Evie

 

I was twenty years old. Intelligent. Independent. I had never willingly relied on others before, and I willingly never would. I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to get it. I didn’t have to ask for anything, and I didn’t want for anything.

 

So the fact that I was sitting in my father's office, tears in my eyes, damn near begging just to have him listen to me? That was something that I hated. It was something that set a fire in my stomach. I was angry beyond belief as the man who raised me, in the loosest sense of the term, sat across from me at his mahogany desk, his hands folded over the lacquered top, not even daring to look me in the face as he and his little team of yes-men discussed my future in front of me.

 

"This would be disastrous for the campaign. If you announced this now? Total train wreck. There would be no coming back from it."

 

"It would ruin the image of family values that the Brown family has worked to uphold for years."

 

"It's an honest disgrace, is what it is."

 

"Would you all shut the hell up?"

 

They finally stopped talking. They finally looked at me. My father finally looked at me. He seemed tired—tired of me, tired of the trouble that I'm causing, tired, tired, tired.

 

Good—I was damn tired, too! I felt my blood pressure rising every second that my father looked at me, and I knew my face was; I could feel an incessant throbbing in my temple that just wouldn’t go away. I wanted to throw something.

 

"Are you quite done, darling?" my father asked me. He knew I hated it when he called me darling; I knew he never meant it.

 

"All of you are talking about this as if I'm not even here." All of you are making choices about my life like I'm not the one that has to live it!

 

"Well, when you spread your legs for who-knows-who, you weren't thinking much about us, here, were you? Or what it would do to us and our family. I see little reason to give you the same courtesy."

 

I glared at him, and then I glared at the woman standing behind him, cowering like a little dog as if she knew that what she had done was wrong. Mary Anne Tillerson; I had thought that she was someone who would look out for me. The last twenty-four hours had told me just how very, very wrong I was.

 

"You had her violate my privacy."

 

"And you violated my trust. Did you think about that, Evelyn, darling?"

 

No. No I hadn't, but I didn't say as much as I continued to glare at my father. My thoughts swam back to that night—the one that had led me to this god awful yet ... strangely exciting predicament.

 

The ballroom was filled with my father's donors, his ass-kissers, and the oh-so-lucky few who were called his friends. They were there for my father's fundraiser, and I was there for my father to show off—his dutiful, pretty daughter, who is in line with his ideals and his beliefs. Damn her own mind, because of course, he and I are one and the same.

 

I had drunk, then drunk some more. Not enough to get me sloppy drunk, because nothing made bad news and dirty press like a lush in the family (reasons Aunt Elenore was no longer allowed at family functions and wasn't even graced with a trashy, lacey card at Christmas). But it was enough that, when he approached me ..., I was drawn in and so ready to make bad choices.

 

He was big—definitely cleared six feet—and had muscles even I could see under the perfect cut of his suit. He was bronzed and handsome, hair thick and black—short, too, but I still wanted to run my hands through it anyway. He smiled and offered to get me a drink. I knew who he was the moment that he approached me, and I knew that talking to him was trouble. Tony Esposito. Mafia Don's son. Enemy of my father. Perhaps if it had been another night—perhaps if I wasn't so tired of my father, of his control, of his bullshit—I would have told Tony no.

 

But it wasn't, and I didn't. I told him yes and followed him with a sway in my hips that I noticed those gorgeous, dark eyes of his taking in. Big boy would have been drooling, if he hadn’t been the suave type.

 

"What's a pretty thing like you doing with the Brown family name tacked on at the end of yours?"

 

"Is suffering a good answer?"

 

"I'd say it's a good as answer as any."

 

We laughed. We flirted. He touched my hand here and there, then got bolder, sliding it over my hip and drawing me to him.

 

When one of my father's cronies decided to come over and kick Tony and his boys out—there were a couple of them, I came to realize, poking at the other politicians' lonely wives and drinking up all the good wine—I offered to be the good girl and see them out myself.

 

As a courtesy, of course. We had to keep face, didn't we?

 

Tony's boys went one way, and Tony and I went down the alley. He was forceful. He was rough. He took me by the hand and practically dragged me down there, and while I hated being led into anything, it felt good to give over to something that I wanted.

