach, and finally up to cup her breasts.

  “Mmmm. Yes. Is that a problem, Daddy?”

  A shock of pain arrowed through her as he caught each nipple between his fingers and squeezed. “As long as you remember your place.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He let a hand fall to her bottom and squeezed, reminding her of the caning he’d given her the night before. “I believe I know how to remind you, si?”

  “Meanie,” she accused, breathless from the waves of pain and pleasure he was inflicting on her.

  “Yes. Now, ride me properly before I decide you need a lesson with my strap.”

  Part of her wanted to push him to see if he would follow through with his threat, but her body was demanding release, so she did as she was told and rode until they came together and she slumped over him, boneless.

  Shifting her so she was snuggled up against his side once more, he brushed a kiss over her hair. “Good morning, amore mio.”

  “Morning.”

  “Father Russo should be here by nine. I have some business to take care of, but I’ll meet you downstairs when he arrives. I would prefer for you to stay in your room until then.”

  Father Russo. Their wedding. If it could be called such, when there wasn’t going to be a ceremony or a beautiful white dress or Uncle Gio walking her down the aisle with tears of happiness in his eyes.

  Sniffling back her own tears, she pressed her face to his chest.

  “Amara? What is it, sweetheart?”

  “Nothing.” Fixing a smile on her face, she lifted her head. “Just happy tears.”

  The hardening of his eyes was the only warning she had before he rolled out of bed and scooped her up. He carried her to the bathroom, where he sat her on the counter of the vanity and caged her in with his arms.

  “What happens to little girls who lie, Amara?” he asked, his mouth set in grim lines.

  Heat rising to her cheeks, she squirmed and looked down. “They get soap,” she answered quietly.

  “Do you want to start your morning off with soap in your mouth?”

  “No, Daddy.”

  “Then I suggest you answer my question honestly. What is wrong, piccolina?”

  Blinking back tears, she shrugged. “This just isn’t how I imagined my wedding day.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t ideal.” He cupped her face and brushed away her tears with her thumbs. “If it could wait, I would give you the wedding you deserve. Perhaps once this mess is taken care of, we can have a proper honeymoon, at least.”

  The mess being Uncle Gio and his new ‘business.’ A business she was, however unwittingly, responsible for helping him build. Guilt sat in her stomach like a rock.

  “So serious, amore mio. Let me see if I can’t cheer you up before I have to go to work.”

  Two more mind-blowing orgasms in the shower left her exhausted and drained, but the guilt of what she’d done and her unspoken confessions still ate at her.

  “Daddy, gotta tell you sumthin’,” she mumbled sleepily when Emilio finally carried her back to the bedroom.

  “Sleep, piccolina. You can tell me later.”

  “It’s important.”

  “Nothing is more important than my little girl getting the rest she needs.”

  Too wrung out to argue, she nodded and obediently closed her eyes.

  She woke on her own an hour later, feeling rested but no less guilty than she had when Emilio had tucked her into bed. After tugging on the short, fluffy robe he’d left out for her, she made her way to the bathroom. No sooner had she finished than a brisk knock sounded at the bedroom door.

  She opened the door to find one of the maids on the other side, holding a long white garment bag. “Good morning, Miss Vitali. Mr. Rinaldi asked me to help you get dressed for the ceremony.”

  “Thank you.” Stepping aside, she allowed the maid to enter. “Martha, isn’t it? I saw you in the kitchen yesterday.”

  “Yes, miss. How are you getting along here?”

  At Martha’s signal, Amara perched on the chair in front of a large white vanity. “All right, I suppose.” If you ignore all the pink and ruffles. Though truth be told, she didn’t mind the ruffles so much anymore. It was mostly the pink that still got under her skin.

  “All right?” Martha’s reflection raised an eyebrow as she pulled at Amara’s short locks. “That doesn’t sound like a woman about to marry the love of her life.”

  “I do love Emilio. I think I have my entire life,” she added softly. “But I have some... unfinished business, and he isn’t listening to me.”

