Page 20 of Prince of Vice
As I slide into my chair, I replay Tammy's words in my head, her fierce defense of me against Greg's barbs. Her confidence and unwavering determination are qualities I've always admired, and I'm grateful to have her in my corner.
"Isabella Moretti, right?" A woman seated across from me inquires, her smile friendly and inviting. She extends a manicured hand, her nails painted a deep, rich burgundy. "I'm Lila, I've heard great things about you."
"Nice to meet you, Lila," I reply, offering my own smile as I shake her hand. The conversation flows easily between us, a welcome distraction from the lingering sting of Greg's words. Our laughter mingles with the clattering of plates and the gentle hum of conversation around us, creating a symphony of camaraderie that soothes my frayed nerves.
Throughout the meeting, I steal glances at Tammy, sitting tall and confident amidst this den of legal lions. In her, I find solace and strength, a reminder that I am not alone in this fight.
Chapter Nine
Primo
"Something's off," I growl into the phone, my voice a mix of frustration and anger. The cold metal of the device presses against my cheek as I pace the length of my office. "I don't have time for amateurs messing up a simple gun shipment."
"Primo, we're doin' our best here. It ain't easy without you around," comes the reply from one of my guys on the other end. He sounds tired, worn out, but that isn't enough to stifle my irritation.
"Get it done, or heads will roll." I end the call abruptly, taking a deep breath to try and clear my mind. There's an itch in my gut that tells me something isn't right, but I can't pinpoint what exactly it is. House arrest is taking its toll on me; I feel like a caged animal, unable to oversee my family's business in person. Without me there, it's no wonder things are falling apart.
My thoughts veer toward loyalty, both within and outside of the family. I'm paranoid, I know, but I can't shake the feeling that something is amiss. How can I possibly solve these issues while trapped inside this gilded prison? I run a hand through my hair, trying to focus on the problem at hand, but instead, my mind drifts back to Isabella.
Ah, sweet Isabella. Her body pressed against mine in my office yesterday, her soft curves and the way she moved when I touched her... I crave more of her, yet it frustrates me that I cannot maintain my control around her. She's a distraction, but one I can't seem to resist. I can practically feel her warm breath on my neck, the hint of her perfume lingering in the air.
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in an attempt to clear the vivid images from my mind. I can't afford to be distracted by lust, not when there's so much at stake. With a frustrated sigh, I close my eyes and try to focus on the matters that truly need my attention.
I try to refocus my thoughts on the trial, imagining the courtroom, the judge, and the jury. But as I envision the proceedings, Isabella's image overtakes my senses. Her beautiful figure, the way she leaned over the table in my office, examining the files with such concentration. I remember the curve of her breasts, just barely visible through the fabric of her blouse, and I can't help but think how they would feel in my hands.
My mind drifts further, imagining the satisfying sting of my palm against her round ass, the delectable sensation of reprimanding her for perceived disobedience. My body responds, arousal pooling in my abdomen, and I grit my teeth in frustration. I don't want to give in to these fantasies again, not when she's already tested my control so thoroughly.
"Enough," I mutter under my breath, standing up abruptly and heading toward the gym. The heavy door swings open, revealing a sanctuary of iron and sweat. I need to clear my head, to regain control over my desires and refocus on the tasks at hand. But even as I pick up a pair of dumbbells, Isabella lingers in my thoughts like a persistent phantom.
"Damn it," I curse, pushing myself through a set of bicep curls with more force than necessary. The burn in my muscles is a welcome distraction, but it's not enough to entirely banish her from my mind. I switch exercises, working my way through an intense workout, but still she remains, taunting me with the knowledge that my resolve is slipping.
"Primo," a familiar voice calls out behind me, snapping me back to reality. It's Teddy, smirking at my obvious frustration. "You look like you've got a lot on your mind, brother."
"More than you know, Teddy," I reply, forcing a smile and wiping the sweat from my brow. "More than you know."
As we continue our workout, I engage in small talk with Teddy, but it's only half-hearted.
“See dad lately?” he asks.
I shake my head and look down at my ankle monitor. “No. You?”
He shrugs. “Once or twice. Certainly not as much as Constantino, but hey, still more than Giovanni!” he laughs.
I nod.
“Yeah,” he continues. “Although, it’s not like you can really see him for all that long. Last time they limited visits to thirty minutes.”
“I doubt I could even hold a conversation with our father for ten,” I muse.
“Well, you know me,” he says. “I’m pretty much able to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Sort of like yourself today.”
“Yeah,” I say absentmindedly.
I’m trying to pay attention but my thoughts are elsewhere, consumed by Isabella's presence and the ever-growing desire that threatens to overtake me. And as much as I try to refocus on the matters of the mafia and my trial, I’m starting to realize that I'm fighting a losing battle against the allure of the woman who seems to have entangled herself so completely within my mind.
As I struggle to shake off the persistent image of Isabella's curves, Teddy's voice cuts through my haze. "So, Primo," he continues with a chuckle. "Business has been slow for me lately. Not many murders to clean up this fall season. I know you're on trial for murder and all, but did that really mean you had to stop completely?"
His dark humor might have made me grin on any other day, but at the moment, it barely registers. Instead, I focus on the rhythm of my breathing and the strain of my muscles as I push through another rep.