POSSESSED: MISS CIA AND THE MAFIA DON

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

-Lust is the ultimate seducer, whispering sweet nothings in the dead of night.

EARL

“You’re not actually leaving are you?.”

Eighteen year old me glances at my twelve year old sister, with her ponytail and her braces.

Her eyes are filled with tears as she grips onto the frame of my bedroom door and her bottom lip is wobbling so hard she has to bite it to keep it still.

Rosalind.

If I did this, I would be leaving her behind.

And for a minute I consider just taking out all the clothes from my bag and abandoning this plan.

But I can’t. If I stay here any longer, I’m going to kill him, father or not.

Turning away from my sister, I stuff another shirt into my duffel bag, not even caring to look at which one it is.

“I have to Rosalind. You heard him.”

“He’s just mad.” Rosalind whimpers, her voice wobbling. She steps closer into my room, shaking her head so hard I fear she will hurt herself. “You know how he is when he's mad.”

“Well I’m mad too.” I respond, my voice hard to hide the emotions churning beneath my skin like a violent storm.

And I am. I am so angry that I can hear my own heart beating in my chest.

Even now, I realize that there is more of my father in me than I care to have.

His cunning, his coldness…his anger.

That is why I have to leave. If I don’t, god help me, I will end up doing something I would regret.

I have never been under any illusions about the family I was born into.

The first time I saw a man die, I was five years old and my father had just shot one of his bookies at a dinner he made us all attend.

My mother didn’t even bother covering my ears.

We all just sat, frozen, as the man slumped over and bleed out on our dinner table.

So even before I could understand what exactly being the firstborn son of a Mafia family meant, I knew that the world I had been born into was one of blood.

And for as long as I can remember, I knew I had only two choices.

I could either bathe in it and come out victorious or I could allow it sweep me off my feet and drown me.

And bathe in it I had.

So much so that even my uncle had started to get worried.

Then I started high school and in my senior year, I met her, and suddenly right in front of me, there was a third option that I never really seen before.

I could wash my hands clean of it and never look back.

“No.” My sister cries, grabbing at my bag, trying to drag it from my grip but I’m stronger.

I sigh, completely and utterly exhausted. “Rose…”

But she’s past the point of listening. She shakes her head even harder, still dragging at the bag. “No. You can’t leave. I won’t let you.”

“Rose.”

The handle of the bag rips loudly and as it does, so does all the fight left in my little sister’s body.

She crumples to the ground, her shoulders quaking as she draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Please Earl.” She croaks. “Please. Don’t leave us.”

My heart shatters, over and over again.

I slide down onto the floor beside her, my back against the bed.

“I have to Rosalind. I just have to.”

“He’s just angry.” My sister repeats over and over again as I gather her into my arms and let her tears soak through my shirt. “He’s just angry. Please, don’t go.”

I don’t say anything after that. I just hold her and let her cry.

Eventually, she pulls back to stare up at me, sniffing hard.

“This is only temporary right Earl, you will come back, won’t you?”

I rest my head against the side of the bed, my eyes closed.

Rosalind sniffs again.

“Will you at least wait for Nick to come back home?”

I can hear the hope and defeat in her voice and my chest tightens all over again at the thought of leaving without speaking to my brother but I still don’t answer.

Instead, I ruffle my sister’s hair, even though I know she hates it when I do that.

And this time, rather than swearing at me in Italian and pushing my hands off like she usually does, this time Rose simply bursts into a fresh set of tears.

Abruptly, she pulls away from me and scrambles to her feet. “I’ll talk to dad.”

She would have more success appealing to a pile of rocks and I tell her as much but she’s already heading out the door.

I hear her throw open the study doors, and hear my father start to yell.

Swallowing hard, I pack up the rest of my things, stuffing into a corner of my bag, the small cash I have managed to hide away and by the time my sister reappears, I’m already at the front door, my bag across my shoulders.

She runs to grab my hand but I shake her off just as my father appears, his face twisted in a scowl.

“Let him go, Rose.” He says coldly and with a snap of his finger, one of the many men in our house pulls my screaming, kicking sister away from me.

My father spits at my feet. “You are nothing but a disgrace to me.”

I raise my head and look him square in the eye, my fingers trembling where they grip the strap of my bag. “Better a disgrace, than end up becoming you.”

My father’s eyes narrow, but before he can speak or hit me, my uncle is stepping up, standing between us.

“Let’s all calm down, Try to talk about this.”

“I tried talking, remember” I scoff. “And what did he do? He tried to have her killed!”

My father bellows at me. “No son of mine is going to give up on everything this family has built just so he can be with some penniless buttonman’s welp!”

Uncle Marco puts his hand on my shoulder. “Earl, son, don’t do this.”

I shrug off my uncle's hand. “He left me no choice.”

“Let him go.” My father sneers, waving his hands dismissively. “He’ll come crawling back soon enough.”

I don’t realize that I’m shaking until I hold the door handle in my hand and turn around to nod at my family.

“Goodbye Father. Uncle Marco…Rose.”

“No!” my sister screams and her voice tears at what little is left of my heart. “Earl!!”

“At least wait until morning.” my uncle starts to say but I’m already stepping out the door and allowing it fall shut with a quiet click behind me

“You hear me boy!” My father’s booming voice yells at me from behind it. “Crawling back!”

He had been right.

It had taken ten years, but he had been right.

I had come crawling back.

I regret a lot of things in my life.

But I do not regret leaving this place. I never have.

Yet now, as I watch my brother stare at me with eyes exactly like my father’s and walking out on us, I realize that the one thing I regret the most is not coming back for him.

