Episode 7

Gabriel

I enter the house pressing on the lower part of my stomach, which won't stop bleeding. The blade of the La Cosa Nostra soldier did a good job, but not as good as my gun did to his head.

I won't stop until every last man from La Cosa Nostra is gone. I have to cleanse the earth of their vile, cowardly blood. No matter the cost, I would sacrifice anything or anyone.

I head towards the stairs, but the sound of music draws me to the kitchen. I draw my weapon instantly when I see a woman I do not know dancing in my kitchen while drinking milk.

I stealthily approach and grab her by the waist and press my gun against the side of her head, covered in black curls.

"Who the hell are you?" I demand, furious.

"I... I..." stammers the voice before she drops the glass, which falls to the floor and shatters into dozens of pieces.

I move my hand up her small body and then grab her neck roughly to make her understand I am serious.

When the Boss of the Camorra asks a question, it must be answered.

"Don't make me ask again," I threaten.

The small warm body nestles into mine, and though I haven't even seen her face yet, I start to get aroused. I breathe in the back of her neck and love the sweet smell that emerges, of vanilla and something else, that I can't quite place.

Angry with myself and at her for not yet responding, I press harder on her neck, trying to choke her into responding.

The woman lets out a sweet moan and begins to move against my body, heating my blood.

"Damn, you're enjoying this," I mutter into her neck, and without being able to help it, I caress the sweet skin of her neck. The woman starts to press her thighs together and moves seeking relief. "Who are you, beautiful?" I ask. "Please, tell me you're not the damn nanny."

If she were a new maid, I could take her right now, without even waiting for her consent. However, if she is the nanny, that brazen woman who does not know her place, I can't take her. I would never do it, because it's exactly what my father expects, and I will not give him the satisfaction.

Come on, babe, tell me you're a maid so I can devour you right here, I think, annoyed.

"I am," she replies in a plea.

Damn my bad luck. The woman in my arms is practically begging to be fucked, but I cannot do it.

"Holy shit," I swear, furious, and the woman emits a moan that makes me desire her even more.

I trail my mouth to her ear: "You're wet, aren't you?" I ask before I breathe her in again.

"What... what is this?" she asks innocently while grinding her ass against me, causing me physical pain.

"What you feel pressing against your back, if you're lucky, will be your favorite toy. Surrender to your Boss," I command, forgetting my resolution not to sleep with the nanny, she's asking for it.

The woman in my arms stops wriggling and freezes.

"Get your filthy hands off me, and you better hope that the moisture you left on my back is sweat," she threatens.

I laugh and grab her curls in my hand and force her to rest her head on my chest.

"It's blood, gorgeous. I'm not a rookie; I'd never finish before seeing you sob at least a couple of times."

She turns and before I can stop her, she hits my groin with her knee.

Damn bitch.

Accustomed to pain, I ignore her futile attempt to hurt me, grab her hands and pin them to her back, before smashing her against the kitchen island.

I put my hand down and press her face hard, not caring if I hurt her or not. This girl needs to learn a lesson.

"If you try to attack me again, I won't hesitate to hand you over to my men or make you work in one of the Camorra's brothels, and not a good one, darling, I'll take you to the one where men love to subject women to beatings."

"You wish," she hisses and begins to fight against my grip.

Such a stubborn little thing.

The loud sound of a roar interrupts our confrontation.

"It's Mia," she says, breaking free from me and grabbing a white monitor.

"Mia?" I ask, not knowing who she is referring to.

"Yes," she says, looking me in the eyes for the first time. Hers are dark, mysterious, and insolent too. The man in me demands to break her will and let her know who's in charge. "It's your daughter."

"She doesn't have a name."

"Of course not, because her dad doesn't have time," she says, making annoying quotation signs in the air. "But I'm not going to keep calling her baby until you think of a name." Before I can reply she continues, "Come to Mia's room; I have a first aid kit and can help you with that," she adds, pointing to my wound before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

I only follow her because watching her ass go up the stairs is one of the most appetizing sights I've seen in my damn life.

She enters the room, approaches the crib, and picks up Kate's daughter.

"There, gorgeous, I'm here," she whispers. "Wait for me in the bathroom," she orders without even giving me a glance.

Who the hell does she think she is?

I would like to tell her a few things, but I stop when I see how much she has changed the room; now I understand the extra expenses on the credit card. There are many new things in the bathroom, even a small pink plastic bathtub and dozens of unopened diaper packages.

I sit on the edge of the marble tub and check the wound. The damn blade was rusty; it will take a while to heal.

The nanny enters the bathroom without giving me a single glance and stoops to reach a first aid kit.

She has a stunning body. Score one for my father. The fool knows my taste in women and got the most tempting one to tempt me.

Her body is petite yet perfectly proportioned. Narrow waist, breasts and butt just the right size. Beautiful hair and face. The complete damn package.

She approaches me with gloved hands and begins to touch my wound.

"It's infected."

"I know," I reply.

She sprays alcohol on the wound with a mischievous smile on her beautiful face.

"Does it hurt?" she asks innocently.

"I'm used to pain," I respond, watching her every move and the amusement in her eyes.

"You need stitches."

"Do you know how to do them?" I ask, doubtful of the malice in her gaze.

"Sure, I always used to treat dad when he came home injured."

"Your dad works for the Camorra?"

"He did," she answers while preparing the tools to sew the wound. "He died seven years ago."

"Doing his job, or due to drug or alcohol abuse?"

"Doing his damn job," she says, and drives the needle into my skin with force. "Dad was a good man, a good soldier, and an excellent father. Shame the same can't be said for others."

Damn kid.

"And who was this excellent man?" I ask mockingly.

"Leonardo Palermo."

Leonardo. My mentor. The one who taught me everything.

"You're Leonardo Palermo's daughter?"

"Yes, genius," she replies and jabs the needle into my skin with force again.

"He taught me everything I know. Taught me to use weapons and to fight."

"Yeah, dad always said he had to teach those with learning disabilities, I imagine you're one of the special kids."

Angered, I grab her by the neck but am interrupted by my friend.

"I wanted to know how you'd arrived, but I see you're doing wonderfully," he says with a huge smile while his greedy eyes scan the nanny's body.

My luck and me.

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