Bastiano Romano: A Standalone Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 4) by Parker S. Huntington

Author:Parker S. Huntington [Huntington, Parker S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PSH Publishing House
Published: 2019-01-21T16:00:00+00:00

The world is full of beauty, as other

worlds above, and if we did our duty,

it might be as full of love.

—Gerald Massey

BASTIANO ROMANO

“Are you in bed?” I drew my phone closer to my ear, so I could hear her answer better.

“Yup.” Tessie popped the P and inhaled like she was on the verge of finishing a marathon, which came out like a squeaky Darth Vader through the line. “How ironic coming from you.”

I rolled my eyes, though she couldn’t see me. “Do you even know what irony is?”

“Yes! I totally do! It’s the antonym for wrinkly.”

I shrugged. At least she knew the definition of antonym. “Get to bed, smart ass. It’s late.”

“You just cursed.”

“Because I’m an adult, and I can. Stop changing the subject.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I swore, dragged my palm along my jaw, and considered yelling at Gio for not checking up on Tessie. “And now?”

“I guess I’m okay. Why can’t I stay with you? Daddy snores.”

“Your room is on the other side of the brownstone. Not even on the same floor.”

“It’s scary!”

I pulled up my calendar and browsed through the events and tasks lists, narrowing in on the early piano lessons she had tomorrow. “Tell you what… you can stay over tomorrow or the day after. I’ll work it out with our dad. Okay? Just go to bed.”

“Fine.” After a beat, I could still hear her breathing on the line. “Bastian?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” She sounded fractured, fragility concealing the strength she usually wore every day like her favorite light-up shoes.

“I love you, too, Tessie,” I murmured in Italian.

“It’s Contessa.”

I rolled my eyes and hung up on her, knowing she’d probably stay up for at least another hour if I stayed on the line. I wanted to help her. I did. But I wasn’t in the right state of mind. I’d spent too much time hunting, tracking my prey, waiting for a vulnerability to attack. If Graham was the mole, he didn’t seem to be leaving any tracks. I struggled to find something. Anything.

My blue balls didn’t help either.

The week since my Prince Albert had kissed the back of Ariana De Luca’s throat had sent me spiraling to control my sex drive. Like I was back to my preteen days, where all the action I’d gotten happened between the pages of a Playboy magazine or consisted of feeling a girl up in the back of the boarding school gym. The gush of women Gio tossed my way didn’t stop flowing, but if anything, my already non-existent interest lessened.

I could have had her. I’d been buried deep inside her. But when I fucked her, truly fucked her, it wouldn’t be with a time constraint and her reservations looming over our heads. What happened last week didn’t count. You didn’t eat the appetizer and call it dinner. What I wanted—what I needed—was to savor each taste of the main course and stay for dessert.

I wanted Ariana, and perhaps it’d happen. She worked later than the rest of the crew, staying odd hours while all the lazy assholes left her to do most of the closing work.

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