Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 19

DOMENICO

"She’s still not picking my calls."

The words fell from my lips like a curse. I let out a heavy sigh, staring down at my phone, my thumb brushing over her name glowing on the screen.

Reina.

My Reina.

Her name alone had power over me. It mocked me now, taunting me in the dim light of the bathroom.

I leaned forward towards the cold, tiled wall, the water cascading down my shoulders, streaming over my skin in relentless rivulets. I’d been standing under the shower for over thirty minutes, but I barely felt it anymore. The water had gone cold long ago, yet I didn’t move.

I just kept staring at her name—as if by sheer will, by the ache clawing at my chest, she’d somehow change her mind and answer. As if she’d finally stop punishing me.

"Why are you doing this to me, Princess?" I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse, swallowed by the echo of running water. My jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Today had been pure torture. Every hour stretched unbearably long, every thought poisoned by her absence. The fact that I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t bury myself in her the way I’d been craving all day—that was enough to drive me mad. But her silence? Her refusal to answer me? That was worse.

That was a blade twisting inside me.

Every ignored call, every unanswered text—it stripped away the last thread of restraint I had left. And yet, even as my body trembled from the cold, I couldn’t make myself step out. I couldn’t turn the water off.

Because standing here, staring at her name, still hoping she’d pick up felt less painful than accepting she wouldn’t.

I couldn’t think straight the entire day. She was in every corner of my mind. Every heartbeat, every breath.

Paperwork sat untouched on my desk; the calls from the board went unanswered. My mind had been elsewhere... it was all on her.

On Reina.

She hadn’t come home since morning. Not one call, not one message. Just silence.

And that silence was louder than anything I’d ever heard in my life.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face when Calestino burst into that room. The fear. The shame. The tremble in her voice when she’d whispered his name.

She was terrified. Of me. Of him. Of herself. Of what we’d done.

And if I didn’t move fast, that fear would swallow her whole and she’d run.

Run back to my son. Run far away from me. And... I might never get her back ever again.

I couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything. Not after tasting her, claiming her. Making me a needy bastard. The need that refused to go away.

The need was still there. Still here even though hours had passed.

The need to have her, to be buried deep inside her, to carve myself into her body, her mind, her soul. That need was still fucking there, burning, clawing, refusing to die no matter how many times I tried to smother it.

By the time I got home, the villa was silent, the night outside stretching endlessly across the private road. Not a single sound, not a single light, just the weight of my own thoughts pressing against the walls. Even as I dropped my briefcase on the console, loosened my tie with one hand, and went straight to the shower, hoping the cold water would wash away the heat crawling beneath my skin.

It didn’t. It never did.

Even when I came out, towel around my waist and a robe slung over my shoulders, I still couldn’t think of anything else but her.

Her Aunt said she didn’t know where she was, that she didn’t hear from her.

Where was she?

Who was Reina with?

Who did she run off to?

Did she still feel what I felt—or was she trying to forget it already?

It was all his fault. It was all that bastard’s fault. That damn Calestino.

A knock at the door cut through my thoughts.

One of my boys’ voice came from the other side. "Boss. We brought him."

Finally.

"Send him to my office," I said. My voice was calm—too calm. That kind of calm that comes before a storm.

When I stepped into the home office, the scent of leather and cigar greeted me like an old friend. The lamp on the desk threw long, sharp shadows across the room. I stood by the window for a moment, watching the reflection of a young man being pushed through the door.

Calestino.

He looked uneasy, but not afraid. Not yet.

I gestured for the others to leave. They obeyed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Silence filled the room—heavy, suffocating. Only the sound of his breathing and the faint hum of my thoughts broke it.

"Do you know why you’re here?" I asked without turning.

"I..." He hesitated. "I can guess."

I finally faced him. My expression didn’t change. "Then say it."

He swallowed. "It’s about this morning."

"Good." I leaned back against the desk, arms folded. "Then you already know how serious this is."

He nodded, his throat moving with a nervous swallow. "Sir, I didn’t mean to walk in like that. I wasn’t—"

"You weren’t thinking," I finished for him, voice low. "You opened a door that should have stayed closed. And now you’ve seen something you weren’t meant to see."

