The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter Page 0,20

licked his lips.

“What are you looking at?” I asked him.

Alessandro grinned. “You.” He leaned in close. My body was instantly ready again for— “You know I’ve thought about having sex with you a thousand times. I have made up your noises and how you react to certain touches. But…I’ve never been able to figure out what you look like after.” His eyes rolled down me. “And I still don’t know.”

“You can make a pretty educated guess,” I muttered.

“Guessing is not as much fun,” he purred, his hand trailing down my bare skin. “If you look like a goddess, now I can only imagine...”

I flushed. It was so vain of me but I couldn’t help my mind from darting to the pink lines across my breasts or the stretchmarks cast over my stomach.

Alessandro didn’t seem to notice them as he leaned down into my chest, burying his face into my boobs. “Four weeks,” he groaned, his grip on me tightening.

“I’m sure that is just a recommendation,” I offered. “I bet we could have sex before then.”

He lifted his head, leaning on his chin. “Doctor’s orders, my love.”

“Is my big scary capo scared to go up against a doctor?” I crooned, running my fingers through his hair.

Alessandro snapped his teeth at me, but his eyes held humor. I couldn’t help but feel growing smugness at being the one to make him laugh, smile. No one else could manage to do it—or was too scared to try.

My husband pulled away, sliding off the bed.

“Where are you going?” I asked, lifting myself onto my elbows.

He looked at me over his shoulder and groaned. “I’ve got to take a cold shower,” he muttered. “And think about my grandmother or something.”

I looked over at Dante’s bassinet, but my son continued to sleep soundly. Thank goodness, I thought. If we had woken up Dante, I would’ve started crying.

Again.

I dressed myself once more, continued my night routine before settling into bed. Alessandro came out of the bathroom not long after, his skin still freezing from standing under the cold shower spray.

He tucked me to his chest, arms wrapped strongly around me.

“You’re so cold,” I murmured, pulling the blanket higher up on him. “Like an icicle.”

He made a noise low in his throat, before burying his head into my hair, breathing deeply.

Sleep tugged on my brain but the adrenaline and lust inside me had not dissipated, leaving me lying awake in the dark, counting Alessandro’s breaths and checking on Dante every three seconds.

Lights flashed outside the tall windows, barely visible through the curtains. I could hear the rumble of cars up and down the street—probably some mafiosi returning home for the night.

On the bedside table, my phone buzzed.

So as not to disturb Alessandro, I awkwardly maneuvered over the bed, scooping up my phone and bringing it to my face.

A message from Toto the Terrible (listed in my phone as Fucking Crazy Father-In-Law, courtesy of Alessandro) popped up.

FBI, SWAT, leave now!

“What in the world, Toto...?”

The house alarm begun, piercing and repetitive.

Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open, hitting the ground with a bang. Dark figures swarmed into the room, guns aimed and little green lights highlighting their helmets.

I screamed.

Alessandro had his gun in his hand and pointed at the SWAT team before I could even take a breath.

Not a second later, Dante began to cry.

I scrambled over the bed, snatching my son from his bassinet and crawling back over to Alessandro. My husband pushed us behind him, gun still poised.

“Don’t do anything rash, Alessandro,” came a familiar voice. Special Agent Tristan Dupont stepped forward, almost unrecognizable without his blue button-down and khakis. His hands were held up. “Your wife and son are here.”

I rocked Dante, hushing him quietly.

Alessandro didn’t move. “What do you want, Dupont?” he snarled, barely sounding human.

Dupont threw a piece of paper onto the bed. Neither of us went to touch it. “A warrant to search your home. You are suspected to have ties to organized crime.”

“Is that so?” my husband growled.

“Indeed.” Dupont gestured to me. “You are both required to come down to the station and answer a few questions.” A fancy way of saying under arrest.

“Sophia stays here,” warned my husband.

“Not according to that warrant, she doesn’t,” Dupont said.

I placed a hand on Alessandro’s arm. He glanced at me. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. “Dita will watch Dante for us.”

Alessandro nodded sharply and snapped his head back to Dupont. In one angry movement, he leaped off the bed. All the guns in the room immediately pointed