Danica's Revenge, page 2
“I haven’t heard from him, sir,” Emilio says simply. He knows me well enough not to add fuel to the fire.
“Such a little shit. Always the spoiled one. He never has to deal with any real responsibility.”
“No, sir.”
“I always protect him…But I’m getting tired of him not pulling his weight. And then he has the audacity to ask me to be more involved.”
Emilio doesn’t say anything. We both know my brother isn’t very reliable—never has been and probably never will be.
“Please send him in when you see him,” I order, checking my phone for a reply to my earlier message. It is still unread.
“Yes, sir.”
“And Emilio, nobody gets past that door, understood? I have some urgent things I need to take care of.”
“Of course, sir. Understood.”
I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and lean back in my chair, my mind overburdened. I sigh, twisting the heavy rings on my fingers out of habit. A ring for each of my deceased loved ones, always there to remind me what I've lost. My grandparents, my mother, my father, my wife… All I have left is Luca, the little shit that he is.
I guess I can’t blame Luca. What role model did he have? Our father was never one for affection, especially not after our mother died. I’m not sure he'd ever wanted kids. He did it for her. Nobody had planned for the great, cruel boss to be left to raise two young kids alone. So, he didn’t. He brought his parents over from Italy and that was that, we hardly saw him. He was very much of the children-should-be-seen-not-heard generation.
Luca was too young when our mother died—only two years old. He doesn’t know what it was like before. I had just turned 10. I remember how it felt to be supported, to be loved unconditionally. She had the most beautiful smile…I'd felt so safe then.
Our father hadn’t taken much interest in Luca. Sure, he'd beat the crap out of him, out of both us, on the regular. Discipline was very important to him. But other than that, he'd let Luca roam free to get up to any mischief he wanted.
I never had that luxury. I was only 16 when he pulled me into the business. There was no time to be a kid. That stopped when our mother died. When my father went three years later, cancer, it all fell to me. All the responsibility. The business. The debts. The feuds. The endless power struggle with other families—new and old to the turf.
Luca was 12. He didn’t give a fuck. He spent his teenage years setting buildings on fire and torturing small animals, forcing me to bail him out more times than I can remember.
I clench my fists, enjoying the satisfying sound of my knuckles cracking. I should really work on not getting so aggravated. It’s not good for my health—or so the doc says.
I reach for the little rake on the side of the Zen garden Danica gave me to try deal with my anger issues. It seems so out of place on my desk, yet I’ve grown so attached to it. I like watching the neat paths form in the sand as the rake weaves from side to side in twisty motions.
It’s not enough to calm me today though.
I smack a little black rock with the tiny rake, sending it flying to the floor.
Fucking family.
❖
Chapter four
Kneel
I wake up with a start, gasping. Nightmares, again. They’re becoming more frequent for some reason.
I know none of it is real, but the uneasy feeling remains even after the details start to fade. All I remember is that I was young in the dream, probably nine years old, running through the field that had been my childhood backyard and, at the same time, through a forest. The twins were chasing me—my older brothers—threatening to lock me up in the shed again.
The rest of the story quickly evaporates from my mind. I’m not mad. The memories from those days are painful enough, I don’t need dreams to remind me that my perfect childhood wasn’t, in fact, perfect.
I pick up my glasses and reach for my phone, my brain slowly processing the sunlight filtering through the slit in the heavy curtains that cascades down from the high ceilings. Dante always opens them a little when he gets up. Maybe he hopes it will rouse me sooner, but he should know by now that I’m not a morning person. If I’m up before noon, it’s a miracle. He, on the other hand, has lived a whole life before the sun is even up, starting with his 5 AM workout with Emilio.
The notifications on my phone hold little of interest—the usual spam emails, a message from my mother asking when I'm bringing my “new boyfriend” home for dinner, and a bunch of other things I swipe off my screen without even looking.
My mother has been nagging me to meet “the new man” ever since I moved out of home. I'd only given her vague details about where I was relocating. The buff men (bodyguards) who had swiftly moved my belongings into unmarked black vans probably hadn’t done much to put her at ease either. But how do you tell your mother you’re moving in with one of the most renowned criminals in the city? It wouldn’t take much digging for her to realize who Dante really was…
I put the phone down, sighing. My mother has always been a bit overbearing. Maybe because I was the youngest—a full seven years younger than the twins. Always so overprotective…Yet she couldn’t protect me then.
I crawl back under the fluffy blankets, trying to find the motivation to start the day. Coffee. I need coffee.
I fling the duvet off and swing my feet into the fluffy slippers waiting beside the bed. I don’t feel like getting dressed, I still need to wash my hair anyway. (Girl math.)
So, I throw on the short black satin gown hanging over the chair. It does little to cover my hefty cleavage, but who am I hiding it from anyway? Everyone on the property is under strict instructions never to lay a finger on me.
The thought makes me smile. His possessiveness is almost cute. Which is bizarre considering how off-putting it was in my ex. But Dante isn’t just any man…His possessiveness doesn’t make me feel trapped, it makes me feel powerful.
