Page 61 of Sweet Prison
“Perfect.” Massimo turns toward Iris. “And the new cook?”
“Iris is similarly adept and used to complexities,” I interject. “She had to deal with cleaning up the office after Kai ‘fired’ the previous Head of Security.”
“I have to say, I wholeheartedly approve of your choices for my new staff.” Massimo meets my gaze. It’s the first time since this morning he’s done that. “Thank you for managing them and everything else these past few days. I’d like to meet with everyone as a group and go over some house rules.”
Timoteo, with Iris close on his heels, rushes past us, probably to gather the rest of the staff, leaving me and Massimo alone in the kitchen.
“Please try not to traumatize them too much.”
A small smile pulls at his lips. It’s not one of his wicked smirks, but a handsome, flirtatious grin that does funny things to my insides.
“I’ll do my best. Although, I’m not making any promises.”
His elbow brushes my arm as he passes by me, and I almost jump out of my skin. It’s the same effect each of his letters had on me when they arrived. The difference now, however, isheis here. In front of me. He’s real. It’s still difficult to wrap my mind around that fact.
I tiptoe out of the kitchen and hang back by the kentia palm in its massive planter where it’s set up by the archway that separates the entry hall from the dining room. Twelve members of the house staff are gathered at the foot of the stairs, all facing Massimo. Timoteo and Iris are at the head of the line, followedby five maids, the gardener, and three undercooks. Tinia is standing at the very end, visibly nervous to be in Massimo’s presence. They all have their hands clasped in front of them and are listening intently to what the lord of the manor expects of them. I handpicked each of them, selecting from those who had worked for my family that I knew could be trusted. They didn’t need to be told how intricate and demanding working in the don’s household could be, however, I still filled every single one in as soon as they arrived. I also hinted that if they experienced difficulties handling Massimo’s temper, they should come to me.
It feels strange to be in charge of anything. I’ve always avoided people in the past, staff included. Now, I’m directing the renovation workers, hiring staff, and even dealing with sales reps while picking out furniture for Massimo’s home. So weird, but it’s notbadweird. Actually, I’m enjoying myself.
“What do you mean, you’ve never held a gun?” Massimo’s growl breaks me out of my thoughts.
I look up, finding him looming over the gardener—hands braced on his hips, looking agitated as hell.
“I… I didn’t have a chance to do so, Mr. Spada.”
“That’s unacceptable. What about you?” Massimo turns toward the maids, who all appear as if they are seconds away from fleeing.
All five women vehemently shake their heads.
“Timoteo will teach you all how to shoot a firearm by the end of the week,” Massimo barks. “One of the guys will get you weapons first thing in the morning. Glocks for the men, Baby Desert Eagles for the women.”
Timoteo leans to the side and meets my gaze. The look in his eyes asks me:Is he serious?
I nod.
He blinks, returns my gesture, and faces Massimo again. “Of course, Mr. Spada.”
“Good. Also, your one and only warning: I do not tolerate traitors. Or give second chances. You keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you. Permanently.”
I sigh. Well… He did say he wasn’t making promises.
Massimo continues barking orders while I watch him from behind the leaves of the palm. Everything about him is fascinating. Like, the dragon designs inked on his massive forearms. Identical in shape and size, the only difference between them is the color—red on his left and black on the right—and the fact that the two seem to be staring each other down. And how the muscles on his back ripple every time he moves. His biceps, stretching the fabric of his T-shirt, bulge beneath short sleeves that look like they’ve been painted on. And then, there are his sweatpants—riding a bit low, enough to reveal the waistband of his underwear.Boxers or briefs?
My hands itch to explore that magnificent body. How would it feel? He’s got a warrior’s physique. I want to touch, to taste every single inch of it. With my fingers, my lips, and my tongue. Is he a passionate lover? He must be. He can’t be anything else with that personality of his. Could he throw me on the bed and fuck me into the mattress? I’d love for him to do just that.
Heat floods my system. The tingling, achy feeling hits my core again. It’s been a constant in his presence, running like a current through my veins. But now, as I’m imagining Massimo taking me over and over, it surges, driving me insane.
Shaking my head to regain my composure, my gaze shifts from his waistband to his hand. It’s huge—like everything else about him—fingers gripping the back of a chair while he speaks in his deep, booming voice. Would his touch be rough or gentle? Would he pin me down? Would he make me beg for more? I bitemy lower lip as I picture those inked fingers wrapped around my throat while he ravages my mouth with his. Whispers… between kisses. Him telling me filthy things. Telling me… Telling me something that I’ve only ever dreamed of.
I want you.
I need you.
I love you.
I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling.
The alarm is set, the video surveillance is on. Armed to the teeth, my guys are patrolling the grounds. I just finished my third sweep of the house, confirming everything is as it should be. There are no threats. No intruders in sight. No reason for me to feel so anxious simply because I’ve decided to stop sleeping in front of Zahara’s door.