Mafia’s Secret Heir

PROLOGUE

I’m turning twenty-one tomorrow—and I’m done being the innocent good girl.

So tonight, I’m giving myself a gift.

I’m going to lose my virginity… to the one man I can never have.

The night air is cold against my skin as I rush down the next street, keeping my hood pulled low. No one can know I’m here—especially not my older brother, Matteo.

He still thinks I’m at the bar down the street, celebrating the traditional way—with alcohol and cake. If only he knew I had slipped out, parked discreetly behind Bar La Lupa, and crept into this forbidden corner of Via Santa Lucia.

I lift my fist and tap lightly on the old wooden door.

“Sana,” I whisper. Our secret code—a blend of our names.

The door swings open, and I’m yanked inside by strong, possessive hands.

I’m pressed to the door, and his arms wrap around me like he’s been starved of me for years.

“Happy birthday, amore mio dolce,” Santino murmurs, lowering his face to mine.

His voice is deep, thick with desire. His golden-brown eyes blaze like fire beneath the soft glow of the hallway bulb. A slow smile curves my lips as he pushes back my hood, then seals his mouth over mine.

I melt.

Santino has only just returned from a business trip with the Famiglia Nera, but he made it home early—for me. I tug at the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, tasting tequila on his tongue, letting it drown every thought in my head.

His kiss is hunger and promise.

My core clenches when he bites my lower lip, then cups my breast like it belongs to him.

I can’t think, I can barely breathe—but I don’t want him to stop.

He groans into my mouth when I claw at his biceps, bracing myself against the intensity of his touch. One hand slides up to cradle my throat, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch. I feel the hard press of his arousal through his pants.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking the kiss.

“Santino…” I whisper, breathless.

He studies me, his fingers still wrapped gently around my neck. His gaze flickers with restraint, heat, longing.

I know what he’s thinking—we’ve danced around this moment for two years. Since that night I kissed him in his car. Since he pulled me into his lap and kissed me like he’d waited forever.

But we never crossed the final line. Until tonight.

“I want to do terrible things to you, Colina,” he growls against my neck. The shiver that runs through me is anything but fear.

“What kind of things?” I breathe as he slowly unzips my hoodie.

He chuckles darkly, nipping at my skin.

“I want to taste you. Make you come on my face.”

A gasp escapes me. My thighs press together.

“Then fuck you until you’re screaming my name.”

He grips my ass, and I can’t take it anymore. “Okay,” I whisper.

He stiffens. I see the question in his eyes. I nod once—firmly.

He threads his fingers through his dark, damp hair, fighting his instincts. But I won’t let him talk himself out of this.

“Please,” I murmur, placing my hand over his erection.

His groan is deep and raw. He grips my wrist, eyes wild.

“You do that again and this will be over too fast.”

I nod, swallowing hard.

He lifts me off the ground, and I wrap my legs around his waist. My lips find his again as he carries me down the hallway into his bedroom.

This is it.

The moment I’ve fantasized about since I was nineteen.

My traditional Italian parents want me to save myself for marriage. But I want my first time to be with Santino Romano—even if it’s the only time we ever get.

“Take off your dress,” he commands, voice like velvet and sin.

I strip slowly, my hands shaking, eyes locked on his. My green dress falls to the floor, leaving me in black lace.

He stares like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Then he curses under his breath and strips his shirt away, revealing inked muscles and a body sculpted by danger.

He unfastens his pants with shaking fingers.

“Cristo, Colina… you’re a fucking vision.”

My eyes widen at the sight of him—thick, aroused, and very real.

He walks toward me, unhooking my bra and dropping it to the floor. His lips find mine again as he lowers me to the bed, and I forget the rules. I forget Matteo. I forget who we are supposed to be.

All I remember is the way his mouth trails heat over my skin.

His fingers roll over my nipple.

My moans fill the room.

He cups my soaked panties. “Already wet for me, Princess?” he growls.

When he slides a finger inside, my body jolts. He adds another, curling them inside me, and I cry out.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “So ready for me.”

He whispers promises against my skin—promises of ownership, of pleasure.

When he finally presses into me, I arch against him, trembling.

The pain is brief.

The pleasure… infinite.

“You realize I am the first—and I will be the only—man to ever take your sweet pussy,” he growls, voice rough and thick with possession. “You understand that?”

I nod—desperate, frantic—my fingers digging into his back as I silently beg for him to move. I need him back inside me.

And he doesn’t make me wait.

With one savage thrust, Santino slams back into me, burying himself to the hilt.

I shatter.

Completely.

My back arches, toes curl, and I scream his name like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop.

His rhythm is brutal, relentless, and exactly what I crave. He stretches me open, filling me in a way no one else ever could. My world narrows to the sound of our bodies colliding, his breath hot against my neck, the tight coil inside me winding tighter with each pounding thrust.

“Santino,” I moan, breathless and broken.

“You’re mine now, Colina,” he snarls into my ear. “You’ll always be mine.”

And God help me… I know it’s true.

Because no matter what comes next—no matter the consequences, the danger, the secrets we keep—I’ll always be his too.