  “And you’re surprised by this?” Snorting out a laugh, Martha shook her head. “You grew up around these men, dear. They don’t listen because they think they know everything already.”

  “That’s very true.” Sensing an ally, the beginnings of a plan started to take shape in her mind. “I just need an hour and I could wrap up some loose ends. I’d prefer to go into this marriage without any needless baggage, you know?”

  “We all come with baggage.” Martha’s reflection frowned slightly. “But if you can make it a little lighter, you should be allowed that chance.”

  Meeting the woman’s eyes in the mirror, Amara smiled. “Then I just need one teensy little favor.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Amara was creeping down the hall dressed in the demure black and white maid’s outfit she’d borrowed from Martha. The maid, bless her, was currently tied to a chair with a strip of fabric shoved in her mouth. She hadn’t been crazy about the idea, but Amara had insisted they make it look like she’d been overpowered to avoid any repercussions for her new friend.

  Now all she had to do was make it down the stairs, to the kitchen, and out the service entrance without any of the guards recognizing her. She was banking on them not looking past the uniform. As long as she didn’t run into Benny or Emilio, her odds of success seemed relatively high.

  Her stomach pitched sharply at the sound of someone coming up the stairs. There was no doubt Emilio was going to tear the skin off her ass when he discovered her deception, but if she was caught now, the punishment she received would be completely in vain. At least if she finished her mission, it would be well worth the price.

  Her mission, of course, being to sneak out and take a cab to Uncle Gio’s house and confront him with Emilio’s accusations. There was still a part of her holding out hope that Emilio was somehow mistaken, and all of this could be cleared up with a calm, rational discussion.

  And if Emilio was right, well, she wanted Uncle Gio to look her in the eye and tell her why before she used one of the dozens of guns he had stashed around the house to put a bullet between his eyes.

  The figure on the stairs came into view and Amara breathed a sigh of relief. Another maid come to clean the guest bedrooms, judging by the direction she headed when she reached the top of the stairs.

  When the other maid disappeared, Amara slipped from the shadows and hurried down the stairs. There were two guards in the foyer, but they were both looking out the front windows. Quiet as a mouse, Amara strode across the marble entryway to the kitchen, then through the kitchen to the small room where the servants stored their belongings during the day. Using the combination Martha had given her, she opened a locker and retrieved the small black purse from the interior.

  “Hey! That’s Martha’s locker!” Another maid—Jesus, how many servants did one house need?—stood barely a foot away, hands on her hips, glaring at Amara.

  A dozen options ran through her mind as Amara assessed the situation. Talking her way out of this would take too long, and she ran the risk of the maid running and telling Emilio. The idea of knocking her out made Amara’s stomach hurt. When her gaze landed on a small closet just behind the maid, she offered the petite blonde an apologetic smile.

  “I’m really very sorry about this.” Calling on her years of training, Amara grabbed the girl and yanked open the closet. She shoved the wide-eyed maid inside and slammed the door shut, then tucked a chair up under the handle so it couldn’t open.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll definitely pay for this when I get back. I’m really sorry, though!”

  With her witness properly stashed, Amara made a dash for the side door. The guard there paid no mind to the maid with her head down rushing down the driveway. He probably assumed she was simply off the clock and in a hurry to be home.

  The cab she’d called for was waiting for her at the end of the block. She slipped into the backseat and just like that, they were off.

  In what seemed like no time at all, the cab parked in front of the house she’d called home her entire life. Suddenly struck by the enormity of what she was about to do, Amara sat frozen in the backseat.

  “Ma’am?” The driver met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” Move, Amara. You came here for a reason. Don’t chicken out now. “I just... need a minute.”

  “You know I don’t get paid by the minute, right?”

  “Right. Of course. I’m sorry. Here.” Promising herself she’d make sure Martha was paid back in full, she pulled a carefully folded stack of cash from the purse and tossed it at the driver. “Thank you for the ride.”

  With one last deep breath, she pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She only made it halfway up the walk before she was stopped by one of Uncle Gio’s men.

