Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Antonio protests loudly. He insists Azra is his and claims their arrangement, approved by the boss of all bosses, has been set in stone for months.
When no amount of political fear-mongering works, he fans out invisible peacock feathers. “I’m Azra’s chosen groom.”
She sheepishly nods, agreeing with him, and my anger becomes hot and unstoppable. The don tries to smooth things over by offering anything to sweeten the deal if I accept the hand of one of his daughters—even the regular use of his beloved mistress.
I pluck a cigar from his desk and run it under my nose. “I’m not interested in your sloppy seconds.” Nico gags when I mutter under my breath, “Or your mistress.” I give Don Adami time to deny my nonfactual claim that he fiddles with his daughters. Seconds of silence feel like minutes. “It’s Azra or no one.”
Nico and Elio exchange a look that conveys they have no clue who the fuck I am.
Their shock is understandable.
I’m also lost.
This isn’t me. I don’t barter for a woman’s time, and I sure as fuck don’t act like I have to pay for pussy. That shit is on tap for free anytime I want it. I’ll never shell out funds, no matter how smoking the woman.
Yet here I am, negotiating with words instead of weapons.
My father would be so proud.
Eventually, after enough stalling to make me want to put my fist through a wall, the don relents. “Very well. I will transfer Azra’s marriage contract to you.”
Marriage? Fuck that.
I’m desperate for a taste, not a lifetime of the same palate.
Azra’s top lip curls, desperate to object, but it’s Antonio’s expression I pay the most attention to. He wants Azra alone, but I’m too much of a possessive cunt to let that happen.
Don’t judge. Just because I’m anti-matrimony doesn’t mean I’d let a dog like Antonio Adami think he can pull a fast one on me.
“I’ll help you pack,” I say to Azra, reaching her before Antonio can react. I twist to face my brothers, who stare at me like I have a second head. “I’ll be back in around twenty. Feel free to start the party without me.”
“But you said…” Don Adami starts.
I don’t hear another word he speaks since the zap inflating my cock is near deafening.
I’m barely touching Azra. My dick, however, acts as if her pouty lips are hovering an inch above my pre-cum-stained tip, ready to swallow every drop of my cum.
Azra’s polite mask remains perfectly in place until we reach a room at the end of a long hallway. Once the door closes behind us, she spins, grabs a letter opener from her desk, and presses it to my throat with a steadiness that surprises even me.
Chapter 2
Matteo
Ifreeze. Not out of fear. More out of fascination.
The angel has claws, and it takes all my mother’s teachings not to encourage them to scar my back right here and now.
I had no clue I liked them feisty until now.
“Listen here, dipshit! I’m not a damsel in distress who needs saving.” She digs the tip of the letter opener in firmly enough for the fascinating scent of imminent danger to waft into my nostrils. I love pain. I fucking dig it. So I’m hard enough right now to drill a mine. “Say you’ve changed your mind.”
She crowds into me with a ferocity that doesn’t match her angelic features. Her head doesn’t reach my chin, and she doesn’t weigh half of what I do, but she appears as tall as a giant because she’s so riled up.
Her closeness means it’s impossible for her to miss the impact her little hellion act has on my body, but she acts nonchalant. “Say you want his eldest daughter instead.”
When I shake my head, Azra’s eyes burn with fury, intelligence, and something that looks a fuck ton like desperation. She’s close enough for me to count every fleck of green in her hazel eyes and to savor the feeling of her minty breath on my skin, but it’s the pointy edge of the blade digging into my neck that increases the tension tenfold.
I ought to be angry.
Instead, I’m impressed.
That’s no easy feat.
“Why not?” Her accent is more noticeable now because she’s in shock. Or could it be jealousy? I don’t know her, so I can’t be expected to comprehend all her telltales. “Isabella is beautiful. She’ll make a lovely bride—”
“Bride? Ha!” Her unrecognizable expression slips as I say, “I ain’t interested in getting married, sweetheart. Ever.” Another much more intriguing scent filters between us when I tilt my head, digging the letter opener in deeper. “This isn’t about marriage… and I’m reasonably sure you know that.”
“I’m sure Isabella is open to… that as well. I’ve heard she’s extremely accommodating to her father’s guests,” she whispers. It’s definitely jealousy flashing through her eyes.