I brush my teeth on the toilet, still lazy in my reawakening. I am under no illusions that I’m nothing like the elegant women Dante is used to having around, the ones with proper breeding and pedigree, the ones who know how to get on a private jet and look unfazed—but I'm not bothered for a second. I know they can’t give him what I give him.
I don’t even bother with underwear. The gown barely covers the top half of my thighs as I exit the master bedroom, confidently making my way to the study down the hall.
Nobody tries to stop me or say anything. They’re used to me and my night-owlish ways by now. Nobody except Emilio that is.
“You can’t go in there, Miss Matthews,” he says sternly, guarding the door.
“Good day to you too, Emilio,” I grin. “Please move.”
“I’m under order to not let anyone in,” he maintains, crossing his arms.
“I’m not just anyone, am I?” I try stubbornly to shift the brick house of a man more than double my size. An amused smirk forms across his face.
“Miss Matthews,” he sighs. “He’s not in a good mood.”
“All the more reason to let me in, Emilio.”
“Not today,” Emilio almost pleads, carefully putting a hand on my shoulder to push me away.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say defiantly, looking him straight in the eye. I am not easily intimidated. Definitely not by Emilio either. I know he has a soft spot for me.
Emilio drops his arm immediately, jerking back from me. I take my chance and dart under his arm, slipping into the room before he can do anything to block me.
Dante is standing by the window, playing with his rings like he always does when deep in thought. As I barge in, he turns around quickly, an angry scowl flashing over his face. It softens when he sees me.
“I’m sorry, capo. I tried to stop her,” Emilio says sheepishly, remaining by the door as I waltz over to Dante, victorious.
“It’s okay, Emilio. I’m sure you did. You can go now.” Dante smiles warmly.
I throw my arms around him as Emilio closes the door on his way out.
“Good morning, darling,” I smile, reaching up for a kiss.
“Good afternoon to you too,” he winks, kissing me deeply as he lifts me off my toes, sweeping me up in his strong embrace.
“I was up all night studying, you know I have exams coming up.” I pout dramatically but he misses it, staring out the window again.
“So you say…” Dante seems distracted, distant.
“Your Zen garden is a mess. Where’s the rock?” I glance at his table.
He points to a spot on the floor across the room where the little rock had been flung.
“Again? It’s supposed to bring you calm.” I shake my head and pick up the smooth rock, putting it back in its sand pit.
Dante doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t even shrug.
“Emilio says you’re in a bad mood.” I hop onto his desk, completely disregarding the many actual seating options.
“Is that so now? I should give Emilio a talking to about what our trust agreement means…”
“Don’t be mean to Emilio. You know I’m very persuasive.”
“Oh yeah, especially when you wander around the house dressed like that.” Dante shakes his head but smiles despite himself.
“You said I should make myself at home…” I grin. “So, are we going shopping today or what? I still don’t have a dress for the banquet and it’s next week already.”
“I can’t today. There’s a lot on my mind.” Dante sighs heavily, cracking his knuckles.
“That tense, huh?” I ask, trying to hide my disappointment.
“I’ll make it up to you…”
I don’t reply, letting the silence hang between us.
This is no good. Dante gets nothing done when he’s this worked up. I know him well enough to know that. There is only one remedy.
“Lock the door,” I finally say, my voice slow and sultry, commanding.
The entire vibe in the room changes.
Dante looks at me but doesn’t dare to question. He knows that look, that voice.
“Yes, Miss,” he walks to the door and does as he’s told. “Danica, I—” he starts but I cut him off.
“Quiet, boy! Stay right there,” I instruct, slowly untying the belt of my robe. The look on his face makes me want to smile but I keep up the strict act. Discipline is an important part of Dante’s training. Our contract says as much. It says many other things too, listing all our boundaries, our maybes, our absolute desires. Within the confines of those papers lie the instructions for our entire dynamic…and those confines are not confining at all. He wants me to do whatever I want to him. Still, I have limits I won’t cross. And Dante respects that.
I drop the robe from my shoulders, the smooth material falling open around my breasts. Dante stands frozen, obediently, practically salivating at the sight. It’s been a few days since I've allowed him to cum. I know he’s easily aroused now, just the way I like him. He is always more submissive when he hasn’t had a release in a while.
I slowly uncross my legs, revealing the absence of underwear.
A murmur escapes Dante’s mouth. I can tell he’s burning with desire but does not dare to move without permission. We’ve been working on his training. Many painful punishments later, Dante is a better submissive for it. We are both figuring it out—me, how to be dominant; him, how to submit. But with each other, it doesn’t feel like work, it feels natural.
“Come here,” I whisper powerfully, summoning him with my forefinger.
He starts walking and I hold up my hand. Stop.
“Is this how you approach your Queen? On your knees!” I command and Dante instantly drops to the floor, eyes lowered.
Slowly, he crawls toward me, expensive pants on an expensive carpet—everything worthless to him except pleasing me. What a beautiful sight.
When he stops on the floor beneath me, I grab a fistful of his thick, curly, dark locks and pull his face up between my legs.
