Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 222

Gianna's POV

A shiver ran through me, a mix of both fear and arousal.

"I get it. No more jokes about other guys.”

"Good girl." He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.

I couldn't help it. I chuckled, the sound slightly breathless from the way he was holding me.

"You still think all of this is funny?"

"A little," I admitted, my smirk widening. "You're super jealous. Even after last night. Even after you literally shot Mateo for me."

My amusement faded slightly as reality crashed back in. The gunshot and blood. Dante’s cold fury as he defended my honor without hesitation, even if it meant blowing the deal with Roberto and ruining his chance of finally capturing my father. It was surreal and also terrifying.

I shifted in his arms. "Speaking of which, that was adorable in a completely insane, caveman kind of way. But Dante, you can't just shoot people because they say things that piss you off, even if it's about me."

I reached up to cup his jaw, holding his gaze. "You need to control your anger. Trust me. Trust that I'm yours and nothing anyone says can change that." My voice softened. "And promise you won't shoot anyone else. Please."

His expression didn't change. If anything, his grey eyes hardened.

"Hell no."

I blinked. "Dante…"

"My duty is to protect you. By any means necessary." His voice was absolute, brooking no argument. "Anyone who dares to even make you uncomfortable, let alone touch you, is fair game. I won't apologize for that. I won't promise to change it."

"But you can't just go around shooting people!" I protested, frustration bleeding into my voice. "What if you get arrested?"

I sucked in a deep breath. "I don't want to end up a widow before our first anniversary or have my husband in prison because he can't control his trigger finger."

"None of that is happening. I'm not going anywhere, neither prison nor an early grave." He cut me off, his tone matter-of-fact. "Mateo crossed a line. He paid the price. That's how our world works, Gianna."

"Our world," I repeated, the words tasting bitter. "You mean the mafia world. The world where violence is the answer to everything."

"The world where disrespect has consequences," he corrected, his hand sliding from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me closer. "The world where a man who puts his hands on another man's woman doesn't get to walk away unscathed."

I almost rolled my eyes.

"I'm not a possession."

"You're mine." His voice dropped to that sinister note that made my stomach flip. "And in my world, that means something. It means I protect what's mine by eliminating any threat. It means anyone who thinks they can take what belongs to me learns very quickly that they can't."

I stared at him, torn between exasperation and a burning desire.

"So you're just going to keep shooting people? Is that your plan?"

"If necessary." His thumb stroked along my spine, a contrast to the steel in his voice. "Though I'm hoping word spreads quickly enough that it won't be necessary, that men will learn to keep their hands and their eyes off my wife."

"You're impossible," I breathed.

"I'm yours," he countered, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smirk. "And you're mine. That's all that matters. Everything else, including whatever consequences come from protecting you, I'll handle."

I wanted to argue more, but the look in his eyes told me it would be pointless. My possessive, protective, completely unreasonable husband.

Before I could respond, his hand moved from my neck to my hair, threading through the wild curls with a gentleness that made my breath hitch.

He stroked slowly, tenderly, his fingers combing through the tangles with careful attention.

"Did you like it?" His voice had shifted, becoming quieter, more intimate. "Last night. Did you really like it?"

"Gianna." He cut me off, and despite the exasperation in his tone, I could hear the smile. "I'm serious."

I bit my lip, studying his face. This powerful, dangerous man was genuinely worried about whether he'd pleased me, genuinely determined to make our sex life perfect for me.

My teasing smile softened into genuine affection.

"It was..." I paused, searching for the right words. "Different. Special. It hurt at first, yes, but then..."

I bit my lip, memories flooding back. The stretch and fullness, the sensation of being completely claimed, owned, possessed in the most primal way. "The pleasure... it was overwhelming, in the best possible way. Unlike anything I'd ever imagined."

The effect of my words was immediate and visceral.

His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling more rapidly against me. And I could feel him against my thigh, growing harder, thicker, more insistent with each word that left my mouth.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hand sliding down from my hair to cup my breast more firmly. His thumb found my nipple through the thin fabric, circling it with focused pressure. "When you talk like that..."

I gasped as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the sensation shooting straight between my legs. "Dante..."

"Tell me more," he commanded, his voice dropping into that dominant note that made my toes curl.

His other hand slid down my body, over my stomach, heading lower with clear intent. "About how it felt. About what I did to you."

His hand pushed between my thighs, cupping me possessively through my panties.

Even that light pressure made my core clench tight.

"I..." My voice was already breathless. "I've never felt more..." I trailed off as his fingers began stroking along my slit through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to make me ache. "More connected. Like we were one person instead of two."

"More?" he prompted, his fingers continuing their maddening exploration. I could feel myself growing wet, my body responding instantly to his touch despite the soreness. "What else, pretty doll?"