Fratello

Enzo’s pov

The seat under me had gone warm from how long I’d been sitting there, one hand locked around a hard-on that wouldn’t quit no matter how many times I’d already handled it to the sound of her voice and the shape of that mouth.

Since the night I met her I hadn’t been able to look at another woman without my skin crawling. The idea of using somebody else to burn this off made my stomach turn. And she wasn’t even my type. I liked them easy. Dark-haired. Quiet about it. Eager, but only in the ways I told them to be. Bria ran her mouth, laughed like she wanted the whole room to hear it, and she was the only blonde I’d ever run into inside the Cosa Nostra. Everything about her said she took what she wanted in bed and didn’t give a damn what her partner got out of it.

I still didn’t know why I’d gone near her first. One introduction I hadn’t asked for. She’d spent the whole thing scowling, and when the scowl slipped she pasted on a smile as cheap as those fake red-soled heels I’d already caught her in twice. She liked playing unimpressed that her mamma was marrying my papa, like a year under the Castiglione name wouldn’t do more for her than every year she’d spent broke as a Bellini. She must’ve smelled a bigger cut. That was why she’d slipped into my room.

The memory hit and I got harder. I swore under my breath.

Then she walked out of the bodega she’d been inside for fifteen minutes, calling a goodbye to the barista who comped her oat milk down to regular every single day because he wanted to fuck her. If he hadn’t already. My hands closed on the wheel at the thought. Better I put the fear in him before he started planning a second round.

Sun sat on her skin. That long blonde hair I’d made the mistake of pulling in the bathroom caught the light, and now I knew exactly how soft it was. Half of me wanted to drag her straight to my bed and fuck every trace of her out of my head until I couldn’t remember her face or her hands or that smart mouth. Bread and a bottle of wine in a paper bag in one hand. Her coffee in the other. A white tank so thin her tits pushed at the fabric and most of her stomach showed, black cotton shorts that might as well have been underwear for how little of her ass they covered.

I rapped my fingers on the wheel and locked them down when the pull to follow her got bad. An itch started at the back of my neck while she climbed the stairs toward her building. I told myself to leave. I’d found where she lived. I’d had my look. That was enough. I wasn’t going to let her win.

Then she stopped for some preppy blonde grinning at her like the sun had personally hired him. I wondered if she’d fucked him too. My new stepsister was turning into more trouble than she was worth. I shouldn’t have cared who she slept with as long as she kept it quiet. But his hand went into her hair, one gold-brown curl falling down the front of her face, and my teeth ground together. I got out and slammed the door harder than I needed to. The sun burned across my back. It didn’t touch what was already moving through me.

I came up behind her. The guy went stiff the second he saw me. Her shoulders drew in. She turned, already scowling.

“Well if it isn’t my fratello.” The smile she gave me could’ve cut glass.

Italian sat strange on her tongue. Like she hadn’t grown up in it. I stepped in close and dropped my voice so only she could hear. “Do brothers know what their sisters taste like?”

She flinched. Fear and irritation fought in those cornflower eyes.

“Your brother?” the blonde said.

“Stepbrother,” she said, flat, and those eyes stayed on me a second longer before she turned. “I’ll see you later, Stef. You better not start that movie without me.”

He nodded and went.

She sighed, shifted the coffee into the hand already holding the bag, got her key in the lock, and walked inside. The door was swinging shut when I caught it and pushed through.

She shot me a look on her way to the counter in that open kitchen and set the groceries down. “Well, what can I do for you, Castiglione?”

“Whatever you’ve got going with Stef, end it. You don’t get to be alone with a man. Not under any condition. You’ve already proved you can’t be trusted with one.”

She put her left shoulder to the wall. “And what do you say for yourself?”

I leaned in until the tips of her breasts brushed my chest. “Thought I was your fratello.”

She looked up, eyes colder than the rest of her. “What the fuck do you want, Castiglione.”

I took her hand and set it on my cock, a hiss breaking out of me when her fingers closed around it. “I want you to finish what you started.”

She was a tease. Same as last time, she fit herself against me and looked up with those fuck-me eyes, and same as last time my head checked out and left my dick in charge. Her blue-tipped nails dragged down my torso. She rose up to my ear.

“And what exactly do you want, Enzo? Want me on my knees? Want me to suck you off? Or how about I bend over for you right now? Would you like that.”

She stroked me through the fabric, cupping the length of me, and I grabbed her hard. A groan came up out of my throat before I could stop it.

“You’re still this hard for me. It’s pathetic, you know. You’re pathetic.” Her mouth stayed at my ear, mean and quiet. “Fuck you, Enzo.”

She stepped back and started to turn. I caught her shoulder and her hip and bent her over the counter, ass up, head forced down. I got her ponytail in my fist, yanked her head up, and ground my cock against her ass.

“Want to repeat that, sweetheart?” I said it low against her ear and rocked into her, already too far gone to wait.

She fought under me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off of me!”

“I don’t think so.” I hooked my fingers in those little cotton shorts and ripped them. They tore easy. The sight of her ass bare for me pulled another sound out of my chest. My hand spread over her and slid up to her hips. “How about I teach you a lesson on finishing what you started.”

“Enzo.”

“Fratello,” I said.

“What—”

“If you want me to stop, call me fratello.”

“What are you doing? Don’t you dare—ah!”

Two fingers went straight into her. She was dripping. Wetter than I’d pictured, and I’d pictured plenty.

“Look how wet you are, Sorella.” I kept my mouth at her ear. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s pathetic.” I fucked her with my fingers, fast and rough, and she shook under me, words breaking apart until none of them made sense. The second I felt her start to go over I pulled back and went shallow, slow, mean about it. Denied her.

“What the hell, Enzo.” Her breath hitched. “Get me there.”

“Say please.”

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” I undid my belt and my pants and thrust between her thighs instead of into her, sliding through all that wet and refusing her the rest of it. She was so soaked I nearly came on the first stroke.

“Put it in me, Enzo!” Her voice shook. Her nails dug into my arms.

I shoved her head down until her cheek met the cold counter and locked her wrists behind her back. I liked the way she couldn’t do a thing about it. I gripped her hips harder and drove against her until my lungs burned and the orgasm tore through me. I pulled back in time and spilled across her ass and up her spine. I stood there breathing hard, watching my come run down between her cheeks. Her skin had gone red where my hands had held her too tight.

Something dark and satisfied lit up at the sight of her like that. Mine, it wanted to say. Except that couldn’t be right, because now that I’d had her out of my system I could forget her and get on with my life.

She pushed up and turned on me, face wrecked with frustration, and I enjoyed every bit of it. “Really?”

I zipped up, calm about it. “Look for your apology somewhere else. You won’t be getting one from me.”

“I sort of expected that, fuck you very much.”

Patience left me. I wrapped a hand around her throat and shoved her until her back hit the edge of the counter. Those icy eyes fought for air and didn’t hide the fear. I kept my voice low.

“Be careful how you talk to me. How you look at me. I’ve killed for less, and nobody’s going to miss a mannerless whore.”

Something raw moved through her face, hotter than anger and colder than fear, and I let her go. She wouldn’t look at me. She stared at the floor while I walked out.

Back in the driver’s seat I sat staring at her building. I had a drug deal with the Mexicans hanging over me, territory talks with the Polish, and the Bratva finding new ways to crawl under my skin, and I’d spent my afternoon chasing my stepsister. I dragged a hand through my hair. This didn’t happen again. I told myself that, put the car in gear, and drove.