Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”Yes,” Eve gasped, unable to deny it. Her body was responding to him exactly as he’d said it would.

He fucked her like that for a long time, changing positions frequently. Against the wall. On her knees. Pressed against the sink. Back against the wall again.

Each position brought new angles, new sensations, new ways of overwhelming her.

Eve lost count of her orgasms. Lost track of time. Existed only in the space where his body met hers, where pleasure and possession became indistinguishable.

”Dimitri,” she finally gasped, her voice hoarse. ”I’m tired. Please....”

He thrust in three more times then he pulled out, understanding that she’d reached her limit.

”Okay, piccola,” he said, his voice gentle despite the obvious tension in his body. ”It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He lifted her carefully and carried her to the bedroom, laying her down on the soft sheets. Her entire body was trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction.

Dimitri cleaned up and returned to bed, pulling her against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively. He could feel her heartbeat slowing, her breathing becoming more measured as her body relaxed into the afterglow.

Eve was already half-asleep, her breathing evening out, her body completely relaxed against his.

”I love you,” she murmured, her words barely audible.

”I know,” he replied, kissing her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her. ”Sleep.”

She was asleep before he finished the word.

Dimitri lay awake, holding her, thinking about everything that needed to happen next. This was always the hard part, the transition between the man she needed him to be and the man the world demanded he become. In her arms, surrounded by the softness of their bedroom and the quiet of the night, he could pretend the other life didn’t exist. Could pretend he was just a man in love with a woman, not a ruthless operator managing an empire built on violence and power.

But pretense was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

His phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

A message from Mike: ”Need you at Sinners. Situation with the shipment. When can you come by?”

Dimitri looked at Eve sleeping peacefully in his arms, her face relaxed, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Even in sleep, she was beautiful, fragile in a way that made his chest tighten. The knowledge that she was completely vulnerable, completely dependent on him to keep her safe from the dangers that lurked in his world, both thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.

Then he looked back at the phone.

There was always a situation. There was always something that needed immediate attention. The war with Dante hadn’t ended on that island, it had merely paused. And his father’s influence still reached across the Atlantic, still threatened everything Dimitri had built.

He texted back: ”Give me thirty minutes. I’ll be there.”

Then he carefully extracted himself from the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake Eve. Her soft breathing didn’t change, and he allowed himself a moment of relief. She needed the sleep. He’d pushed her to her limits intentionally, keeping her exhausted enough that she wouldn’t notice when he slipped out.

He dressed in dark clothes, the comfortable uniform of his world, tailored black slacks, a black shirt that hugged his broad chest, a leather jacket that had been worn by blood and time into something approaching softness. The transformation happened gradually, piece by piece. With each layer of clothing, the man who loved her faded away, replaced by the man who killed for her.

By the time he was ready, thirty minutes had passed.

He looked at Eve one more time, sleeping peacefully, then he left.

The penthouse door closed behind him with a soft click.

And he stepped back into the empire, leaving the peaceful bubble of their private world behind.

Marco was waiting downstairs with the car, and he didn’t ask questions. That was one of the things Dimitri paid him for, unwavering loyalty and discretion.

”Sinners?” Marco asked as Dimitri climbed in.

”Sinners,” Dimitri confirmed, settling into the backseat.

They drove through the Manhattan night, heading toward the club where Dimitri’s business empire was centered, where deals were made and power was consolidated. The city lights blurred past the windows, and Dimitri used the drive to shed the last pieces of Eve from his psyche. He couldn’t afford to carry that softness into the meeting with Mike. Sentiment was a weakness, and weakness was something his enemies would exploit without hesitation.

By the time they arrived, Dimitri had shifted completely. The man who’d just made love to his woman was gone. In his place was the ruthless mafia lord who made decisions that affected people’s lives.

Mike was waiting in his private lounge, looking stressed. The office was all dark wood and leather, modern art on the walls that probably cost more than most people made in a year. But it felt sterile compared to the warmth of his penthouse bedroom.

”We have a problem,” Mike said immediately.

”Walk me through it,” Dimitri said simply.

Mike pulled out a file and spread documents across the glass table between them.

”Three hours ago, one of our distribution operations got hit,” Mike said. ”Warehouse in Red Hook. We had a shipment moving through....half a million in product, cash that was supposed to be going out. The operation was supposed to be routine. We’ve been running this route for eight months without incident.”

”And?” Dimitri prompted.

”And someone knew exactly when the shipment was arriving. Knew exactly where it would be. Hit us with a team of eight men, professional operators. They took everything and left no bodies. Just gone. Our people scattered, and by the time anyone could regroup, the warehouse was empty.”

Dimitri processed that information silently.

”Casualties?” he asked.

”One dead. Three wounded. Everyone’s accounted for, but the psychological impact is significant. Our people are spooked. They’re wondering if we can protect them.”

”Can we?” Dimitri asked coldly.

”Yes,” Mike said firmly. ”But only if we figure out how they knew about the operation. And that means we have a rat. Someone on the inside feeding information to whoever organized this hit.”

Dimitri stood and walked to the bar. He poured himself a whiskey and turned back to face Mike.

”Dante,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

”That’s what I’m thinking,” Mike confirmed. ”The timing is too perfect. He loses seven men on an island, finds out you’re back in New York, and suddenly decides to test our defenses by hitting an operation he shouldn’t even know about.”

”Unless he knows about it because someone told him,” Dimitri said, returning to his seat. ”Which means we have a problem bigger than just this one hit.”