Salvatore Dalla

"Good morning, sir, Salvatore," Amapola says with a smile on her lips as she sits at the table for breakfast.
I am momentarily speechless. What does this woman think she’s doing? I understand she dressed to provoke me for the silly things I said yesterday, but I wonder what the need is for her to be dressed like this.
"Is there a problem, sir?" she asks after my silence. I really can’t stop admiring her.
She wears a tight black high-waisted skirt that hugs her body, featuring a kind of diagonal zipper that runs from one side to the other. If that thing comes undone, she’ll be naked in front of everyone. The blouse she’s wearing is also black, not form-fitting, with a discreet neckline at her breasts—at least it’s smaller than the one she wore yesterday. The blouse has a sort of strap that ties around her neck like a collar, and the long sleeves are made of transparent fabric, exposing all of her delicious skin. On her feet, she wears strapped sandals tied at the ankle. Unlike yesterday, her hair is loose, falling in waves over her shoulders, and as for her scent, she exudes desire, sin, and power—a perfect package of everything that attracts me.
"Amapola, do you really need to be dressed like that for work?" I emphasize that she isn’t going to a social gathering but to work.
"Yes, sir, undoubtedly," she asserts as she fills her coffee cup, and the simple gesture makes me hard again, even after satisfying myself with her body multiple times throughout the night and again in the morning. "I don’t know your routine and commitments, so I need to be prepared for any occasion. I’m sure this way, I will be up to your standards," she says as she continues eating, and I want to take her straight to the bedroom.
"You don’t need to call me sir here, you know that, right?"
"I know, but I need to get into the mood," she replies with a mischievous smile on her lips as she leans over the table to grab a piece of fruit, and I almost see her nipples; she isn’t wearing a bra again.
"Get into the mood?" I ask with a small smile on my lips. "Give me your hand."
"Yes, sir." She extends her palm, not understanding my request.
"Because I’m already totally in the mood, mia bella." I take her hand to my member, which seems ready to explode out of my pants. "Tell me how I’m supposed to work with you so close, dressed like this, without wanting to be inside you every moment?" In my thoughts, I add that I won’t be able to concentrate knowing that every man who looks at her will feel the same desire I do, but I’d kill anyone who dares to look at her for more than five seconds.
"How nice that I won’t be the only one having a learning day, right, sir?" She gives my cock a light squeeze, which is leaking inside my pants, before pulling her hand away. "You teach me about my job, and I’ll teach you how to be a good boy and control yourself." She winks at me just as Angela returns to the room. "Dio mio," I say, exasperated.
"I’m going to brush my teeth and will be right back so we can go," she warns, setting the napkin beside her plate and getting up to follow her path. She hypnotizes me with every small gesture.
"Your coffee has cooled, mio caro," I hear Angela’s distant voice, but I’m brought back when she practically screams my name—"Salvatore."
"Oh, sorry, Naná, I got distracted," I comment.
"The bambina really is a bella distraction, dear," she teases, smiling.
"Angela," I reprimand.
"She’s a good girl, Salvatore," she says, even though I didn’t give her space to say so. "Don’t be so closed off. Be the mafia boss only outside this house, but inside, live, my son. It’s not every day we have the chance to meet someone like her; don’t throw away your chance to be happy."
"It’s not that simple, Naná." I run my hands through my hair nervously.
"I didn’t say it would be, my son." She places her hands on my face in a loving gesture, and I realize how long it’s been since she did that. I’ve built a barrier around myself, and Amapola has started to tear it down. Even Angela is getting close to me again. "But I know you are determined and your word is law. Whatever you want, people will have to accept. Don’t fool yourself or make excuses; I trust you," she says, removing her hands from my face, and I nod my head, unsure of what I should say.