I always wake up horny and Dante never leaves that state. It is the perfect combination. Maybe it is because I can’t ever get enough of him, of the pleasure he brings me.
“Look at me, darling,” I command sweetly.
His dark green eyes flicker with lust, with desperation, as he meets mine.
“What do you want? Tell me,” I whisper, holding him there, face mere inches from my naked cunt. He dares not look anywhere but my eyes.
“To…to serve you. Please,” Dante begs.
I throw my head back and laugh from my belly. I will never tire of seeing such a strong powerful man reduced to a whimpering boy.
The idea that Emilio is just outside the door brings me great joy. Nobody has any idea that I'm not the one on my knees right now, that their fearless leader is indeed petrified, petrified of never being allowed to cum again at the hands of his cruel Queen.
“I haven’t showered yet,” I say, releasing his hair.
Dante inhales deeply, almost panting at the revelation. I know it drives him mad. The smell, the taste…he loves it when I am dirty. He’s told me before.
He whines in desperation, gaze focused on my bush.
I reach down, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to reveal his beautiful leather collar beneath. I hook my finger through the metal loop and yank his face into my pussy.
“Please me, tesoro!” I lock my legs behind his back, pulling him further into me. A loud moan rises from my lips as Dante flicks his tongue over my clit, trained to perfection to make his Mistress cum.
I know Emilio can hear us but it only makes it hotter.
I pinch my nipples between my fingers, grinding my hips into Dante’s face in a rhythm I know will send me over the edge in minutes.
Beside me, Dante’s cellphone starts ringing. It’s an unknown number. I smack it off the table but it continues to ring.
“Don’t you dare stop until you lap up every damn drop, understood?” I hiss between my teeth, gasping between little moans.
The head between my thighs nods but does not slow down. I know he enjoys losing himself in my desires; it allows him to clear his mind. Win-win, I think, biting my lip as the pleasure builds between my thighs.
“Just like that… Such a good boy,” I coo encouragingly in the Mommy-voice I reserve only for him; the Mommy-voice that instantly gets him hard, desperate.
I howl loudly as the pinnacle of my climax reaches its crescendo, digging my heels into Dante’s back.
“Remember…Every. Last. Drop.”
Oh god, how does it feel this good?
❖
Chapter five
Controlled
I try my best to walk like there isn’t a vibrating butt plug stuffed up my ass. Danica loves public play stuff, but it always makes my life so difficult. How can I keep up the facade of being the brutal head of the Fera family if all I can think about is my growing erection? The mere thought of Danica roaming around with that powerful remote, ready to press it at any time, makes me instantly hard. It is the anticipation of it more than anything. She is still on her way to the banquet hall though, so maybe I am safe for now.
The lavish foyer is filling up quickly with the creme de la creme of the underworld. The annual Fera charity auction is renowned in all circles. Large amounts of money exchange hands in the name of tax-deductible charity. Old debts are settled and new contraband is acquired at an event that looks just like any other charity gala. But everybody knows the millions of dollars that flow through the proceedings are not meant for the average-looking artifacts displayed on the stage under heavy protection. No, the real auction is online through a very secure connection and exclusive access. It is set up long before the actual event, the bounties agreed upon before anyone forces themselves into their expensive suits or uncomfortable high-heels.
$1,2 million for the painting on the left for Mister Marino, the paperwork reads. But online, the truth: “$1,2 million for semi-automatic weapons for the Marino family.” Power, weapons, drugs—everything is for sale at the annual Fera charity auction. The family’s influence knows no bounds, and everyone makes sure to take advantage of their charity to stock up. It is the only way to keep the peace between the families, or some semblance of peace, at least.
I make my way over to the door to greet the new guests as they enter. More than a hundred people are expected tonight at this grand venue, excluding the security. No weapons at the auction though: there is a metal detector at the door that everyone is forced to pass through before entering the elegant hotel. Dramatic chandeliers, elaborate artwork on the wall, the marble floor shining without flaw—a certain luxury is expected at these events.
I don’t care much for the dated decor myself, but I know the families are old school like that—modern architecture fails to impress them.
Not that I have anything to do with choosing the venue. Alicia, my PA, organizes it all, buzzing around with a clipboard to make sure things are running as they should.
The metal detector beeps by the door and I look up to see Emilio taking a knife off a guard escorting the Antonios.
“Don Antonio. Buonasera. Welcome.” I nod respectfully, reaching out my hand to his as the Don and his men approach.
“Buonasera, Don Fera.” The old man shakes my hand firmly, a forced smile forming around his wrinkly mouth. “Good turnout this year,” he remarks, looking around the room. I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
I can’t stop imagining the plug in my ass. I know I’m clenching but I’m so overly aware of it, I can’t help it. Imagine what people would think if they knew? What would Don Antonio say if he knew the head of the Fera family was roaming around with a toy up his rear, completely at the mercy of a 5’3" tall 25-year-old with a sadistic streak?
“Indeed. We have some really desirable items on the auction list this year.” I hold onto his hand a bit longer, forcing myself to keep my expression firm but neutral.