 

His mouth was on me quick, hot, and fast, with just the right amount of tongue and force behind his bite. They were claiming bites, and I moaned for them and the way his teeth went into me.

 

"You like that, huh?" he asked, as if he had to.

 

I laughed, cupping his cock, bold and dirty in a way I knew would make my father's sensibilities go far, far out the window. "What do you think?"

 

I squeezed him there, liking how hard he was and how he bucked into my hand. He growled like an animal—a beast. It made me ache.

 

"I'm gonna fuck you."

 

"I thought that was the idea."

 

He silenced my snark with more kissing, and his hands slid under the hem of my dress. It was a modest length, but tight to show off my body. He shoved it up, then dragged my panties down. I kicked them out of the way just in time to gasp as his fingers plunged inside me.

 

"Ah, fuck!"

 

"Such dirty words from the governor's daughter."

 

I'd have said something back to him, but he was fucking me with his fingers and it felt so good. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe he was just that good. I moaned in response, spreading my legs for him as I leaned back against the alley wall, rocking my hips against him. He laughed.

 

"You like this, don't you?"

 

I nodded, delirious. More than liking it, I loved it.

 

"More," I panted out. "Fuck .... fuck my father, fuck his election ... Fuck!"

 

My cries echoed in that alleyway, and I lost myself. Wanton. Like a whore. Like some woman who walked the street waiting for things like this—dirty, nasty screws where disease probably ran rampant.

 

I didn't care with his fingers inside me, and I didn't care that I was cumming all over them either. I certainly didn't care as he slammed me back against the wall before I could collect myself; I don't even know when he freed his cock from its confines, but I did know when he picked me up and shoved himself inside of me.

 

"God damn," he growled against my lips, and all I could do was gasp at how thick and long he was. He felt so damn good inside me.

 

I clung to him as he started bucking. He didn't give me time to adjust. I loved that. Men who I would be with—men who my father approved of—would treat me like they were too much for me. Like I had to have help handling them. I didn't need help with anything, least of all handling a man. Tony gave all of himself to me.

 

"Harder," I told him. "Harder, faster, more."

 

Never did he question me. He just gave it to me. He held my hips against the wall in that alley and fucked me like he owned me. Oddly enough ...I didn't mind that. Was that wrong?

 

Oh well. Who cared.

 

He bucked harder when I dragged my nails down his skin, and I loved feeling the way his skin split when I slid my hands under his shirt. Men didn't usually like that, but I loved that he did.

 

"Gonna fucking mark up your insides with you clawing me like that." That growl was sin.

 

"Do it." Breathy. Panting. Quivering around his cock. "Don't stop, don't stop—"

 

I tightened around him, cumming again, groaning and screaming and moaning. Why someone hadn't come down the alleyway to see what the hell was going on was beyond me, but it didn't matter.

 

"Fuck, fuck, you feel good."

 

He pulled out. I thought he was about to stop, but he pulled me from the wall, shoved me bent over a pile of boxes, and forced his way back in.

 

"Oh my God!"

 

"Not a god, baby girl, but I'll take it."

 

He fisted my hair, pulling my head back. I gripped those boxes, clutching tightly as they rocked and jerked with the erotic assault on my insides.

 

"Cum in me," I groaned, rocking back against him. I was tight and hot, my pussy throbbing from my two orgasms. I didn't even think about dangerous that was—asking that of him. He obviously didn't care, either.

 

Like a dog mounting, he thrust and thrust, pushing in deep, and I felt that shuddering groan and the hot, hot warmth of him as he released inside me. There was so much that it dripped out, nasty and lewd. Little did I know, he wasn't done with me. He pulled out and jerked me around.

 

"Knees."

 

I went. I was so into it that I did it. My father ...God, if he could have seen me, he'd have disowned me and hated that I shared his named and blood. I got on my knees in that alley, though. I was face-to-face with Tony Esposito's proud, erect cock, dripping in cum and slick with my own. He didn't need to tell me what to do. I took him in my mouth like his cock was the last thing I'd ever eat.