To be honest, I wasn’t at all bothered about the fact he had seen me claiming what belonged to me. But... he had also seen Reina nakedness. It made me mad.

Calestino looked down, guilt flickering across his face. "I haven’t told anyone, sir. Not even Paolo."

I let his name hang between us for a long moment. "And should I believe that?"

He met my eyes, steadying himself. "Yes. Because I owe you that much. You raised me, after all. You also gave me this job. I’d never betray you."

Something in me softened for half a second, remembering the boy he once was—the one I’d pulled off the streets, the one I’d fed and trained. But the softness vanished as quickly as it came.

"Loyalty," I said quietly, "is a beautiful word, Calestino. But it breaks easily under pressure. You might not mean to tell him... but guilt, or conscience, or even a few drinks could make you slip."

"I won’t," he said again, more firmly this time. "But you can’t keep doing this, sir. Not with her. She... she’s his."

The air turned razor-sharp.

He realized his mistake the second the words left his mouth. I didn’t need to raise my voice. I just looked at him. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Watch your tone," I said.

He lowered his eyes immediately. "Forgive me, sir."

"You’re not wrong," I continued, pacing closer to him. "But you also don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do."

He clenched his jaw. "If you continue, sir, I’ll have no choice but to tell him. He deserves to know. As much as my loyalty lies to you, Paolo doesn’t deserve this. He’s... he trusts me."

The nerve.

I almost admired it—the courage to say that to my face. But courage and stupidity often looked the same from where I stood.

I stepped closer, stopping just in front of him. My voice dropped to a whisper. "You will do no such thing."

"I have to think about what’s right."

"What’s right," I repeated with a dark laugh. "Don’t talk to me about right and wrong, boy. The only reason you have a home, a mother who sleeps in peace, and a future is because of me. Remember that before you decide to play hero."

His breathing hitched. The fight in him dimmed just a little.

I leaned in, my words quiet but lethal. "You saw nothing. You heard nothing. You will continue your job as if nothing ever happened. You’ll look at her the same way you always have. And if I even sense that you’ve changed toward her—or that you’ve breathed a word to anyone—I will know. And what I’m going to do to you, it won’t be cute."

He nodded quickly. "I understand."

"I hope so." I straightened up, pulling out a cigar but not lighting it—just holding it between my fingers. The weight of it steadied me. "You’ve always been smart, Calestino. Don’t start being foolish now."

He hesitated, then said softly, "She doesn’t deserve this, sir."

I froze.

"She’s a good woman," he went on carefully. "And you’re going to destroy her if you don’t stop."

I stared at him for a long time, saying nothing. There was a part of me that wanted to agree with him, that wanted to say I know. But I couldn’t. Because that would mean admitting weakness. And weakness wasn’t something I could afford.

So instead, I smiled faintly. "That’ll be all."

He hesitated at the door as though he wanted to say more, but then thought better of it. He left quietly, closing the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, I sank into the chair behind my desk and pressed my fingers against my temples. The silence in the room felt heavier now—filled with everything I hadn’t said, everything I didn’t want to feel.

For years I’d taught myself to be in control. To bend men’s wills with a look, a word, a gesture. But with her... every rule I’d built collapsed the moment she looked at me.

I picked up my phone. There were no new messages. No calls.

I wanted to call her again. To ask where she was. To hear her voice and know she hadn’t changed her mind about me. But I stopped myself before pressing her name. Because I knew she wouldn’t pick my call..

If she needed space, I would give it to her. For tonight. Just tonight.

But if she wasn’t home by morning... I would go find her myself.

Because I’d already made up my mind.

Reina could hate me. She could curse my name. But she wasn’t going anywhere. Not anymore.

I set the phone down and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The thought of her, writhing beneath me on the dining table this morning crept its way back to my head and I welcomed it.

Maybe this was what obsession did to a man—it stripped him bare, made him restless, made him chase the very thing that could ruin him.

And maybe I didn’t care.

Because if wanting her was a mistake, it was one I was willing to repeat. Over and over again. Because this mistake was just too golden to stay away from.