***


The way to the company was filled with information. I tried to pass on to Amapola everything she needed to know at first; gradually, she would adapt, I was sure of it.
We had a little setback when I asked about her degree. I told her she should go back to the course she was about to finish, and she was understandably excited—except when I said I would pay for it. She insisted that now, with a salary, she could manage it herself, but of course, I wouldn’t accept that.
She sulked for the rest of the way because I made it clear that when it came to work and my professional orders, she shouldn’t question me. In the end, even in silence, she agreed.
"Amadeu, could you please arrange an agenda for me?" she says as soon as the elevator doors open on my office floor.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, heading back into the elevator.
"Amadeu, come to my office," I call out. "Ask Matteu to provide the agenda she needs."
"Yes, sir." He dials Matteu and gives the order.
I watch Amapola organize what will now be her desk. She puts her bag away in one of the cabinets, turns on the computer, and arranges the items on the desk, moving in a way that mesmerizes me. I’m just waiting for the moment when the zipper on her skirt gives way so I can cover her.
"Do you need anything, Mr. Salvatore?" she asks when she notices I’m still standing in the same spot, just like Amadeu, who is waiting to follow me to my office.
"No, ma'am, grazie." I want to tell her to stop with all that nonsense, but I can’t.
Striding into my office, my morning mood is fading rapidly.
"How can I help you, sir?"
"Today you’re going to stay here in the office," I say, and he raises his eyebrows in confusion. Amadeu is my right-hand man, and he’s always out checking to make sure my orders are being carried out properly. But it’s precisely because of that trust that I’ll keep him here today. "You’re going to stay with Amapola; if she needs anything, you’ll be responsible for ensuring no one approaches her. I mean, to ensure she doesn’t run any risks, understand?" He nods, as always, never questioning my orders, and I dismiss him.
"I’ll be by her side, sir, don’t worry," he assures me as he steps out.
What the hell am I doing, pulling my best man off the streets to be a guard dog for Amapola? I trust Amadeu just like I do my brothers, and I’m sure he knows about our involvement; he would never cross any lines. So there’s no one better than him.
"Amapola?" I say after dialing her extension. "Please ask my brothers to come to my office."
"Yes, sir," she responds promptly, and I try to focus on the work I have to do.
"Shit, Salvatore, your new secretary is incredibly hot," Rico says as soon as he enters my office, and I take a deep breath, knowing this was bound to happen.
"Keep your opinions to yourself," I growl.
"I’m serious. Tell me, which modeling agency did you hire her from? Do you think I could get one like her for myself? Or maybe you could lend me yours, right? I’m sure that working alongside you, she’ll be a walking skeleton in no time, and I’ll make sure she enjoys herself while she’s at it," he says as Fabrizio walks in, sitting in the other chair in front of me.
"How did that dirty girl in ragged clothes turn into that woman, Salvatore? Did a fairy godmother come to your house and turn Cinderella into a princess?"
"Did you come to my office for work or just to admire Amapola?" I ask irritably.
"Amapola?" Rico interrogates, unable to believe it.

"You," I point a knife at him, "keep your dick in your pants and away from her. And you," I point at Fabrizio, "I didn't know you were an expert in children’s fairy tales. Focus on what you need to."
"Alright, brother, but first I need to confirm because I can’t believe it’s really her." He presses the intercom button on my desk. "Amapola, could you come in here?" he calls out, and Fabrizio quickly takes the knife from my hands.
"Yes, how can I help?" she asks as she enters the room, holding what looks like an agenda.
"Caspita," Rico exclaims, making his surprise clear. "I just wanted to make sure it was really you," he adds, leaving no doubt about his astonishment.
"You can go now, Amapola; don't listen to them." I dismiss her.
After a few more inappropriate comments from Rico, we finally manage to focus again on work. They brought me some situations that needed urgent resolution, including the casino—the police were on our tail.
Fabrizio informed me that Carbone had traveled, and his daughter would represent him in the meeting we were having in the afternoon. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea; I really didn’t want to deal with Carlota, knowing she would try her best to seduce me.
I was also concerned about Amapola’s presence. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable with a woman I knew could be quite unpleasant when she wanted to be. An altercation between the two of them wouldn’t be good, and unfortunately, that was exactly what I was anticipating would happen.