The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,18

have me. Do not try to cow me into a wife and mother only. I am your teammate.”

“My queen.” His eyes flashed and he dropped a kiss onto the top of my head. The simple domestic action made my heart begin to race. “Next time, warn me.”

“Of course,” I said, with no intention of doing such a thing.

“Did you discover anything?” he asked.

I continued brushing my hair, fight averted. “No, nothing at all. Except for her dislike toward Rocchettis, but I suppose that is common knowledge.”

“Indeed.” Alessandro rubbed his mouth, eyes still hot. “Did she say anything about my mother?”

I tipped my head back, neck exposed. “Your mother? No. I don’t recall her mentioning her. Why?”

He bent down to my face, his hot breath tickling my forehead. “My father used to say she ran off with a French man. I was wondering if it was one we knew.”

Dita had said the same thing.

I heard from the maid in Toto the Terrible’s house that she was involved with a French man! When the Outfit was at war with the Corsican Union.

Perhaps there was more to that statement than just petty gossip.

“This family has decades of secrets,” I said, trying to approach the topic with as much grace as possible. If I had heard my mother had run off with a member of the Corsican Union, I would be upset.

Alessandro nodded, jaw tight.

A rare burst of anger bloomed up inside me. I felt nothing but fury at Danta’s actions. Now that I had Dante, I couldn’t imagine ever leaving him—especially for some French cock. I resented her for leaving Alessandro. He had spent most of his childhood with Don Piero, but Toto the Terrible was no easy parent and had left his mark on his boys.

Alessandro pressed his lips to my forehead. “Why are you frowning?”

I must’ve forgotten to put up my mask, hide my emotions. But I didn’t have to bother with Alessandro—–he could see right through my walls anyway. “Just thinking about your mother.”

“Don’t spare her another thought,” he murmured against my skin.

“Hopefully, she’s not locked up in some attic—like your poor grandmother.”

Alessandro huffed. “My father has a very different way of dealing with things compared to my grandfather.”

I could only imagine.

My husband was still posed above me, his lips against my forehead. The warmth he always seemed to carry with him was beginning to stretch its way through my body, over my skin and in my blood.

“And how do you deal with things, Alessandro?” I inquired, my voice coming out sultrier than I had intended.

His eyes darkened. “Careful. If you wake that baby up...”

“Hilarious,” I said, my eyes flicking up to his lips. So close...

Alessandro moved over me, our eyes now parallel. The deep darkness of his eyes seemed to swallow me whole.

It was growing to be too much, building up inside of me—the tightening of my stomach, the clenching of my thighs. I could already feel his scarred hands on my skin, feel his warmth entering my bones.

Before he could say anything else, I caught Alessandro’s lips with my own, awkward and upside down.

Alessandro came alive immediately.

He broke away, spun me, and then met my lips again. It happened so fast that it could’ve been a blip of my imagination.

The kiss was hot and fast, a rapid movement of our lips against each other’s and our tongues entwining.

Alessandro’s hands came up to my cheeks, holding me in place. I gripped the back of his head, holding onto his hair.

One of his hands slipped under my dressing gown, untying the ribbon. It came off easily, revealing my short nightgown. The silk bunched up as Alessandro gripped my hips, his hot hands flushed against my sensitive skin.

The pressure of his hand drew me to my feet, pulling me against him. I could feel the strong press of his muscles up against my stomach, up against my breasts.

Suddenly, Alessandro drew back. Guilt and pain on his face. “Forgive me, Sophia,” he said heavily. “You are still recovering—”

Cold air blew against me, telling my body what had happened. It did nothing to cool down the growing ache between my legs, the kindling fire in my belly.

“Alessandro.” My mouth had come back to life. “Fuck me.”

He went very still.

I was moving toward him, his skin and his smell and his warmth. He did not move as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Those dark eyes were wide with growing hunger and shock. I rose on my tiptoes, and moved his head down,