"Breaking news from our station: Key evidence has finally surfaced in the Little Martin Bonanno murder case that rocked Los Angeles two weeks ago. The footage—digital camcorder video of the actual killing—was handed over by Fox News anchor Megan Kelly. What's bizarre? Police still haven't arrested the prime suspect, Francis Ricci—"
Inside a plain sedan, two men sat glued to the car radio, dead silent.
Everyone in LA was obsessed with Little Martin's murder. It was the only story that mattered right now.
"What the fuck! So the kid got iced by his own family? That's hilarious, right, Billy?"
The passenger elbowed the driver. Billy was frowning hard, miles away, and didn't even hear him.
"Huh? What'd you say?"
"I said the Bonannos are a goddamn joke now! Whole underworld's gonna belong to us Irish soon!"
Billy rolled his eyes.
"Save the victory speech. I told you to check out the Bonanno estate—what'd you find?"
"Heh, easy money. Slipped a maid a few hundreds. Turns out those Italians aren't as solid as they pretend."
All the recent chaos had cracked the family wide open. Once loyalty starts leaking, betrayal pours in.
"Give me details."
"Ten servants, eight guards inside the estate. Guards rotate every twelve hours. Francis Ricci? Maid says he's locked in a guest room. Billy… we hitting the place tonight?"
Billy nodded.
"Yeah. Mr. Castro gave me the job personally."
The big guy in the passenger seat rubbed his hands together.
"Hot damn! Heard Mrs. Bonanno's a straight-up Hollywood ten. Can't wait to see her up close."
"Mike, we're working—not sightseeing."
"Heh, I can multitask."
Billy sighed.
"Go round up the crew. We move tonight."
"How many?"
"Eight guards on site—we can't roll short. Sixteen bodies, full kit. Might get messy."
Mike's grin faded. He nodded, serious now.
"On it. Calling them now."
He climbed out.
Billy watched him walk off, then pulled his phone and dialed.
"Hey, I'm looking for a '92 Cabernet."
"Only got '85 here—no '92."
Code cleared, Billy dropped the act. Yeah—he was undercover too.
"Quinn, Castro's moving."
"What move?"
"He's sending me and a crew into the Bonanno estate to take out Francis Ricci and Sofia Bonanno."
"Wait—Francis is at the estate? Where'd you get that?"
"Antonio Costa. Yesterday Castro met Antonio at a bar. They cut a deal to whack both of them."
"Fuck! We've been hunting Francis too—he's been right there! Billy, stall them. Buy us time to arrest him first."
"How long?"
"Shit—courts are closed. Tomorrow. Just stall till tomorrow."
"Fuck that! Castro wants it done tonight. I can't stretch it."
"Can't be helped. Cops gotta follow procedure—no signed warrant, I can't touch the estate."
Billy laughed, bitter.
"Everyone in LA knows the Bonannos are Mafia!"
"Billy, that's due process. Rules we have to play by."
"Fuck due process! Quinn, I can't stall till tomorrow. Find another way."
Quinn thought fast, then pitched the backup plan.
"Alright. We'll stage an early response. During the hit, slow your roll—just enough for us to roll in and stop you. Rich neighborhood, fast cops—looks normal."
Billy chewed on it. Could work.
"Fine. Just make it look real—don't blow my cover, asshole!"
"Billy, your language's getting worse. You seeing that shrink yet?"
"Fuck you! I'm mob now—mob guys swear. And what mobster sees a shrink? That's a neon sign saying 'undercover.'"
Quinn's voice softened, almost pleading.
"Billy, I'm only pushing it because I give a damn. Your head's in a bad spot—you might—"
Undercover cops flipping wasn't new. The money, the women, the power… it broke plenty of good men. American cops weren't saints—they just needed a paycheck. Some cracked under the stress. That's why Quinn kept riding him about the shrink.
"Fine. After tonight, I'll book an appointment. Promise."
Quinn exhaled, relieved.
"Billy, I've always had your back. Hold the line."
Call ended. Billy stared straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
The street was full of normal people going about their night. Billy felt like he was watching them from another planet.
