Page 18 of Veil of the Past
Romiro’s lips curl into a cold, dangerous smile. “I’m the one who’s about to make you regret that kiss,” he says, his voice low, each word deliberate.
My stomach drops. I can see the tension rippling through his body, the restrained fury simmering just beneath the surface. “Romiro, wait,” I start, standing, but he doesn’t break his gaze from Frankie. Oh, God. This is going to get messy. Quickly.
Frankie’s smile falters. “Look, man, I didn’t know?—”
“That she’s mine?” Romiro cuts in, stepping forward. “You didn’t know she’s mine?”
The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thick with tension. I step between them, my hand on Romiro’s chest, feeling the hard drum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “Romiro, please,” I whisper, my voice pleading, trying to defuse the situation.
He finally looks at me, and his expression softens just a fraction, but his voice is still taut with emotion. “We need to talk,” he says, quieter, but there’s no mistaking the intensity.
Francesco, sensing he’s out of his depth, rises from his chair. “I think it’s best if I leave,” he murmurs, giving me an apologetic nod.
I offer him a quick, strained smile. “I’m sorry, Frankie. Really.”
He waves it off, looking more confused than offended. “No worries. Maybe some other time.”
Romiro steps in front of him, effectively stopping him from leaving. “Not so fast.” He slips out his Camorra dagger and he grabs Frankie by his collar. Frankie starts screaming and thrashing, but Romiro has an iron-clad grip that no one has ever been able to escape from. Unless he wants a chase.
But he doesn’t drag out Frankie’s torture. Instead, he quickly slashes his throat and drops him to bleed out on the black tile floors. It all happens so fast. Blood everywhere. On his hands, on the tile floors, oozing out of Francesco. This ismyfault.
I let out a choked sound before trying to escape the horrific scene that just unfolded in front of me and head downstairs, but Romiro stops me. “I’m not done with you,” he tells me, his lips near my ears. A man is dead because of me.
My throat moves as I swallow before I ask him, “and what do you mean by that? It’s not like you have any right to dictate who I go on a date with and who I don’t go on a date with.” My heartbeat quickens when he doesn’t answer me. Instead, he grabs me by my upper arm and guides me to my date’s dead body. I gag, but nothing comes up. I’m not naïve to what my cousins, brother, father, and friends do, but I’ve never been in the same room before . Romiro’s hands are soaked with blood that isn’t his own. My breathing is ragged, and pressure is quickly building up in my chest.
“I mean, I am going to fuck you over his dead body until you cry and beg me to stop. Understood?” Romiro’s voice sounds crazed, and I confirm it when I look at the wild look in his eyes. He grips my chin and shakes me, demanding I give him an answer. I don’t think I can speak without throwing up what I just ate, so I settle for a small nod. He accepts it, utters one command,then takes a step back from me. “Strip.” My throat constricts.
I shake my head. “Romiro, don’t do this.”
“I said strip,” he grinds out. I know that if I try to reason with him, especially while he has that crazed look in his eyes, he’ll do so much more damage than he already has. So, I quickly lift my hands up, slide the straps of my dress from my shoulders, and slowly unzip it . Romiro’s eyes leave a trail of flames down my body as his gaze follows the dress on its way down. His jaw clenches when he sees that I’m not wearing any underwear. Bile rises at the thought of doing something so intimate near a fucking corpse. The corpse of mydate. I shouldn’t be this freaked out; I’ve seen dead bodies dropping left and right since I was baby. We’ve been at war with the Chicago Outfit for that long.
“Big. Fucking. Mistake. Alessia.” The warning in his tone is loud even though his voice is low. Romiro doesn’t make a move. Instead, he stands rooted in his place, his hands in his pockets as his eyes devour me. My legs clench together on instinct. I’m a sick fuck for finding this situation so arousing—the fact that I’m naked and he’s fully clothed. His eyes zero in on the action, and he says to me, “Come closer and give me a kiss. Don’t I deserve a kiss from my dear friend?”
“Stop that,” I say, and he gives me a smirk.
“Stop what exactly?” he asks, acting coy.
“Don’t sayfriend—” I falter before continuing with, “Don’t sayfriendlike that. It’s weird,” I tell him as I step closer to him, craving the kiss he’s asking for. I wipe my sweaty palms down on my naked thighs.
“I’m not saying it weirdly,” he says before he yanks me closer. Suddenly, we’re standing chest to chest, and my lips are inches from his.
“Just say the words, Red.”
“Kiss me.” I breathe out, and his lips quickly fall on mine. His kiss is rough, possessive, and all-consuming. He’s taking all I can give, and more, as his arms wrap around my waist, slowly bending us until we’re both on the floor. He runs his callused hands over my waist, inches from Francesco’s dead body. Romiro makes his way down my body, nipping, biting, and kissing until his lips reach my wet pussy. His finger glides from the bottom, and he flicks my clit.
“Do you understand the implication of this, Red? Hmm?” he asks, but he’s not really looking for an answer, because he leans down, flattening his tongue against my clit, alternating between long, slow licks and fast flicks. It’s as if he’s starving. I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the squeal. Romiro thrusts his fingers inside of me, his fingers curling inside of me until he finds the spot that has me bucking against his face. His other hand digs into my flesh, He tugs on my clit with his teeth, gently, flicking over the sensitive nub with his tongue, and I explode on his tongue. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, lapping up every drop of my release. I feel the sting of embarrassment as my face heats and my chest heaves trying to catch my breath from the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Romiro leans back, and I feel myself flush red as I see my arousal drip off his chin.
“Fucking delicious,” he says, and then he’s back to the same position, his head between my thighs and his tongue inside my pussy.
“Romiro,” I moan out.
“Shhh, baby. I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs softly against me. His tongue licks and teases me, then sucks on my clit, and my moans ring through the large space as I scrape my nails against the hard floors. “Someone might come,” I try to reason, my voice breathy.
“That’s the most exciting part of what we’re doing, isn’t it? You like being fucked out in public because you’re a dirty fucking whore, aren’t you? You’re my dirty fucking whore.” His words make a wave of desire wash over me, and I shatter again on his tongue making y legs feel like jelly. He unzips himself, rolls on a condom, and grips my throat before thrusting into me mercilessly, his cock stretching me. My back arches again, and I moan as I dig my nails into his shoulders.
“You.”Thrust.“Are.”Thrust.“Fucking.”Thrust.“Mine.Do you fucking understand?” He punctuates each word with a thrust deeper and harsher than the last, groaning when I tighten around him.
“Romiro—” I try to speak, but he’s fucking me so hard that I can barely think.
