Devil’s Lily: Chapter 20

“It’s goddamn infuriating just how good this person is. It’s like chasing shadows—there one second, gone the next. How are things on your end? Did you find anything? Maximo?”

My name jolts me out of my heated daydreams about my wife walking around the penthouse with my plug nestled in her ass. How is she taking it? I’m tempted as hell to call it a day and rush home to find her.

Will she be wet and needy for me, just like she’s been the past few days while the plug’s been in?

“Maximo.”

I blink, snapping back to reality, and focus on my computer screen. There’s my brother, eyes narrowed, waiting. A week has somehow passed so quickly, and we’re back for our weekly meeting.

“Sorry, Michael. Missed that question. Run it by me again?.”

He huffs impatiently, crossing his arms over his shoulder. “What the hell’s gotten into you? You’ve been floating in space this whole damn meeting.”

“Yeah, seriously, that’s not like you, Maximo.” Romero perks up, the bored expression that’s usually on his face during these meetings vanishing as he studies me. “What gives?”

Before I can fabricate something better than ‘I’m thinking about fucking my wife senseless’, Rafael cuts in.

“Word on the street is our Maximo here got himself hitched. As in, he got married,” he deadpans.

My eyes narrow to slits. Of course he knows. Then I glance at Michael and Romero, who both give nonchalant shrugs like it isn’t news to them.

“Yeah, I heard he nabbed Përmeti’s daughter but couldn’t believe he actually went through with the tying the knot part,” Michael grouches.

“Well—” The word barely leaves my mouth before Michael steamrolls over me.

“You couldn’t even invite us to the wedding? You didn’t think we’d want to go to Vegas too?”

“Speak for yourself, Michael,” Romero yawns, looking unaffected. “If accounts are true, I don’t think I would have wanted to witness that dreadful ceremony.” Dreadful? Did he just call my wedding dreadful?

I scowl at him. “Watch your fucking mouth. I’d like to see how dreadful your wedding is when the time comes.”

“Oh, please. I’m never getting married.”

“That’s exactly what Maximo used to spew. Look at him now. You’re next in line,” Michael says with glee, clearly itching to rile Romero up.

“Guys,” Rafael says before they can dissolve into their usual bickering. “Enough of that.” Michael raises his hand, making him sigh. “What, Michael?”

He stares right at me. “Just wanted to remind Maximo to make sure to invite us to his next wedding.”

His words are harmless enough, but the mere suggestion that my marriage to Elira might be temporary makes me want to reach through the screen and throttle him. “What are you trying to imply?” I growl.

He frowns at me, genuine confusion crossing his features. “Come on. Obviously you’re only with the girl to get back at her father. I say enjoy her and dump her. There’s no point in drawing out this ugly business.”

Ugly business? My fist slams the desk hard enough to rattle my monitor. “The girl is my wife, and you’ll refer to her with respect or lose your damn tongue, Michael.”

“What the hell did you just say to me?” His blue eyes go menacingly cold as he leans towards the computer screen.

“Order in the meeting room!” Romero calls out with a chuckle. The bastard. There’s nothing amusing about this shit.

I keep my glare on Michael, refusing to back down. The nerve—how dare he disrespect my wife? My wife? “Apologize. Right now.”

He lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “You’ve known her for what, barely a week? And you’re asking me to apologize for saying what we were all thinking? Does she mean something to you already? Is that it?”

His questions hit like bullets. She should mean nothing to me. So why am I so pissed at Michael for disrespecting her and trying to imply she’s nothing more than some sex toy?

“She does.” Michael’s jaw goes slack and his eyes widen with shock. “Holy fuck, Rafael, Maximo is falling in love with Përmeti’s daughter.”

“That’s quite enough,” Rafael answers and tilts his head at me in question.

But fuck, I have no idea what’s happening to me either. All I know is that every day this past week, I’ve been counting down the hours to get home to her. She’s in my head more often than not, and I find myself doing stupid things in a bid just to make her smile at me.

Heck, I hate deserts, but last night I tried one of her pastries—a fucking flija—and I loved it. Then, not ten minutes later, I ate her out and fucked her on the dining table.