He sat there a long time until someone suddenly knocked on the car door—nearly gave him a heart attack.
"Franco? The hell?"
"Mr. Castro wants to see you."
Billy's stomach dropped for half a second. Then he remembered he'd made the call inside the car. Nobody outside could've heard. And if he was burned, Franco wouldn't be this casual—Frank's top guy didn't play games.
"Where is he?"
"Black Mercedes, right there."
Billy climbed out and walked over.
Inside the Mercedes he asked carefully, "Mr. Castro, what's up?"
"I just had a better idea. Billy, I want you to bring Francis Ricci to me—alive."
---
Lawson had planned to swing by Dominic's later, but Sofia wouldn't let him leave.
She said without him she couldn't sleep at all—it would wreck her whole day tomorrow.
Lawson figured daytime would work just as well for Dominic, so he stayed.
After dinner Sofia sent every servant back to their quarters. No interruptions.
The estate had a separate building for staff and guards—completely detached from the main villa.
The Bonanno guards only patrolled outside; they never came inside the house.
But one very bright lightbulb was still glowing right next to them—Eva Koreykosova.
Sofia kept giving her not-so-subtle hints.
"Ms. Koreykosova, aren't you going to rest?"
Eva was still in that killer red dress. She looked more like a guest than security.
"Rest? I'm on duty. Client's still up, so I'm still up."
Normally Sofia would love that dedication. Tonight she just wanted Eva gone.
"Ahem! Lawson's here now—you can totally clock out, Ms. Koreykosova."
Eva rolled her eyes.
"Ms. Sofia, if you two wanna get busy, don't mind me. My job's made me used to this. No need to kick me out."
Sofia turned bright red.
Catholic girl—her skin wasn't thick enough for that.
"What are you talking about? I—I wasn't planning anything with Lawson!"
Lawson stepped in.
"Ms. Koreykosova, how about you do a quick perimeter sweep? Give us some privacy?"
Eva gave him a look.
"Mr. Lawson, I need a word with you first. Then I'll head to bed."
"Fine. Outside."
They stepped into the hallway. Lawson closed the door.
"Mr. Lawson, you and Ms. Sofia seem pretty close."
"Ahem! Nothing physical yet—don't get the wrong idea."
"I don't care, but I'd hate for Big Sis Svafa to get the wrong idea. Her temper's no joke."
Wait—Svafa had a bad temper?
Lawson had never seen it, but Eva wouldn't lie.
"Actually, Lindsey already knows about Sofia. Including me hiring you as her bodyguard."
"What?! Big Sis knows?!"
Eva didn't want to believe it, but she knew Lawson wouldn't tell a lie that could be busted with one phone call.
Her face went weird.
"You use some kind of Eastern voodoo to control Big Sis or something?"
"Ms. Koreykosova, voodoo isn't real."
Lawson had plenty of weird Trump Card stuff, but actual magic? Never seen it in this world.
Misunderstanding cleared, Eva crossed her arms.
"Fine, you pass. But if I find out you hurt Big Sis, I'll end you myself."
She turned and walked off, probably to her room.
Being the third wheel sucked—especially when you knew exactly how bright your own bulb was.
Back in her room, Eva got a call from Svafa.
"Hey, Big Sis. Took the job—I'm at the Bonanno estate now."
"Good. Was worried the pay wouldn't cut it."
"Pay? Your favor's more than enough. This is just small-time mob shit."
"Thanks, Eva."
Eva couldn't hold back anymore.
"Big Sis… you know about Lawson and Sofia?"
Long pause.
Then Svafa finally said it, soft but certain:
"He's different!"
Eva was speechless.
"You're out of your mind!"
"Eva, one day you'll meet someone like him too."
"Ha! I got over men a long time ago."
"Don't jinx yourself."
"Heh! Unless someone scrambles my brain, I'm never doing anything that stupid!"
Perfect flag dropped. Eva hung up.
"Whew! Only eight o'clock. How the hell am I supposed to sleep?"
Killers were night owls. Eva couldn't settle, so she dropped into push-ups on the floor—burn energy, crash fast.
---
Meanwhile Sofia was hitting her stride.
