married to the mafia boss

Sofia

They are still discussing the business and marriage. My mother is busy talking to Luca's mother, Catherine. They are gossiping about other mafia bosses' wives and fashion brands. Oh ladies, they are so consumed with their conversations, and I am seated in between them, listening to everything.

"Sofia, take Luca to the garden. Get to know each other better." Father motions his hand toward the back door while telling me.

I give him a look like, is this important?

He bobs his head. "Go, don't be shy," he adds.

I gulp down the knot in my throat and stand up. "Okay, Dad."

Luca stands up and adjusts his suit. "This way, please," I say while gesturing toward the door. I walk, and he follows me. His steps are slow behind me. I smell his manly perfume, and somehow this scent is starting to make me nervous.

I am outside in the garden, which is vast and has a fountain from which water flows. There are plenty of flowers, as this is one of my mother's most committed passions-to plant flowers.

I stand close to the white vintage bench. "Come, sit," I tell Luca.

He sits beside me, and the tension is clinging to the air all around me.

"You are going to regret inviting me out to sit on this bench." A smirk curls on his lips.

"I don't regret anything in life." I try to sound a bit bold and confident.

He raises a brow and nods his head. "Okay."

I sigh and look straight in front of me. I don't know what to talk about with him, plus his presence is already making me super anxious.

"So, did you have any boyfriend?" he starts with his questions.

I shake my head. "No, never."

"What about during school time?" he asks.

"I went to an all-girls school."

He nods. "Have you ever kissed someone?" he asks, and I can feel a kind of jealousy in his tone.

I hesitantly shake my head because on my twenty one year life, and I have never kissed a boy.

"I don't believe you." He snaps coldly.

"Well, you have to believe me." I say sharply and almost in rage because I am not lying. My father has never let me out alone. I always have two to three bodyguards with me every time I leave the house.

"Have you ever given someone head?" he asks, his jaw clenched.

"What does it mean?" I ask innocently.

He raises a brow at me. "Have you sucked a dick before?" he asks me this as if he is asking for tonight's menu.

My eyes widen, and I feel so hot. "Eww, no!" I utter in disgust.

"Are you a virgin?" He glances at me.

I am sweating, and the tension between us is unexplainable. I glare at him with my eyes wide.

"Of course," I say in a bit of a high pitch.

"Well, I have to see to make sure it's true," he says in a bold tone.

My soul almost leaves my body. I shake my head and hold my dress tightly.

"No, what do you mean by see it?" my nose flares in rage.

"I am serious right now," he utters, then turns to me and leans close to lift my dress.

I hold it tightly. "You can't do that."

"Your father said that you belong to me now, so I can check what I want to know." He snaps and moves my hand away.

He slips his hand inside my red dress. The fabric is flowy, and his palm is hot against my skin, skimming up my thigh with agonizing slowness. A shiver rips through me, despite the warmth of the day. I hold the white bench with one hand, my fingernails digging into the wrought iron, the cold metal biting into my skin as I try to anchor myself.

He lifts the dress up, the red silk pooling at my waist, exposing me to the open air and his hungry gaze. He puts one of my legs on his thigh, the rough wool of his suit trousers scraping against the sensitive skin of my calf. I am sweating, a thin sheen of dampness breaking out on my neck and back, making the dress cling to me. He looks at me and wipes the sweat from my forehead with his knuckle.

With a firm, agonizing tug, he removes my panties. The lace slides down my legs, and he doesn't drop them. Instead, he puts them inside his suit pocket, claiming them like a reward. The air hits my exposed flesh, cool and shocking. He spreads my hairy pussy wide. I didn't shave because I didn't have to. His thumbs pry my lips apart to look down at the most private part of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, humiliation burning my cheeks, unable to watch him examine my virgin pussy.

Then, he inserts a finger.

I gasp, my back arching off the bench as the sudden intrusion stretches me. It's thick and demanding, breaching the tight ring of muscles at my entrance.

"Shhh." He pulls his finger out, and I whimper at the sudden emptiness. He licks his finger, tasting my wetness, and smirks at me, his dark eyes flashing with triumph.

"Tight and virgin hole." He nods, savoring the words. He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear, sending fresh waves of shock down my spine. "Good girl."

He puts my legs down and adjusts my dress. "I had to check because in our tradition, after the first night, in the morning two ladies will enter our room to make sure there's blood on the sheet."

My brow draws together. "What kind of tradition is this?" I am fuming and sweating.

"An old Sicilian mafia tradition which still follows in our famiglia. Ask your mother she will tell you," he says.

I don't say a word. I am frozen on the bench, my mind already swirling to the wedding night when he will pop my cherry. My heart rate increases. Then two women will come for proof in the morning, which means it is obligatory to sleep with him.

Damn, Luca has already touched me. A place he shouldn't have touched...

He leans close and kisses me on the forehead. "Let's go inside."

The caring side of him makes me feel more affectionate, which I shouldn't feel right now. Well, I can't let him bang me on the wedding night...