When the Fog Clears

In the tenth year of being Don Vitelli’s sugar baby, the most reckless man alive was ready to change his ways for a good girl.

On my twenty‑eighth birthday, he told me it would be our last time together and prepared an entire box of protection.

I opened one of the wrappers and asked casually who that good girl was. Caino Vitelli leaned against the headboard and released a slow ring of smoke.

“Your sister. I don’t even know how I fell for her.

“That little fool can barely breathe after we kiss. She’s as pure as they come.”

His tone sounded like a complaint, yet his eyes held a smile.

The wrapper slipped from my hand. I stared at him, unable to move.

Why her, of all people?

From the day I became Caino Vitelli’s sugar baby, I prepared myself for the moment he would discard me. I never imagined it would be because of my sister.

I lowered my head and stopped moving.

Caino did not care about my hesitation. He pulled me onto his lap with the same careless ease he used for everything in his life.

One hand stroked lazily between my thighs while the other palmed my breast, kneading it like it belonged to him. My body betrayed me almost instantly. I felt myself growing wet, my hips rocking toward him before I could stop them.

“Still so responsive, aren’t you?” Caino gave me a long, unreadable look. “You and Amelia are completely different.”

His kiss felt harsher than usual, and it made my mind flash unwillingly to the thought of him kissing Amelia Moretti the same way.

I braced my hands against his chest, breathing hard. My voice shook. “Why Amelia? You know what she did before.”

His expression turned cold. “That was ages ago. Are you really still holding a grudge?”

Holding a grudge. That was all my pain meant to him.

Tears slid down my face before I could stop them.

Caino lost his patience. He flipped me onto the bed, shoved my legs apart, and thrust inside me without warning. Every movement was punishment.

It did not take long before I was sore and swollen, but he did not stop. I reached for him, trying to soothe whatever was boiling inside him. He slapped my hand away, tore my lingerie to shreds, and used the strips to tie my wrists to the headboard.

He grew more frenzied, more out of control. By the end, my body was covered in handprints and his release. Every inch of my skin ached with proof of his anger.

I bit my lip and stayed silent. I did not dare cry or fight back. I let him take everything out on me.

When it ended, I could barely move. I picked up my coat from the floor in silence, careful with every breath so I would not upset him further.

I kept my head down. My voice trembled. “I hope you and Amelia will be happy.”