They hadn't gone all the way, but she was glowing.
For the first time she really felt like the lady of the estate. That rush was addictive—Lawson barely had to try and she was already seeing stars.
She moved with deliberate grace, every motion unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world to worship him. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of silk and the faint sound of their breathing. Sofia's red dress had slipped further down her shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of her collarbones and the gentle swell of her breasts. She straddled his thighs, her palms sliding slowly up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.
Lawson watched her with dark, half-lidded eyes, one hand resting lightly on her hip. He didn't rush her. He simply let her lead.
Sofia leaned down and kissed him — long, deep, and unhurried. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips before slipping inside, tasting him slowly, thoroughly, like fine wine. When she finally pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected them for a moment before breaking. She smiled, soft and knowing, then began her descent.
She kissed a slow path down his throat, lingering at the pulse point where his heartbeat fluttered against her lips. Her hands worked open his shirt one button at a time, parting the fabric to press warm, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of newly exposed skin. She took her time — savoring the taste of him, the faint salt of his skin, the way his muscles tightened beneath her mouth.
By the time she reached his belt, Lawson's breathing had deepened. Sofia glanced up at him through her lashes as she unfastened it, the sound of the buckle loud in the quiet room. She freed him carefully, her fingers wrapping around his length with gentle reverence. He was already hard for her, heavy and warm in her palm. She stroked him once, twice — slow, measured pulls that made his hips twitch.
Then she lowered her head.
Her first touch was nothing more than the soft brush of her lips against the swollen tip. She pressed a delicate kiss there, then another, letting her warm breath wash over him. Lawson's hand slid into her hair, not gripping, just resting, his fingers trembling slightly.
Sofia parted her lips and took him in — only the head at first. Her tongue circled him languidly, tracing every ridge and vein with aching slowness. She sucked gently, cheeks hollowing just enough to create a soft, wet pressure that drew a low groan from deep in his chest. She pulled back, letting her tongue drag along the underside in one long, luxurious stroke from base to tip, then took him in again, a little deeper this time.
She set a rhythm that was almost meditative — slow, steady, worshipful. Her head moved in unhurried glides, lips gliding over him with silky friction, tongue pressing and swirling with each descent. Every few strokes she would pause, holding him deep in the velvet heat of her mouth while her hand stroked the rest of him in matching tempo. The wet, intimate sounds were soft, almost delicate — the quiet suck of her mouth, the faint catch of her breath, the low rumble of Lawson's approval.
She could feel him throbbing against her tongue, could taste the first salty hint of his desire. It only made her bolder. She took him deeper still, relaxing her throat, letting him slide further until her nose nearly brushed his stomach. She held him there for a long moment, eyes watering, before pulling back with a slow, deliberate drag of her lips.
Lawson's fingers tightened in her hair. "Sofia…" His voice was rough, strained with the effort of holding back. "You're driving me insane."
She smiled around him and rewarded the praise by increasing the suction just slightly, hollowing her cheeks more firmly while her tongue pressed firmly along the sensitive vein underneath. Her free hand slid lower, cupping him gently, rolling and caressing with the same unhurried tenderness she used everywhere else.
Time seemed to stretch. She lost herself in the act — in the power of it, in the way this strong, dangerous man was completely at her mercy, reduced to quiet groans and trembling thighs beneath her touch. Every slow bob of her head, every swirl of her tongue, every gentle suck was a declaration: *I am the lady of this house. I choose this. I choose him.*
The tension built gradually, like a tide rising. Lawson's breathing grew ragged. His hips began to lift in small, helpless movements he couldn't quite control. Sofia never sped up. She simply took him deeper, sucked a little harder, let the wet heat of her mouth envelop him completely.
When he finally came, it was with a deep, shuddering groan, his release pulsing hot and thick across her tongue in slow, powerful waves. Sofia swallowed every drop with quiet reverence, continuing to suck gently through his climax, drawing out every last tremor until he was spent and trembling beneath her.
She released him slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to the sensitive tip before lifting her head. Her lips were swollen, glistening, her eyes bright with satisfaction and something deeper.
