His Queen: A Dark Forbidden Mafia Romance (Dark Sovereign Book 5)
His Queen: Chapter 4

What a fucking day.

Whenever we have new girls coming our way, tensions run high. There are so many things that can go wrong. We’re at our most exposed when our packages reach the port or cross the border. That’s when we have to make absolutely sure that our security is tight. It takes weeks, if not months, of extensive planning before we’re ready to receive a shipment safely and without problems. Dealing with customs alone is a pain in the fucking ass. Luckily for us, we have Gabriel King dealing with that shit, and he’s a shark when it comes to paperwork and blackmail. I can’t imagine what my mental stability would be like if I had that shit to deal with as well. Running Myth while Alexius’ presence remains ghostly between those walls is bad enough, but I also have Mirabella. She’s been on my ass about going back to Myth ever since the night I almost gave myself a Christmas present by killing that Fererro fucker. Not a single day goes by without her asking me to take her to Myth. And not a single day goes by without me giving her a very blunt and resounding no. But she never gives up; she’s nothing if not tenacious. I’m waiting for the day she’ll get me close to saying yes. But I’ll still end up saying no. Not because I think she’s too innocent for the club, because God knows, my wife is about as dirty as I am—a fact that was a hard pill to swallow at first, but now…now I appreciate the fuck out of it.

Speaking about appreciation, I distinctly remember promising my wife I’ll eat her pussy before dinner. And what am I if not a word-fulfilling husband?

I’m about to enter the front door when I pull out of my phone and text Mira. This house has too many square feet to cover. My wife can be anywhere. But the only place I want her right now is on my goddamn face.

‘Bedroom. Now.’

I’m already halfway up the stairs when I get a text back from her.

‘Be there in twenty. Pilates class in the studio with Jean-Luc.’

I come to a screeching halt, fingers flying across the screen. ‘Our studio?’

My Italian leather shoe makes a click sound as I tap my foot impatiently on the lacquered steps while I wait for a response. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nothing. No reply.

Christ. She’s probably twisted and tangled like a pretzel, her feet behind her head while Jean-whatshisface admires the perfect outline of my wife’s… Oh, no. No. No. No. No.

“It better be our studio,” I hiss and grit my teeth as I charge back down the stairs, stomping through the halls, which are eerily quiet for this time of day. Where is everyone?

I’m a few feet away from the studio when the soothing music assault my ears. The calming, meditative music sure doesn’t make me feel zen. On the contrary, it makes me want to peel my ears off the sides of my head and throw them at Jean-Luc’s ugly face.

As I slide the barn door open, a rush of heat slaps me in the face, and I swallow a large mouthful of humidity.

Sweaty bodies.

Spandex.

Flexible body parts.

I’m gonna kill him.

“Mirabella?”

“Here.”

Sure as shit, there she is, dressed in spandex that’s practically a second skin, hugging incredibly tight around the curve of her ass. Nala-colored leopard print pants aren’t even what I’d consider full pants since the sides are held together by some sexy, hot as fuck mesh design that my fingers could snap with the slightest tug. And the matching top she’s wearing—or rather the matching bra that covers half her tits and crisscrosses behind her back—I’d be able to tear that thing off her with my goddamn eyes.

My fists tighten as I watch my wife position herself on the floor, her hands on the teal mat and knees on the cold floor. My cock jerks as she leans her weight forward onto her hands, slowly sliding her knees out to the sides. More. More. More. Good God, I’ve got the perfect view of my wife’s ass and pussy hugged by a thin layer of spandex. While my blood boils because there’s another man around while my wife is doing that, I’m also incredibly aroused because my wife is doing that.

Bending her elbows and lowering her arms toward the ground, Mira pushes back into her hips.

Is that…

Is she…

Is she doing the frog pose? The cock-voodoo pose that magically has my cock slide into her every time she shows me how she gets her thighs so firm and tight? Does she do this move in front of Jean—

“Make sure your back is flat and core engaged.”

—fucking Luc?

I’m silently snarling at the sound of his voice, the slight tenor vibrating across my last nerve.

“Keep on edging your knees outward. Feel that stretch through your groin and inner thighs. You feel it?”

“Yes. I feel it,” Mira says, then inhales deeply.

“Does it feel good?”

“So good.”

What the actual fuck?

Jean-Luc appears beside her, the sight of him in his neon green spandex making me want to burn my retinas. The man’s balls are practically in my face.

“Your back needs to be flat, baby girl,” he says, going on his knees, placing a palm on my wife’s back and the other on her stomach. “Flat. Tighten your core. You don’t want your back to sag.”

Mira breathes out, and I’m holding my fucking breath because I’m one-hundred-and-fifty-two-thousand percent sure I’m about to breathe fire.

“There you go. Good girl.”

Fuck this. “What in the holy name of fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growl as I storm inside the studio, pushing through the door with enough force to cause a mini-earthquake. “No one calls my wife a good girl but me.”

“Nicoli?” Mirabella looks over her shoulder. “Nicoli, don’t!”

Jean-Luc’s eyes are so fucking wide that his eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “Mr. Del Rossa,” he stutters as I charge toward him like a boulder of destruction about to tear his spine out of his spandex-covered ass.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Nicoli, no!” Mirabella leaps to her feet just as I grab Jean-Luc by the throat, forcing him back. His pissy hands claw at my wrist as I slam his back against the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my wife?

“We were…” I tighten my grip on his throat. “We…were…just—”

“Nicoli, for God’s sake. Let go of him.