Fucking hell. I might actually be falling for my wife.

I don’t say any of this out loud, but Rafael slowly shakes his head and lets out a curse that sounds like he’s figured it out anyway. “Dinner at my place tomorrow. Bring your… wife.” He says her title with cool disdain, and fuck if I don’t narrow my eyes at him, not liking his tone at all.

“This should be interesting. Are we invited too?”

“Michael,” Romero warns.

“Yes, you’re all invited,” Rafael says, shifting his gaze away from mine. “Anything else I should know? Anyone else suddenly coveting their rival’s daughter?” The dig burns, and I have to grind my teeth to keep from snapping back. Elira is so much more than just a rival’s daughter, and this thing I feel for her is more than just the thrill of the forbidden fruit.

Romero barks out a laugh. “When did you become a comedian, Rafael?” My glare swings his way, but he simply raises his hands innocently.

“Since this meeting is over, I need to go,” I grit out.

“We’ll see you and your wife tomorrow night.” Rafael’s steel gray eyes settle on mine like he’s daring me to object.

“Yes. Yes, you will,” I answer quietly and leave the call. Then clear off everything on my desk with a roar, my computer hitting the floor with a clatter.

My office door swings open and Dante bursts in, brows raised. “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”

“Get Fergio on the line,” I tell him, running a hand through my hair, fighting to keep my cool.

“Fergio?” His brows climb higher. “You want to buy some more stuff for Elira?”

“We have dinner tomorrow night. With the Capo di tutti i capi.”

His sharp inhale says it all. “I’ll call him right away.”

Dante is right to be worried. Hell, I’m worried. Rafael might be like a brother to me, and I trust him with my life, but he doesn’t take lightly to anything he perceives as a threat to his empire. And thanks to this clusterfuck of a meeting, he might see Elira as exactly that—a threat. If he concludes that I’m falling in love with her like Michael accused.

Damn it all to hell.

My office line buzzes, and I snatch up the receiver. “Yes?”

“It’s Fergio, Mr. Leonotti. I heard you needed me?”

Fergio’s boutique is the crown jewel of luxury fashion in the city, and he’s been a loyal associate for years, hence why I trusted him with Elira’s birthday presents and her new wardrobe. The man has an eye for detail and discretion that’s worth its weight in gold. Plus, he already knows her sizes—one less headache to deal with.

The call is brief but productive. I need Elira to look perfect tomorrow night—not just beautiful, but untouchable. A queen among queens. Let them try to dismiss her then.

I grab my jacket after my conversation with Fergio and drape it over my arm as I stalk out of my office. Dante rises, but I wave him down. “Stay here and handle anything important that comes up.”

He doesn’t argue; just sinks back into his seat with a grunt.

I make my way to the elevators, down to the basement level where my car is waiting. Three of my men take shifts patrolling the garage, and they stand at attention when I emerge.

I acknowledge them with a curt nod as I walk towards my Cadillac.

One of them steps forward. “Need a driver, sir?”

“I’ve got it.” I wave him away as I slide into the driver’s seat and turn the ignition. The Cadillac comes alive with a deep purr, and I relax back into the leather seat, then pull out of the garage.

The short drive home becomes a blur of traffic lights and inner turmoil. I need to handle the dinner tomorrow carefully. I don’t know what I feel for my wife, but I certainly feel something. Regardless of what it is, I need to shove it down to the pits of hell by tomorrow evening. That’s the only way our marriage will get the stamp of approval from Rafael.

Not that it matters whether he gives his approval or not. Elira and I are already married, and nobody can do or say anything to change that. Still, having his approval will make my life and marriage easier.

I pull up in front of my building just as a limo slides into the spot next to me. Fergio gets out with two girls I assume work with him. His attention snaps to me the moment I exit the Cadillac, and he quickly bows his head, his attendants following suit.

But my mind’s already upstairs with Elira. What is she doing right now? Is she baking something new? Waiting for me? Still wearing the plug?

When did I start caring about these things?