After the release, Sofia slowly caught her breath. Satisfied… but still a little empty.
Some things just couldn't be faked.
"Lawson… why won't you do it all the way?"
Without that final step she still felt insecure—like he could vanish any second.
Lawson gently stroked her hair, the way you'd pet a lazy cat. Sofia really did have that feline vibe. Sensitive. Fragile. Always craving safety.
"Sofia, your power right now comes from being Mrs. Bonanno. Lose that title and you're just another woman. Your virginity is the perfect ace card—it can protect you at the critical moment. At least until you've taken out every other contender and locked down real control, you can't throw that card away."
Sofia got it. She opened her eyes, staring at him with pure love.
"So that's why… I misjudged you!"
Lawson's fingers were gentle as he traced the swollen curve of her red lips, still glistening from what she had just done to him. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, yet there was unmistakable possession in the way his thumb brushed slowly across her lower lip, parting it slightly. He could feel the warmth of her breath, the faint tremor that ran through her at his touch.
Then he flashed that wicked grin — the one that always made her stomach flutter and her thighs press together.
"No big deal," he murmured, voice low and rough with lingering satisfaction. "Just apologize with your mouth."
Sofia's eyes narrowed, but the heat that flooded her cheeks betrayed her completely. She shot him a sultry glare — half indignation, half pure, molten desire. Her lips parted as if she might argue, but no words came. Instead, her gaze dropped to his lap, where he was already stirring again, half-hard and thickening under her stare. The sight made her pulse quicken.
She didn't look away. She held his eyes for a long, charged moment, letting him see the mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling inside her. Then, with deliberate slowness, she began to lower herself once more.
This time there was no rush. Sofia moved like she was performing a ritual. She slid down his body with graceful patience, her hair cascading over one shoulder like dark silk. When she reached him, she didn't take him into her mouth right away. Instead, she let her warm breath ghost over his length, watching with satisfaction as he twitched and grew fully hard again under her gaze.
Her tongue came out first — slow, wet, and teasing. She licked a long, luxurious stripe from the base all the way to the tip, savoring the taste of him mixed with her own earlier efforts. Lawson's breath hitched. She did it again, even slower, her tongue flat and warm, tracing every ridge with unhurried devotion.
Only then did she part her lips and take him in.
She started with just the head, sucking gently, almost tenderly, her cheeks hollowing in a soft, rhythmic pull. Her eyes never left his. There was something almost defiant in the way she held his gaze while she worked him — as if to say, *I may be apologizing, but I'm still the one in control.*
She took her time.
Inch by inch, she sank lower, her mouth stretching around him with exquisite care. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking in perfect counterpoint to the slow glide of her lips. Every movement was measured, deliberate, luxurious. She would take him deep, hold him there until her eyes watered, then pull back with agonizing slowness, letting her tongue swirl and flick along the sensitive underside before sinking down again.
Lawson's hand found her hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that contrasted the heat building between them. "Sofia…" he breathed, the word half praise, half plea.
She answered by moaning softly around him, the vibration traveling straight through his body. The sound was small, almost shy, but it only made him harder. She began to move with more purpose now — still slow, but with a deeper, hungrier rhythm. Her head bobbed in a steady, sensual cadence, lips gliding wetly over him, tongue pressing and swirling with every descent. She alternated between deep, throat-hugging pulls and teasing, shallow sucks that focused entirely on the swollen head, her tongue dancing over the slit until he was leaking steadily onto her tongue.
The room filled with the intimate, wet sounds of her worship — soft sucks, quiet gasps for air, the occasional low groan from Lawson that made her thighs clench with pride. She could feel him throbbing, could taste how close he was getting again, and it only spurred her on. She wanted to draw this out. She wanted him to feel every second of her "apology."
Her free hand slid up his thigh, nails lightly scratching, then moved to cup and gently roll him while her mouth continued its slow, devastating work. Every so often she would pull off completely, press a soft kiss to the tip, and look up at him with those sultry, defiant eyes before taking him back in even deeper than before.
She was glowing again — And she wasn't finished yet.
---
---
(Eva Koreykosova)