"Are you wet enough?" He questions with hooded eyes.
I nod curtly. "Only the sound of your voice and my pussy jumps in excitement."
"Good. Turn around." He orders as both hands grip my waist, flipping me around before I can argue. "Sit on it and go...
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My eyes are sunken into my skull, my lips parched, my skin and body malnourished and my hair a mess.
Sweat trickles down my forehead and I swallow my spit in an attempt to wet my uncomfortably dried throat. My eyes dart around and every sound coming from anyone is filtered out as I lose myself while solely focusing on my father's coffin as it lowers into the ground.
My mother is an obvious mess but she's holding her head high as expected of her but mostly for Julia. If she breaks, what would my sweet little sister do?
I gasp as I'm being forced to return back to reality when a firm arm grips my shoulder. "Did you hear me?" Augusto asks with his brows creased together.
"Hardly," I straighten my back as I run my fingers through my disheveled hair.
"The nurse taking care of Mirabella called to inform that her fingers twitched and the electrocardiograph machine was picking up on a stronger and a more stable heartbeat so I'm hurrying off to the hospital. Would you like to come? Or would you rather take care of things around here?"
My heart picks up its pace, pounding recklessly against my throat. "Of course. Of course I'd love to come." I gesture Alessio, "I'm sure Alessio, Dean and Maxwell can handle things around here. Pablo will come with me."
It has been two weeks, two weeks since my whole world fell apart for the second time in one lifetime. Two weeks since my father passed and two weeks since my wife has been surviving with the help of machines.
I never left her side, not once. I lived with her in her private hospital ward and watched her suffer. She wasn't awake but I couldn't help but wonder what her unconsciousness felt whenever a needle poked her, or whenever some tubes were shoved down her throat, vagina and ass.
But I'm happy that I stayed by her side, well, until today seeing that I'm obligated to be present for my father's funeral as the first son of my family, The Don of the Denaro famiglia and The Godfather of Italy.
About thirty minutes later and we're all rushing into Mirabella's room. My mother and Julia joined Pablo and I despite my protests. Mother said and I quote, "I'd rather have my focus on the living than on the dead."
Crazy woman. But I know she's still malicious toward my father for dying and leaving her behind. My mother and Julia are seated on the couch while I stand by the door; Pablo decided earlier to stand outside and give us the privacy we require as a family.
"If you're awake, move your fingers." The doctor speaks in a slight whisper and I gasp when Mirabella's fingers move. The doctor nods and begins disconnecting most of the machines attached to her.
"I'm going to take off your ventilator now and I need you not to panic. It might seem as though you're unable to breathe at first but I need you to stay in control. I need you to inhale and exhale each breath at a controlled pace; one at a time. Move a finger if you understand me." Mirabella moves her index finger and the doctor nods.
