78

MILLIE
Reluctantly, he withdrew from our intimate connection, and any protest I might have made faded as Gio gently maneuvered me to face him. With effortless strength, he lifted me onto his lap, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. “Ride me,” he requested, his words a command entwined with a genuine desire to connect on a deeper level. “I want to see your face.”
Meeting his gaze, I understood the depth of his request, and a smile graced my lips as I slowly sank onto his length. Our eyes remained locked as I began a deliberate rocking motion of my hips. Pleasure surged through me, each movement building the tension coiled within me to an almost unbearable peak. Despite the mounting intensity, I maintained a deliberate pace, savoring every moment. His breathing grew ragged as his grip tightened on my waist. Eventually, the crescendo of sensation within me erupted, my body pulsating with release. In perfect synchrony, Gio tensed beneath me, a guttural sound escaping his lips as he found his own release within me.
Trembling with the aftermath, I leaned in to press a tender kiss to his throat, feeling the rapid thud of his pulse against my lips. A surge of boldness prompted me to nip at his skin, and the resulting reaction from him was immediate a primal growl coupled with a shudder that traveled through his body. In that moment, I realized that I belonged to him, just as much as he belonged to me.
~*~
Time aboard the yacht had slipped through our fingers like sand, each day melding seamlessly into the next. But as we reluctantly disembarked the yacht on that final day in Palermo’s harbor, a pang of wistfulness settled in my heart, casting a shadow over our departure.
Gio, always attuned to my emotions, sensed my subdued mood. “We will return next spring, I promise,” he assured me with a tender smile that carried a touch of sadness.
His words offered solace, and I responded with a grateful smile that conveyed my understanding.
Our journey was not quite over, though. Before we could make our way back to New York, a duty called us to Gio’s great-uncle, a figure of respect and authority within our Sicilian Famiglia. Alessandro, ever loyal, had met us at the harbor and driven us to the great-uncle’s estate. During that drive, I saw a shift in Gio’s demeanor. The carefree days on the yacht were replaced by the mantle of leadership, and his vigilance returned. Gone was the softness, replaced by an unmistakable air of authority. It reminded me of the shadows from our past, but I found comfort in the fact that those days were just memories now.
Amidst the tension, Alessandro made an attempt at small talk. “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?” he inquired, this time in his native language. It was a question meant for both of us, but only I responded.
“We did, thank you,” I replied, noting Alessandro’s subtle glance at Gio in the rearview mirror. It seemed he expected a response from Gio as well.
As our conversation circled around, Gio’s attention turned to the reason for our visit. “Is there any reason why my great-uncle wants to talk to me except to rekindle family bonds?” he asked, cutting through the trivialities.
“He will share his thoughts with you,” Alessandro replied tersely, and a silent exchange passed between them, laden with unspoken implications. The dominance they exuded created an atmosphere so palpable that it felt like being enclosed in a cage with two alpha wolves.
The journey culminated at a sprawling estate resembling the Tuscan villas I had seen in pictures, adorned with a creamy facade and stately columns. A long table was set in the courtyard, a gathering place for Gio’s extended family. The women there greeted me with warmth, showering me with kisses and hugs, their dark hair a stark contrast to my own. Among them, I stood out, an outsider yet again. Gio wasted no time, approaching a tall, elderly man with a distinguished mustache his great-uncle. I joined them, offering my own greeting to the venerable figure who held a prominent position in our Sicilian Famiglia. His scrutinizing gaze lingered on me, particularly on my hair, before he broke into a smile. “You must be the pride of the Outfit.”
“Although I’m now part of the Famiglia, I appreciate your sentiment,” I replied, allowing a winsome smile to soften my response. His raspy laughter filled the air as he extended a cigar to Gio, who accepted with a nod. Despite my aversion to the smell, I held back any visible reaction. Adalberto, the great-uncle, turned to Gio. “Call me Alberto, if I may call you Millie?” He sought Gio’s approval, which was readily given.
In their world, my opinion held little significance.
Amidst the exchange, Alberto’s attention shifted to me. “Why don’t you join my daughters and granddaughters in preparing our meal?” he suggested.
A hint of amusement flickered across Gio’s lips, almost imperceptible. “Yes, Millie, why don’t you?”
Though the retort danced at the tip of my tongue, I refrained, deciding to save it for a private moment of teasing with Gio. I followed the women into the vast kitchen, hoping for a task within my capabilities. Pots simmered on the stove, and a whole lamb hung from the ceiling, already prepared for cooking. Amidst the rapid-fire Italian chatter, I found myself assigned to the task of preparing artichokes, a task entirely foreign to me. My inexperience quickly became evident, and Livia, Alessandro’s youngest sister, stepped in to guide me. Eventually relegated to stirring a pot of soup, I appreciated their patience despite my culinary shortcomings.
One of Alberto’s daughters, a round woman in her forties, commented, “I suppose men in America don’t expect their wives to cook?”
Livia chimed in, her cheeks tinted with embarrassment as I smiled at her. “Look at her hair, who cares if she can cook?” Her words garnered agreement, acknowledging my distinctiveness. While I resisted the role of the stereotypical blonde, I understood their intentions. Gio hadn’t chosen me for my domestic prowess; our marriage had been a matter of circumstance.
Later, as the men were served the meal we had prepared, Alberto inquired about my contribution. The women vouched for my abilities, a fabrication that only Gio saw through. The tension around his eyes hinted at a deeper conversation he had shared with Alberto and Alessandro, who remained conspicuously evasive.
Finally alone on the airplane, I seized the opportunity to address my concerns. “Things seem tense for the Famiglia here. Will you really take in Alessandro and his sisters if needed?”
“Without a doubt. Family loyalty demands it,” Gio responded, his face a mix of duty and apprehension. “But Alessandro is meant to lead, and he won’t easily yield to my authority. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
His worry began to dissipate, replaced by a more relaxed demeanor. Shifting the topic, he turned his attention to my kitchen escapades. “I hear you’ve become a chef all of a sudden. Can I expect grand feasts in our future?”
A sweet smile accompanied my response. “Certainly. You know how much Melanie loves going all out.”
Gio’s laughter filled the cabin. Our housekeeper’s culinary skills had saved us many times. “You’re quite the unconventional homemaker.”
I exhaled a mock sigh. “I wasn’t groomed to be a housewife. I was destined to be a trophy wife.” The bitterness of those words lingered, but I knew I had to confront that reality.
Gio’s gaze held reverence as he looked at me. “You were born to be a queen.”