Lucien
The Mafia Don had had enough. Roughly pushing away the woman who was trying to cling to him, he ignored her furious exclamation as he crossed to his wife who stood, her cheeks flaming, eyes glittering in humiliation, shoulders heaving with the effort of staying calm.
He knew she was too much of a lady to descend to the levels of a gutter snipe wh*re like Britney but he would not stand by and listen to anyone insult her.
*
Facing Britney, his eyes gleaming with rage, he bit out in a hard, cold voice,
‘I should not have allowed you into my house. You pollute everything with your disgusting presence, Britney. But I had forgotten, a dirty wh*re from the gutter can only talk and behave like one.’
He pulled his wife’s resisting body to his and went on, in a low snarl,
“My wife is too fine, too good a woman to tell you to get out of her house but I will not have scum like you insult her. So shut the f*ck up or I will have the men throw you out like I had you thrown out of my room last night when you tried to get me to f*ck you, you cheap sl*t.’
Lucien was in a rage, Proserpina knew from the way his body vibrated with anger and he was dangerous and unpredictable at times like that. Britney shrank as he growled threateningly,
“I should only have brought the boy along but you begged and the boy pleaded. But not one word more! I paid you to f*ck me in those days in the past but I would never have brought you or your sister back home to my bed. You never meant anything to me, not then, not now. You are trash.”
*
Lucien turned to his woman and one look at her white face made him aware that he had to do something drastic to reclaim her trust. She looked shattered. She was breathing in short gasps and looked as though she was going to collapse.
‘Woman,’ he growled huskily, taking her face between his large ones,
Clasping her waist, he brought his mouth down on hers, in a deep, possessive kiss, branding her as his. At first, she stood, stiff and responsive and he knew she was hurt, so very badly hurt. Her arms were at her sides, limp and unmoving. But he persisted.
He took his time, nipping at her lips, forcing her to relax under him, his expert dominance making her part her plump lips to his persistent attack, gentle but firm. And then, their tongues tangled, duelled as she surrendered to him; Lucien felt his Woman’s body soften, as the rigidity left her. She moved into his arms, her hand going up to bury itself in his hair while another crept around his neck, holding him to her as he took control of her, his arousal hard against her softness, her full breasts thrusting into his hard chest.
Slowly, he raised his head, unable to tear his eyes off the lovely face beneath his gaze, his wife, the woman who belonged to him. The only woman he ever wanted.
*
Without taking his eyes off the up-tilted flushed face of his wife, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, her swollen luscious mouth parted slightly as she looked at him, half dazed, he tilted her chin and looked into her eyes, cocoa coloured with desire, as he said growling hoarsely,
‘Our children are a result of our love, Britney. But you would not understand that. You neither have kids, nor have you ever experienced love. You just f*ck. And get paid for that.’
Britney went motionless.
He stopped and still, without taking his eyes off his woman, he said in a slow voice, his tone gruff with desire,
“This little woman made me understand what love was all about…’
He trailed a finger down her nose, to her mouth,
‘The only woman I have ever loved is this Woman, my wife Proserpina. And our children,’ he waved his arm to include the seven young people grouped together in the middle of the room. With his arm still holding his wife to his body, possessively, protectively, he turned to Britney with a blistering gaze,
‘ALL of my seven children standing here were born out of love.’
He fixed Britney with a contemptuous look that made her want to turn and run.
If he had slapped Britney, she could not have felt more insulted.
*
Cole recoiled.
The message was clear; his son Cole had not been born of love. He would always be an outsider, never good enough, never the one who was cherished.
Cole winced and felt a surge of hate ripple through him as his eyes moved over the seven young people in the room. They looked uncannily alike, except for the autistic kid who kept looking at him and looking away. All the others with their cold grey-blue eyes and blonde hair were uncanny replicas of Lucien Delano. He wanted in that instant, to smash the happy family, to destroy the strong bond they had.
He was not one of them. He would never be one of them, no matter that Lucien Delano had agreed to give him his name, albeit reluctantly. All the seven looked at him as though they found him wanting, as though they had already judged him and he hated them fiercely.
*
Lucien Delano stood; looking into his wife’s eyes again, a silent apology in his slate grey eyes. His square jaw and powerful shoulders, the muscles bunched under the fabric of his jacket gave him the aura of power but it was clear that this sexy woman standing beside him had him in the palm of her hand and suddenly, Cole hated her with all his might.
If not for her, then probably, it would have been he and his fat, ugly mother who could have been enjoying themselves at this place.
*
Lucien and Proserpina might have been the only people in the room for all the attention they were giving the others, he thought furiously. Lost in a world of their own and Cole wanted nothing more than to rage at it. How dare they? It was supposed to be HIS coming out day, the Day when the Delano brats realised that he was one of them, like them. That he deserved to be here in this mansion, as pampered and born with a silver spoon as they were.
Beside him, he heard his aunt breathing heavily, rage shining in her glassy gaze. But he felt no sympathy for her; the stupid cow had put herself in the firing line with her venomous comments.
*
Above their heads from across the room, he caught the watchful gaze of the elegant, handsome man who had been standing so close to his stepmother.
James Schwartz.
Handsome James as they called him.
He was Lucien Delano’s right-hand man and dearest friend, a deadly sharpshooter at one time who was still respected for his skills. Way too dangerous for Cole to get entangled with him.
The man was eyeing him, a cold and dangerous look in his eyes, warning him off silently.
Get off.
Cole stepped back.
*
And then, he heard the beautiful curvaceous woman speak.
Without taking her eyes off her husband’s face, Proserpina blushed prettily as she spoke in her melodious, dulcet tones. It was clear that she was speaking only for him for her voice was soft and more like a whisper.
“Actually Britney, you have got it wrong, ‘
Proserpina dimpled, clutching her husband’s jacket and looking into his eyes, drawing him closer to her body so that they looked as though they were moulded to each other. She tilted her head to meet her husband’s hungry gaze, her eyes moving achingly over the harsh outlines, the square jaw with the dark stubble, the broken-and-mended-badly nose, the stormy blue-grey eyes that were watching her intently as she went on softly.
“Eight children. We are expecting our eighth child.’