However, I don’t regret a single second of what we did together. She had wanted all of me and that's exactly what she got. Sinéad held on tighter, and I revved the throttle.
The annoying thing about it all is that once should have been enough—it wasn’t.
Twice would be unusual—but it’s something I can’t stop imagining.
And a third time would be a huge concern—a complete anomaly.
I unlock the phone and scroll through my photographs, select one, add a caption, and upload it to my social media profile. It's a fitting choice under the circumstances. Once it’s live, I smile to myself, then run a hand through my hair, feeling buzzed.
There’s a fuss at the entrance. A familiar beast of a man wearing an earpiece scans the room and then steps back outside. I wait for a few seconds, acknowledging him as my mother’s bodyguard, and stand when she finally enters the building.
She glides toward me, the lapels of a loose-fitting ivory blazer lifted at the nape beneath jet-black hair and matching wide-leg trousers swishing with every elegant step she takes. Moving indoors, she removes her large framed sunglasses to see me better. A warm smile reaches the corners of her vigilant green eyes. They don’t emulate the same profound translucency as Sinéad’s, rather, they’re deeper in pigmentation, more earthy and shrewd.
“I was so happy to get your invitation, son.”
I immediately put my arms around her delicate shoulders and pull her in for a big hug. Her signature floral fragrance smells like home. I would take a bullet for my mother.
A part of me still mourns the loss of a father who raised me with his paranoid ideals, but only for the presence he claimed in my life. However, this woman is my universe. If something bad ever happened to her, I’d burn the whole world to ashes.
“You look well, Mama.” I kiss her on both cheeks.
For a brief tender moment, her palm settles on my cheek before she asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” My tight smile makes her eyes narrow. “I just wanted to tell you my important news face-to-face.”
She stills when the waiter closes in. “Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
Her attention doesn’t waver. A serious frown projected right at me. “Is there something wrong, André? Have you heard from Tommy?” she says under her breath, every bit as impatient as me.
“Sit, Mama.” I beckon to the chair opposite mine and nod at the smartly dressed waiter. “A bottle of your finest champagne.”
“Champagne?” she repeats, sitting gracefully, her thick ebony lashes framing a silently assessing gaze. “Are we celebrating or drowning our sorrows, son?”
My knee jiggles under the table, my muscles jumpy. Hours spent in my gym doing cardio and weights didn’t help to diminish the high-voltage currency flowing through me. It’s been in a constant state of flux since I filled my wife full of cum.
“We’re definitely celebrating.” I smirk.
“Have you secured the new construction site?”
“Of course I have, but that's not the reason why we’re celebrating.” I hold up my left hand with the wedding band. “I got married, Mama.”
Her refined brows snap together. “My son ismarried?”
I lift my whiskey glass and sip the cool liquor, savoring the burn at the back of my throat. “Married.” I confirm.
“When… to who?” Shock fans diamond encrusted fingers over her chest. “Are you teasing me?”
“I married Frankie Sapori’s daughter.”
Mama sits back in her chair and lets the server present a bottle of Armand de Brignac. She waves her hand in approval, then waits for the cork to pop and the bubbles to fill her glass before she pins me with an odd look.
“Sapori doesn’t have any children, André.”
“That's what I thought until he introduced me to his forgotten daughter. He recently dragged her to America to marry some asshole in New York.” I watch her forehead crease and her posture stiffen. “However, I decided it would be good for the family business if I married her instead.”
“So, you just married her? On a whim?”
“I won her in a friendly game of poker.”