“—stretching.”

“Stretching?” I sneer, clenching my jaw. “The only one who gets to stretch my wife is me.”

“Nicoli!” Mirabella barrels into me, but I barely move, my rage keeping my feet cemented to the floor.

“Don’t you ever touch my wife again,” I snarl as I grit my teeth and finally let go of the sweaty instructor, stepping back.

The son of a bitch doubles over, gasping for breath.

“Oh, my God, Jean-Luc.” Mirabella rushes to his side. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, he’s okay,” I say. “I was barely squeezing.”

“Nicoli!” Her sharp green eyes practically cut through my skull as she glares at me. “You’re insane. You know that?”

“I’m insane about you, baby.” I wink, taunting her, knowing full well she’s about to detonate.

“Ugh,” she grunts, placing her arm around Jean-Luc’s shoulder while he’s still heaving, trying to catch his breath. Overdramatic motherfucker.

Without thinking, I grab her arm and yank her away from him, pulling her hard against my side. “Your friend needs to leave.”

“You’re the one who needs to leave,” she bites back. “Besides, my class isn’t over.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

“Nicoli.”

“Jean-Luc,” I snap. “Unless you want to watch me fuck my wife, I suggest you leave.”

Mira’s eyes widen. “If you think I’m going to let you touch me after you just assaulted my Pilates instructor, you are so wrong.”

I grip her chin between my fingers and force her to look up at me, practically engraving my stare into her green irises. “Within the next sixty seconds, I’m going to have your feet in the cradles of those TRX bands, after which I’ll proceed to fuck you out of your mind to the brink of insanity until you beg me to stop, and when I do, you’re going to cry for me to fuck you again because you can’t decide whether you want to die without my cock, or with it.”

Her lips part, and I drag a thumb across them. “Am I still wrong, Hummingbird?”

There’s a flicker of desire in her eyes, her cheeks burning with a beautiful blush. “You know what, Nicoli,” she starts, but she has that tone in her voice that’s become the world’s best cockblocker. “I’m going to show Jean-Luc out, and then I’m going to take my ball—” she picks up the oversized, extremely pink stability ball, “—go to our room, lock the door, and finish my workout.” She steps up close, with a slight sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “Then, tomorrow morning, I’ll let you know if I’ve forgiven you or whether I think you should spend another night in the guest bedroom thinking about what you’ve done.”

“God, you’re hot when you’re angry, sweaty, and turned the fuck on.”

“Ugh!” she grunts and grabs her pink ball before ushering Jean-Luc out of the gym.

I’m grinding my teeth as I watch them walk out. “Next time you’re near my wife, you better wear a decent pair of pants!” I call after him. “And if you want to keep that tiny nutsack of yours, better make sure there won’t be a next time.”

Mira slides the barn door shut, leaving me with the echo of a wife I just pissed off and a hard-on that doesn’t seem to catch the hint.

If she thinks she’s going to lock me out of my own damn bedroom, she’s sorely mistaken.

I yank open the door only to collide with Caelian, who, judging by the bewildered look in his eyes, just passed Mira in the hall. “Is there a reason your wife just rode past me on a hellhound?”

I pull a hand through my hair. “I seem to have pissed her off.”

“Ah. One of your few talents you can pull off without even trying.”

“Keep on digging, Caelian. I’d love to shove a dumbbell up your ass.”

“Promises, promises.”

“So, this is what you two assholes do when I’m not around. Bickering and making promises of bodily harm.” Alexius strolls toward us, the light scattering off his blue irises like he has a unicorn trapped in his eyes and a breeze rustling through his ink-black hair.

I glare at him. “Why do you always look like you just tore off a cover of a Vogue magazine when you’re entering a room? And where the fuck is that breeze coming from?” I’m glancing up and down the hall. “There is no goddamn window anywhere.”

Caelian shrugs. “It’s his superpower.”

“Yeah,” I snort. “To look pretty.”

Alexius slides his hands into his pants pockets, squaring his shoulders. “This is the part where I tell both of you to go fuck yourselves.”

“Caelian does that like a champ. The man was born with his dick in his hand.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Now, get on your knees and kiss my ass.”

Alexius frowns. “As much as I’d like to stand here and talk shit all day, I have a wife and kids to get to, a.k.a a life.”

“Speaking of.” Caelian grins like an idiot. “Did you forget something, Alexius?”

“No. I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because I bumped into Leandra on my way in, and she asked me to give you a message. Let me see if I can remember it.” He fakes a look of focus. “Something about lunch and how you—”

“Oh, fuck!” Alexius instantly ashens as if God Himself tore his soul straight from his body. “I forgot about lunch.”

“You forgot about lunch with your wife?” I say with sheer, fake-ass horror, but witnessing my brother’s I-fucked-up face gives me so much pleasure, my spine is all tingly.

“She’s going to kill me.”

“I have to say, Alexius. I’m not married for as long as you are, but at least I’ve never stood up my wife.”

Alexius clenches his jaw. “Is there a reason I just passed Mirabella in the parking lot hugging some guy in shocking green spandex?”

“Hugging him!” Anger explodes, and I’m sure there are venom fumes on my breath. “That’s it. I’m going to kill that fucker and burn that pair of goddamn pants of his.”

“Is this before or after Mira chews your ass?” Caelian calls after me.

I turn and flip him both my middle fingers while walking backward before turning back and stomping down the hall. I need to replace my wife and make sure she knows this is unacceptable behavior, and I will under no circumstances tolerate it. My wife needs to know her fucking place.