Her Dirty Professor Series (21+)

Gennero

“Take one more bite.” I hold the fork to her lips, her eyes softer than when we started, but still there’s trepidation.

One step at a time.

“Then, I’m done?” She locks her jaw, hands in her lap where I told her to keep them as she sits at the long rustic table in the large commercial kitchen off the ballroom where the party took place yesterday.

It’s already been cleaned and scrubbed by the cleaning company. The stainless-steel gleaming and the floor polished.

When we got done in the dressing room, she was so fucking pale, her stomach growling like a grizzly and she refused to eat at any of the restaurants because she can’t bear to have strangers watch her eat.

I tracked down Lucy at the nail place and gave her the bad news that we were heading back home. Carina’s well-being trumps a manicure and mulled wine. I had a few hours before I had to meet with Alfredo but getting that unpleasantry out of the way was still on my mind.

Lucy was fine with leaving. Her nails and toes were done, she said she had some work to do anyway and wanted me to be sure Carina was distracted because she felt like she was getting suspicious about her disappearing into the workshop the other day.

That all worked fine, because I was taking this monster inside of my little girl for a ride and I needed privacy.

“Baby, I told you, you are no longer responsible for your food choices. That’s all on me. If I have to feed you for the rest of your life, I’ll do it, but I won’t stand by one more fucking second and watch you hurt yourself and hate yourself. You’re fucking beautiful. If you weigh three hundred pounds as long as you’re happy and healthy, I’ll still think you’re beautiful. I’ll still want to fuck that tight miracle between your legs until you’re drooling and feel lobotomized. So, please, for the love of all things Christmas, take the bite.”

Her soft pink lips open and I guide the fork into her mouth, my heart warming when she lets out a soft moan as I withdraw the utensil and she starts chewing.Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Good girl.” I pet the back of her hair. “I’m so proud of you. So, so proud.”

We continue the process until she’s eaten half of a chicken breast and some buttered broccoli, each bite taking less convincing until her cheeks turn pink and the light returns to her golden eyes.

“I think that’s enough.” I stop before she starts to protest because part of this is her understanding that I’m not here to harm her, physically, emotionally or otherwise, but this demon inside her needs to understand there’s a new sheriff in town. “You did so good, baby.”

“Thank you, Papa. I feel okay. A little full.”

“That’s good. A little full is good. Now,” I push away the plate and take her face in my hands. “Give me a kiss. I have to go take care of some things in the workshop. Couple investment calls. Nothing big, you should go do something fun with Leonardo. Or read, take a bath.”

“Can we do…” She smiles and I don’t give a shit about what I need to take care of. I just want to sit here and watch her smile. “Can we do it again? Like, you know. Playroom or wherever, I just, I just want you all the time now.”

God, this girl. She makes me immortal. “Yes, baby. We will be doing ‘it’ again and so much more. But let me go handle my business, then we will find some time for us. Promise.”

I brush her lips with mine as my phone buzzes in my pocket and I know who it is.

My mood darkens as I leave her sitting in the kitchen, spearing another bite of the chicken herself as I head down the stairs toward my workshop.

* * *

This fucking guy.

“I want you to reconsider my offer.” Alfredo picks imaginary lint off his suit jacket, shrugging with his shoulders and also the corners of his mouth. “My boy Sully, he is a good boy. Solid. Dependable.”

“He’s twenty-five years old,” I point out, keeping my voice level for the sake of Christmas hospitality. “Hardly a boy.”

“And your granddaughter is eighteen, a grown woman. This is the way things have always been done, Don Sabato. Tradition. They are a good match. Our families run operations in neighboring parts of New York and Chicago, we join forces, we will rule the city.”

“I don’t give a fuck about tradition,” I say with a growl. “I’ve given you my answer. Carina is not for sale. Not to you, not to anyone.”

The ‘Don’ is sailing dangerously close to a fucking beating.

“There’s no need for hostility,” he says. “We’re old friends. We can discuss business without it becoming a war. Not like these young punks coming up now. With their guns and their drugs. All shoot-em-up now and ask the questions later.”

As he saysshoot-em-up, Don Pugliesi makes finger guns with both his hands and fires them at an imaginary intruder to the workshop.

Then he shakes his head, a dramatic disappointed sigh escaping his lips.

He’s older than me, but not by much. His youngest son, Sully, actually is a good man. I’ve heard about his balls and his brains from others. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him get his hands on Carina. She’s mine, and she’ll stay fucking mine.

“When you controlled Chicago, my old friend, it was civilized.” He inclines his head in respect. “I want that again. I can make it happen. But only if our families are united. Marriage is the way that treaty is signed. Blood to blood. Skin in the game. You could return to the city. Settle all your problems, live like a fucking king.”

He’s baiting the hook. Those are the things I have wanted for so long, but now that they are possible, the price is too high.

“Not Carina,” I say.

“Not Carina,”he says, like a broken record. “Why not Carina? She’s beautiful, talented and traditional. Young. Unattached. Lucy is delightful. She is a credit to you and to your son, God rest his soul. But she’s too involved with the business, too tough. My boy needs someone who will cook and make babies and leave business in the hands of her husband.”

I hold my rage by a thread. Hearing him talk about Carina making babies with anyone makes me want to deliver his body in parts back to his family in Chicago.

I never suggested Lucy either. She’d destroy Sully within a week.

“Why dismiss the idea so quickly? What if she wants to-”

“She doesn’t.” I bring the flat of my hand down on the desk, knocking over the photo of Carina and Lucy at last year’s performance. “Carina is off limits, now and forever. Did you have anything else to discuss, old friend? Because if not, there’s the door.”

I point, ready to convince him of my position with a 45 shell between his eyes if necessary.

Don Pugliesi does the mouth shrug again. “You will think about it. I’m sure you will come around. Carina-” he says as he picks up his Fedora.

And that’s fuckingenough.

In an instant, I’m on my feet, snapping my knife from its sheath at my hip. I hold the forged steel to his throat, his eyes wide as his hands go up, a whimper choking from his throat.

“J-Jesus Christ, Gennero! What the fuck… This is Christmas, for Christ’s sake! There’re no weapons at Christmas, you fucking know that. You’re the one that…”

He’s right. It’s the Christmas truce, hospitality and guarantees of safety. But he crossed the line and I don’t give a shit about any fucking truce when it comes to Carina.

Blood trickles along the edge of the blade.

“Jesus…” he says again, and I growl.

“You keep my granddaughter’s name out of your fucking mouth. She’s not marrying your fucking son or any other motherfucker you might have in mind. Clear?”

He nods, and I jerk the knife away, pushing him against the wall.

As I drop back into my seat, he shuffles out the door. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a trail of piss behind him.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh as I stare at the flickering monitors, absently stabbing the knife into the wood of my desk and twisting.

Carina. Is. Mine.

He didn’t close the door…

That thought comes a second too late. “What…” It’s Carina. “What’s going on?”

I growl. This is not how I wanted her to find out.

Carina stands in the open doorway in a gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans, her hair tumbling in auburn waves around her shoulders. Her face is fresh, eyes wide, her mouth falling open as her hands fly to her lips.

I knew it had to happen. I could only juggle the lies for so long.

She’s frozen as she scans the room. The photographs, the whirring computers, the bank of monitors, the sword, names of mobsters dead and alive on a whiteboard; the list of aliases; the weapons; the files containing material for extortion.

“Carina, it’s not-”

She chokes out an incredulous laugh. “It’s not what I think? Are you going to tell me you’re not involved with the fucking mob anymore? I hate that life. Ihate it. I don’t want to be part of any,” She waves her hands around, “of this. I won’t. How could you?”