His Tesoro (Empire of Royals, #1)

by Emilia Rossi

“You are not a disappointment. You will not even think that. I forbid it.” I glared at her and to my surprise, she giggled. Grown men would fall to their knees and beg for mercy if I looked at them like that. But here she was, laughing. I ran my hands up her legs. “It seems like you’re not taking me seriously, tesoro. Laughing at your Don is very naughty.”

The dog popped his head up from his bed in the living room and came over to me, nudging my hand. I begrudgingly patted his head. Sofiya had fussed over him all evening, saying he deserved extra treats after his trauma. At her request, I’d made him scrambled eggs.

“But what if… what if our baby is like me?” He stroked my hair and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “We would be so lucky if the baby was like you.”

I snuggled further into him. “So murderous.” “Anything for you.

The slow-growing obsession I had with my wife had accelerated like wildfire after being inside her. I needed to touch her, hold her, confirm she was safe.

I came to a sudden stop when I saw her in the kitchen with three of my men. Angelo, Enzo, and Romeo were all crowded around the kitchen island while Sofiya sat on the seat of her rollator, a pretty smile on her face. I. Saw. Red. That smile was only for me, and now she was using it up on other men.

The only one who didn’t seem to sense my murderous rage was Sofiya, who moved to get up. I let out an annoyed huff. I should be the one walking to her, especially after her day yesterday. She’d managed to stand by the time I crossed the room, and my arms were immediately around her. I wanted to scold her for not waiting for me, but first I had three men to murder.

“I’m trying out new cookie recipes and I invited them in to be my taste-testers,” Sofiya said. I looked down at my beautiful wife. Her hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her eyes were bright and happy. Killing three men in our kitchen probably would make her unhappy. I cast my gaze over the counters, which were perfectly clean, with no baked goods in sight. “And where are these cookies?” I asked, making sure to inject my voice with warmth even as I scowled at my men over the top of her head. “Oh,” she said, her eyes shining with sadness. I cupped her face, ready to eliminate whoever, whatever was upsetting her. “I’m afraid we ate them all.” I closed my eyes and breathed through my rage. These bastards came into my home, spent time with my wife, and now they ate all of my cookies? My hand twitched towards the gun tucked in my waistband.

“They’re here to guard you, not eat cookies.” I kept my arms around her. “And if you need a taste-tester, you have me.” “But you’re at work,” she said, trailing her fingers down the side of my face. I scowled, hating the reminder that anything could pull me away from her. My hands flexed on her hips. “I’ll work from the kitchen when you need a taste-tester.”

“You’re sweet.” She kissed my jaw, and I decided in that moment I might not mind being called sweet by my wife.

When would she realize that everything that had to do with her was my problem? No, my honor to fix.

I needed to find a way to stay inside her all the time.

“It’s a sex pillow,” I said at her confused expression. “I’ve ordered more. They’ll be here tomorrow.” I planned to fuck her often, and I’d read pillows like this would make things easier on her joints. Her lips parted. “That’s so thoughtful.” I snorted. “Yes, very thoughtful.” No selfish motivation here at all.

I should encourage her, say something to put her at ease, but I was too busy focusing all my brain power on not coming embarrassingly quickly. Then her little pink tongue flitted out and licked. I let out a loud curse and my hips twitched without my permission. She giggled. Fucking giggled. “Are you laughing at me?” I growled. Her wide eyes met mine. “Never.” Before I could respond, her mouth was on me again, except this time she took the head of my cock in her mouth and sucked. I fisted the sheets and clenched my jaw. I would not come in less than a minute. I refused.

Think of something else. Anything else. Torture. Blood. The pile of invoices on my desk.

I wanted him to tear my underwear off and give me an orgasm with his mouth, fingers, or cock. I wasn’t picky.

“There’s only one chair.” A single large leather chair sat behind his imposing desk. “I removed the other one. People were getting too comfortable in here.” “You want people to be uncomfortable in your presence?” I didn’t point out that he apparently wanted Noodle to be comfortable.

I’d toyed with having Kozlov killed, of going to Chicago and doing it myself. But killing him would jeopardize the alliance. So I settled for anonymously taking his money. His house. Sending his wife evidence of his affair. And if he’d happened to get mugged on the way home last night? Well, things happened in large cities all the time.

She was wearing leggings and a sweater, and I had the urge to buy a sweatshirt for myself just so she could steal it.

“Are you about to be grumpy?” “I am never grumpy.” “Ahh, sorry. I should have said, are you about to get all murderous and threaten to kill Angelo and his friends?”

“I will fucking kill you,” I said. Except I would have to remove one of my hands from Sofiya to reach my gun.

“Remember when you insisted we were just roommates?” “I have no memory of that.”

She could think me ridiculous all she liked, but I wouldn’t hesitate to remove the eyes of any man whose gaze lingered on my wife.

“Don’t take it off,” he said gruffly. His jaw and shoulders were set—tight, unmoving—and I’d learned this was his tell. He was nervous. I cocked my head to the side, still looking at him through the mirror. “Why? Is there a tracker in here or something?” I joked. His jaw clenched. “Yes.” That was all he said as he crossed his arms, meeting my gaze with a hard stare, as if daring me to challenge him. “Okay,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from smiling. My protective husband. He blinked. “Yes, okay. That’s right.” He cleared his throat again.

“Come on,” he said, gripping my hand firmly. “I have to talk to people.” “You sound as if you’d rather be tortured,” I said with a grin. “He probably would,” Angelo said.

“I might push you to your limits. I’m a dominant, commanding asshole. But you always have the power.

It had been a while since I’d done rope—at least, with an intimate partner. I used my skills frequently to torture my enemies.

