The Vilenzo Family Book 1: Omertà

ILLARIA

“Ilaria,” he whispers my name, sending a chill down my spine.

“I want you.”

Those three words make my toes curl. I want him too. That’s clear as day. I can give him one night; Georgina made me swear to only one night.

“Tonight, I’m yours,” I tell him.

His expression is a mix of joy and frustration in response to my words.

“One night?” he repeats.

“Yes, just one,” I respond softly.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek. “Let me take you back to my place and worship you.”

How can I refuse?

“Okay,” I agree quietly.

He grins at me and plants a soft kiss on my lips. With the swagger of a man who knows his power, he guides me to a flashy Rolls-Royce. My eyes nearly pop out at the sight of it.

Good Lord, what does this man do for a living?

Actually, I don’t really want to know. I don’t care what he does because this is only about tonight. It’s none of my business.

I slide into the back with him. Two of the guards get in the front, and the other two follow in an SUV.

Unsatisfied with where I chose to sit, Lucca pulls me onto his lap and buckles us in together. I’m taken aback by the action and open my mouth to protest. I change my mind as I realize how much I love being this close to him. This man smells divine.

A small part of me is terrified, not because of who this man is and what he can do, but because I have never felt this intense of an attraction to someone before. I’m scared of how much I want him and how intensely my body reacts to him.

This isn’t normal, is it? To feel this good, this quickly?

While my mind is in overdrive, Lucca is tracing soothing circles on my bare thigh with his rough thumb. I relax into his chest and try not to overthink it.

Live in the moment and enjoy it.

The car pulls up in front of a skyscraper. Lucca helps me out and guides me inside. We take the elevator up again, all four bodyguards joining us. We go to the top floor, the penthouse. Two bodyguards enter first and ensure the apartment is clear.

I feel a wave of nervousness as I stand next to Lucca and the other two bodyguards in the hallway. Once again, I’m struck by how many enemies this man must have.

He’s only twenty-five. I can’t imagine needing my home to be checked before I walk in. I realize just how much I take my own safety for granted.

Once it’s deemed clear, Lucca dismisses the bodyguards, and we head into the apartment alone. I suddenly feel nervous without their presence.

To buy myself some time, I take off my heels. My feet need a break too. Lucca removes his shoes and takes off his tie.

“Would you like a drink?” he offers, but I shake my head.

I’ve already had enough alcohol tonight; I don’t need more. Besides, I want to enjoy this and remember every moment clearly in the morning.

He extends his hand for me to take. I slide mine into his and let him lead me down the hallway. I assume he’s taking us to the bedroom, so I’m surprised when we enter the open-plan kitchen and living room.

He takes off his jacket, and we sit down on the couch. It faces the floor-to-ceiling window, which offers a stunning panorama of the city at night.

“What a view,” I whisper, admiring the lights.

“It really is something, isn’t it?” Lucca muses, and I nod in agreement.

I honestly thought he’d want to head straight to the bedroom once we got to his place. But thinking about how he waited for me to make the first move earlier, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me. He wraps his arm around me, and I instinctively snuggle into his side.

He leans in closer, his curiosity evident, as he starts asking more personal questions. This time, he wants to dive deeper.

He asks about my childhood, the kind of school I went to, and the experiences that shaped me. He’s not just making small talk; he seems genuinely interested in me as a person.

I’ve never had a guy show this much interest and not make me feel like he just wants something in return. He can hold an actual, interesting conversation. He is the embodiment of why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

I’m not sure what time it is when I curl up against Lucca, and he kisses my forehead. I look up at him. Our eyes meet, and he slowly leans down. Our lips touch, and sparks fly again.

My body ignites, and I push myself against him, kissing him harder. He matches my enthusiasm and buries his hands in my hair. His tongue enters my mouth, and I moan around it. Kissing him is my new favorite thing.

I’m so aware of him and how his body is pressing against mine. I’m not satisfied, though. I want him even closer. I swing my leg over his lap and throw my body after it. I straddle him with my arms around his neck.

His hands automatically drop to my hips, his lips never faltering. I can feel his growing erection underneath me. I grind against it, eliciting a moan from him. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine.

“We don’t have to go any further, dolcezza,” he assures me.

I may not speak Italian fluently, but I know some swear words and some terms of endearment. He just called me sweetness, in Italian.

I have no say in whether we go further or not anymore; my body has decided for me.

“Are you kidding me?” I murmur against his lips, leaning back when he looks at me in confusion. “Keep speaking in Italian, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

A pleased grin spreads across his lips. His thumbs draw circles on my hips as he teases me.

“Ti piace quando parlo in italiano, dolcezza?” he teases me, his accent thick and sexy as hell.

He chuckles at my awestruck expression. I groan and throw my head back.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. What did you say?” I ask in a pained voice.

He laughs again and tucks his hands under my butt. He stands up suddenly, making me yelp in surprise and tighten my hold on his neck. He carries me through his apartment, amusement on his face.

“I asked if you like it when I speak in Italian,” he answers as he turns down the corridor.

“Oh! Then yes, definitely sì,” I respond, making him grin.

He takes me into his bedroom, which is decorated in a dark maroon. He places me gently on the pristine super-sized bed and stands before me. I swallow hard when he starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. He hesitates when he reaches the last button.

“I must warn you, dolcezza, I have a lot of scars,” he says and pulls off his shirt.

My mouth drops open, but it has nothing to do with his scars. His chest is incredible. So much muscle. Nearly every inch of his deeply tanned skin is covered in tattoos. ~Omertà~ is tattooed across his stomach, as if I needed any more clues that he is part of the Mafia.

Unable to resist a closer look, I sit up and climb off the bed. I stand in front of him, admiring his beautiful body. Without my heels, I’m almost a foot shorter than him at five feet, six inches.

“And a lot of ink, damn,” I mumble to myself.

He chuckles at my words, and the tension leaves his body.

Was he really worried about what I would think about his scars?

They are only visible up close. The tattoos hide them well. A couple of them I recognize as bullet wounds, but most appear to be knife wounds. I run my fingers over some of them, and his giant body shudders under my touch. I move around to his back, and my breath catches in my throat.

His back is just as covered in ink as his front. There is a mix of writing and imagery. A couple of phrases are in Italian, so I don’t understand them. I roll my eyes at a common one, Only God can judge me.

His family crest is on his shoulder, with Vilenzo written on a banner beneath it. Two crossed guns are on the opposite shoulder blade.

“Do…do you like them?” he asks without turning around. “I know they are not for everyone.”

There’s a nervous edge to his voice, which is strange coming from someone so imposing. It feels surreal, hearing a man who looks like he could command a room sound uncertain.

“I love them,” I tell him honestly.

He spins around, startling me as his lips descend upon mine. His tongue brushes against mine, and the desire that was bubbling below the surface breaks into a full-blown fire inside me.

It seems Lucca is feeling the same desperate need that I am. He tightens his hold on my hair and pulls me back to look into my eyes.

“Undress me, dolcezza.”

His tone is pleading, something I imagine this man rarely does. I lose my control. My hands drop to his trousers, hurriedly undoing his buttons and pulling down the zipper. He helps me push them off, leaving him in only a pair of designer boxers. He undoes the zip on my dress, and I let it fall to the floor.

Here goes nothing.