  “Are you lost, sweetheart?”

  Straightening her shoulders, she tilted her head up and met his gaze. Mario, a man she’d known her entire life, paled slightly and took a step backward. “Miss Rinaldi. I apologize. I didn’t recognize you in that...” he gestured vaguely. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Is my uncle home? I need to speak with him.”

  “He’s here. In his office, I think.”

  “Thank you. I have important business with him and we are not to be disturbed, no matter what. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Trusting that her directions would be followed, she marched up the front steps and through the door. Tension gripped her shoulders as she made her way to the large, extravagant space where Uncle Gio conducted all of his business.

  Luck was on her side—he was alone when she sailed through the door. “Uncle Gio, we need to talk.”

  The shock on his face when he looked up and saw her would have been comical under almost any other situation. As it was, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was shock because she’d disappeared for two days, or shock because he hadn’t expected to see her alive again when he’d sent her off on her last mission. It grieved her that she had to even consider the latter.

  “Amara?” He stood, but made no move to approach her. “You’re alive?”

  Well, at least she had an answer to that question. “Of course I’m alive. You really think Emilio Rinaldi of all people would have me killed?”

  “Ah, well. When you didn’t come home, I naturally assumed...”

  It was so ridiculous, she couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped. “Emilio is an honorable man, Uncle Gio. He would never hurt me.” Bracing herself for what needed to be done, she took a step closer to the desk. “I don’t have much time, but I have some questions for you.”

  “Questions? What kind of questions?”

  It didn’t escape her notice that he’d still not moved. Shouldn’t he, seeing his beloved topolina alive and well, want to embrace her? Shouldn’t he be dancing on the polished mahogany instead of hiding behind it?

  Shaking off the growing dread, she forced herself to speak. “Question one: Why did you have me kill those men?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Confusion filled his eyes and he gave her an uncertain smile. “You know why I selected them. They were the lowest form of scum and they needed to be removed from the face of the earth.”

  “See, that’s what you always told me.” Emboldened by the white-hot rage currently pumping through her veins, she took a step forward. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Men like you, they don’t do anything without a reason. Certainly not because they think such a risky move will simply benefit society as a whole or some other white knight bullshit.”

  “What are you getting at, topolina?”

  “Next question,” she snapped, hardening her heart against the use of her childhood nickname. “Why did you order the hit on Emilio? And don’t give me that line about owing someone a favor. Your honor, if you had any, wouldn’t have allowed you to agree to such a despicable marker. So, why? What did you hope to gain from taking him out?”

  Something changed in his eyes. The baffled Uncle Gio disappeared, and he was replaced by an ice cold imitation of the man who’d raised her. This man, she realized with growing dread, was absolutely capable of the things Emilio had accused him of.

  A flash of light bouncing off of something caught her attention and she froze when she spotted the long, silver barrel of the revolver pointed at her stomach.

  “Sweet, stupid Amara. Emilio Rinaldi’s death wasn’t the one I had planned for that night.” The sound of the gun cocking seemed to echo around the room. “It was yours.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emilio glanced up at the knock on his office door and grinned at the tall, thin man with the neatly cropped silver hair and kind eyes. “Father Russo. What a pleasure to see you.”

  “Emilio. I was hoping we could have a few minutes to talk before the ceremony.”

  “Of course.” Emilio waved to the comfortable couch along the wall. “Whiskey?” he asked as Father Russo settled into the plush leather.

  Holding up two fingers, Father Russo offered a grin of his own. “And none of the cheap stuff. You know I can tell the difference.”

  “Yes, the priest with an expert palate.” Emilio poured the drinks and carried them to the couch. Joining Father Russo on the couch, he passed off one of the tumblers to the priest and held up his own. “To my Amara, and a long, happy marriage.”

  “Indeed.” Father Russo sipped the amber-colored liquid and closed his eyes, an expression of pure bliss on his weathered face. “Delicious.” He took another long sip before opening his eyes again and turning to Emilio. “About this wedding. What’s the rush? Is the girl... in the family way?”