I leaned back in the bathtub, the warm water washing over me, and sipped my coffee. The coffee my husband had made for me, complete with a misshapen blob of foam on top. I smiled to myself thinking of how he’d scowled as he handed it to me, muttering something about “lack of cooperation” from the foam.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” He kissed down my neck and across my collarbone. “You might have mentioned it.” “I will never say it enough. No words will ever be sufficient to describe your beauty.” I blinked furiously. I would not cry at his sweet words.

“I love you.” I kept my breathing steady so Sofiya would think I was asleep, but my chest felt like it was about to burst. She loved me. Loved me. Everything was the same as it had been a few minutes ago, and yet nothing was the same. The universe had shifted and I had been transformed. I was a man loved by Sofiya Rossi. Somehow, against all odds, against my own fucking idiocy and stubbornness, I had won the love of my precious wife.

How was it that everyone feared me except for the women in my life?

“I swear to God, I will kill you if you die on me.”

“Who are you?” I croaked. “I’m Ronan, head of the Irish Mob.” “Oh.” I should be panicking, but I felt strangely numb. “Should I be screaming for help right about now?” He smirked. “Not sure it would get you anywhere, but you can always try.” “I’ll save my voice,” I said dryly.

“How much pregnant are you? I mean… how many months?” I raised an eyebrow. Apparently pregnancy was how you ruffled Mafia men. “Just a few weeks. If I’m still pregnant.”

“I swear to fucking God. Why did I allow you to come back to Boston? I should have made you stay in New York.” “Because you know I could kill you one hundred different ways if I wanted to.” “Oh yeah, that,” he responded wryly.

He moved to the door, muttering something about exhausting, strong-willed women.

Romeo grumbled, but got up and grabbed a wheelchair from the side of the room. “You’re going in this. Non-negotiable.” “I am your Don,” I said in a low voice. “Yes, yes, you’re very fierce and scary. Now get in the fucking wheelchair.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now for letting a man I don’t know, a rival Mafia head, in a room with my wife?” “I would be shaking in terror if you were currently strong enough to wipe your own ass,” Romeo deadpanned.

“How’s Noodle?” Sienna paused for a moment before answering. “He seems sad. He just lies by the door crying. I think he misses Sofiya.” That made two of us. “I’ll bring her back home,” I vowed. “For all of us.” There was no life for me without her. I may have been too foolish to see it at first, but now that I knew, I would never let her go.

Car horns blared at us as Leona wove in and out of the Chicago traffic, each one raising my blood pressure. “It’s rather inconvenient of them to hold the ceremony during rush-hour,” she said as she cut off another car. “I’m not sure convenience was on their mind,” I bit out. “Do you know the church?” Ronan asked. He was clutching the door and his seat as Leona took another turn too quickly. “Not well. It’s the one I got married in, but I was just there briefly for the ceremony.” “Ahh, wonderful. Filled with good memories, I’m sure,” Leona deadpanned.

“What are the odds we’re going to stay here?” Ronan asked. “Negative ten,” Leona responded. She reached into the glove compartment and handed me a pistol. I checked to see it was loaded and then tucked it in the back of my jeans. “I thought so,” Ronan said. “Fucking Mafia women.”

“If you ever try to convince my wife to leave me, I will end you,” he said, ice in his voice. Dimi inclined his head. “And if you ever do anything to hurt my sister, I will end you.” They faced off, expressions blank, eyes locked, until a slow smile spread across my brother’s face. “I look forward to forming a new alliance with you, Don Rossi. A real one.” Matteo’s expression remained stoic, and then he nodded. “And with you,” Dimi said, inclining his head at Ronan, who was standing halfway down the aisle with Leona. “Oh, wonderful. Someone finally realized I was here,” he muttered.

“And Nikolai will let you go alone?” I asked, eyebrows arching as we separated. For the first time in my life, I saw Mila blush. “He’s coming with me.” Okaaay.

“You’ll have to do a lot of groveling. I hope you’re prepared.” My lips twitched. “And what will this groveling entail?” She pressed her face into the crook of my neck and breathed in deeply. “That’s for you to figure out. But it involves a lot of New York City hot dogs.” “I will buy you your own hot dog cart. All the carts in the city.”

I ran my fingers down the picture. We’d created that. It was part of us. “It’s a cute blob, right?” she asked. “The very cutest.” We lay back on the bed, holding the ultrasound, staring at it in contented silence. I brushed my hand across her stomach, willing our little blob to grow strong.

Well, anyway, I took their guns and was looking for the exit when I saw Domenico. I realized he must have been the traitor and I followed him. After that, it was easy to take them out.” My mouth gaped. She rolled her eyes and then patted my cheek. “Don’t worry. I won’t think less of you, even though you’re a way worse shot than I am.” I shook my head. “You’re magnificent, tesoro.” She settled back into my chest. “I know.”

It had taken a while to convince her to show me her complete Dream List. Everything about it was pure innocence, and I’d made it my life’s mission to help her do everything on it. I’d planned our honeymoon specifically so she could cross off some items. Once we completed it, I would have her write another. And another. Until the only memories she had were happy ones.

I’d tried grand gestures, extravagant gifts, fancy dinners, but I slowly realized that what Sofiya really needed was me showing up consistently. Keeping my promises. Sharing my feelings. It was all worth it when she said sweet shit like that.

“Fiji? We’re in Fiji?” Sofiya’s eyes were bright as the car drove us to our villa. “There’s the ocean!” “Fuck, you’re cute.”

“Can you believe we get two golf carts for our stay?” Her eyes were bright and filled with mischief. She was so much trouble. “Thrilling. Now, why are you sitting there?”