My father rises to his feet soon after Nikolas leaves, clearing his throat loudly.

He doesn’t say a word to any of us, he just leaves and as always, uncle Marco follows him, leaving Cameron and me to watch the maids sweep up the debris of broken glass my brother left behind.

The minute they are out the door, Cameron lets out a breath of relief so loud it has me turning around in my seat to look at her.

She fans her fingers across her face. “Oh my God, I almost died. I thought someone was going to bring out a gun and shoot me.”

“Exactly what do you take us for?” I ask, keeping my tone even, all the while knowing that in this house a gun would appear at dinner faster than butter.

“A family of murdering psychopaths?” Cameron replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“My father may be a psychopath.” I say, shrugging and reaching for two glass tumblers from the center of the table. “Probably Nikolas too.” I pop open the decanter and pour before turning to smirk at her. “But me, I’m more of a sociopath.”

I hold out the glass of whiskey to her and she takes it, her fingers brushing against mine.

She shivers, turning away and thinking I don’t see it but I do.

She lifts it to her mouth with both hands and when the glass comes away, there's a drop of the golden liquid on the scarlet red of her top lip.

The need to taste it and to kiss her is so strong, I can literally feel my d**k hardening in response.

Instead I reach out and brush the wetness away from her lip, satisfied with the way her eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat.

She freezes when I touch her, her eyes flashing to mine, those mesmerizing green orbs gleaming like jewels amidst the sunny halo of her lashes.

Just her looking up at me like this is enough to make the crotch of my pants tighten even more.

Madre de dios, If she keeps looking at me like that, bloody contract or not, I’m going to bend her over this table and f**k her right here.

As if she can read my mind, she looks away from me, breaking eye contact and clearing her throat loudly before lifting her cup to her lips again.

I take a swig from my glass, feeling lightheaded before the liquor even hits.

Cameron Waters is f*****g with me in ways I am not sure I like very much.

“Well, congratulations,” I grunt, leaning forward on the table and tilting my glass in her direction. “My brother may hate you, but my father isn’t trying to kill you…yet.”

“I was scared.” She finally mutters, her voice barely more than a whisper and when I glance at her, she’s gripping her glass so tight she’s going to end up breaking it. “I was so scared.”

I know she was.

I could hear her trying to control her breathing when she first settled in beside me and when my father had started his interrogation and she reached for my hand, I could feel her trembling.

I want to hold her but that’s bullshit and she would probably recoil if I did anyway.

So instead I shrug nonchalantly and lift my own glass to my lips. “Could have fooled me.”

Truth is, she was brilliant.

Only one woman would have dared to mock a Salvatore to their face while my father sat there and that woman is my sister.

Yet not only had Cameron held her own against my father and brother’s attempt to intimidate her, but she had also thrown a jab at my brother, fielded off my father’s questions and made the Don laugh, all while looking like a flipping s*x goddess.

When she first came in through those doors, I almost groaned out loud.

If that blasted contract didn’t exist, the things I would do to her, right now.

I cup her trembling chin in my palm and make her look up at me.

“You did good.”

She swallows hard, flicking her tongue out to wet her lip.

Fuck me.

“Do you think they bought it?” She asks softly, still looking at me.

I lift my thumb and press the pad of it against her mouth, just at the entrance, not sliding in, not yet.

Her eyes dilate and I feel my heart quicken.

“You’re a better liar than you look.” I tell her and my voice comes out huskier than I mean for it to be.

Something darts across her face and I frown but it’s gone too quickly for me to register what it is and she shrugs, looking at me through her lashes.

“I was just doing as I was told.”

I grunt noncommittally at that, my thumb slipping gently into the wetness of her mouth. “Do you always do what you’re told?”

Her eyes immediately start to fall shut.

“Sometimes.” She mutters and then just as slowly they flutter back open to meet mine. “Sometimes, you have to make me.”

Bloody hell.

If I get any harder, nothing would stop me ripping this dress off of her.

I know I should stop now while the head above my shoulder and not the one below is still in charge.

But I can’t seem to bring myself to use common sense at the moment.

Instead I take my hand back, but only so I can dip my thumb in the cup of whiskey in her hand, before sliding it back into her mouth.

She moans softly and my chest tightens.

“Suck it.” I say gruffly, my throat rough.

And she does.

Her tongue, wet and hot, wraps itself around my finger just as she sucks on it, pulling it hard and deeper into her mouth.

I smirk down at her. “Good girl.” and she mumbles, pleased with the praise.

“Look at you.” I mutter, my throat tight at the sight of her lips wrapped around my finger. “Perhaps you enjoy being a Salvatore after all.”

Her eyes flash with anger and her cheeks immediately turn red as she tears her face from my hand.

My finger comes out of her mouth with a quiet pop.

“I’m only doing this because you threatened to murder my parents.” She sneers and I scoff hard. “This isn’t part of your contract pet.”

She turns even redder which does nothing to help the hardness in my pants.

“You’re literally keeping me prisoner here.” She spits. “Don’t act like it’s a favor.”

“Of course.” I reply, rolling my eyes, sarcasm and disbelief dripping from every letter. “Bet the two point five million quid sitting in your bank account has nothing to with it.”

I know I'm being cruel to her but I need her to walk out on me because I don't think I can do it myself, not in this state.

It works. It works too well.

She shakes her head at me, like she still can’t believe it. “You’re a bastard.”

“Nope.” I say flatly, taking one last swig of my drink. “Just a sociopath”