 

I should have felt filthy. I think in a small way, I did. But that's what made it exciting. That's what made me moan to taste him and myself together. That’s what made me touch myself while I took him down my throat, too—

 

"Evelyn, are you listening to me, girl?"

 

I shifted in my chair, very much aware of my wandering thoughts and how much they made me ache between my legs and long for something between them again. Namely, Tony. However, that was far out of the question, and I had known that it could never happen again when we parted ways in the alley. But then I had taken the pregnancy test ... and then my father had found out.

 

"I'm listening as much as I care to, father."

 

"Which is obviously very little."

 

He stood, coming around the desk. He kneeled in front of me, getting down at my level. He brushed away some of the angry tears that had started to spill. I jerked away from his touches.

 

"Don't."

 

"You've always been a good girl, Evelyn," he said, unfazed. "Always desiring to go off on your own, but always doing what you're supposed to. Do you hate me so much? Is what why you did this?"

 

Of course he'd be making this about him.

 

"It's not about you, father."

 

"Then what is this about?"

 

"It was a mistake."

 

"Buying the wrong scratcher is a mistake, Evelyn. Making a right-hand turn instead of a left and having to change direction is a mistake. You got knocked up. And by who, I wonder?"

 

It was funny (not really) how defiant I had been, considering I now felt so shameful with just my father's words and the way that he was looking at me. I averted my gaze, shaking my head.

 

"It doesn't matter."

 

"You don't know."

 

"I know!" I look to him, furious. "How dare you—"

 

"Who did you let knock you up, Evelyn?"

 

And there went all my shame.

 

"Tony Esposito."

 

The look on my father's face said all I needed to know about how this situation was going to go. First his face paled, and then it went red. His mustache twitched, and I saw the muscles in his jaw do the same thing.

 

"Esposito? Tony Esposito? Geno Esposito's son?"

 

"Yes."

 

"When?"

 

"The night of your fundraiser."

 

"Where?"

 

"What does that matter?"

 

My father gripped me by the arms, nearly shaking me. He'd not put his hands on me in a while, and I was reminded how strong he was, even for a man of his age.

 

"You will answer me, Evelyn."

 

"In an alleyway."

 

My father let go of me as if he were scalded. He looked at me as if I were venom. I stared back at him, frustrated and furious. As if he had the right to judge me! I knew that this wasn't ideal. But he was treating me like ...like a failure.

 

"Did you do it on purpose?" he asked finally.

 

I scoffed.

 

"Why would I get pregnant by a mafioso on purpose."

 

"Well, you obviously let one slither between your legs on purpose," he said back to me, deathly placid. "But fine. Fine. You're obviously not going to get rid of it now—"

 

"I could have told you that."

 

"But you will get rid of it after you drop it from your violated womb. Until then, you're going to go away—"

 

"If you think I'm going to do this, father—"

 

"I know you're going to do this, and you will, unless you want me to pull that thing inside of you out myself. You're going to go away until you have this child, you're going to give up this child, to a family that will love it and want it and take care of it, and then you're going to come back, like a dutiful daughter, and we're never going to speak of your little slutty indiscretion again. Do you understand me, Evelyn?"

 

I refused to answer him. I had no choice in the matter, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving my consent. I didn’t consent. This wasn’t what I wanted. But I knew that it was what was going to happen. My father didn't become governor by being a soft man. I found myself in a position where I loved and loathed the man that he is.

 

He shook his head while I refused to answer. He turned to one of his men.

 

"I'll arrange a house out of town. No detail left undone. We'll say that she's doing some independent study, maybe throw in some charity work. Luckily I've kept her reputation sterling-silver up until this point; no one will think that she's carrying some mafia bastard in her belly." He then turned to Mary Ann.

 

"You'll be going with her," he told her. "You will keep an eye on her, and you will report back to me." Mary Ann nodded as I stared at her. She was an older woman and a little stooped. She has always been nice to me; I never thought that she would go behind my back like this, and the fact that my father was imposing her on me now just made me angrier.

 

But, what could I do? I was pregnant, unwed, and my father was going through the biggest election of his life—an election that this baby would ruin.

 

What a sad, ironic thing.

 

I'd always wanted to be a mother ...