Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

The tomorrow that Christian was talking about turns out to be the delayed Christmas get-together that Karma and Michael are throwing for the clan. With Xander’s death, Christmas itself wasn’t celebrated. And while in most Italian families, the period of mourning would last almost up to a year, it seems the Sovranos have decided to go ahead with the celebrations, perhaps because they want to commemorate his life instead of mourning his passing? It’s a sentiment I whole-heartedly approve of.

I had contemplated making Christian wait when he walked into the house promptly at seven pm. Only, he didn’t give me a chance. He walked up the stairs and into my bedroom. When I protested, he told me to get used to it. What a dick!

Now he takes in my reflection, and his mouth falls open. Like, literally, he opens and shuts his mouth, and no words emerge. I turn to face him, place my hand on my hip, and allow him to sweep his gaze from the top of my auburn curls to my Gucci dress to my feet clad in the Ferragamo’s he sent me.

Yeah, so they’re borrowed feathers, but what the hell? Given what I’m going to put myself through over the next thirty days, it’s the least I can do-embrace the designer wear he’s so eager to shower on me. Only, he probably paid for the dress in blood, but that’s something I can’t afford to think of. Not when I need to make sure that I play my role so well that he doesn’t suspect I’m looking for a way out.

So, I permit him to look his fill, noting his heavy-lidded gaze, the way his body stills as he sweeps his gaze up my body and back to my face. He stares at my mouth, and stares, and stares. Goose bumps shiver across my skin, and the blood thuds at my temples. A pulse flares to life between my legs, and I want to squeeze my thighs together, but I stop myself. No way am I allowing him to see the effect he has on me. It’s bad enough that my nipples have beaded into pinpoints of pain, that my cheeks are flushed, and that I can hear the blood pumping in my ears.

I bite down on my lower lip, and his chest rises and falls. I tip up my chin, and he raises his gaze to mine. The silence stretches for a beat, another. I will not look away. Will not. My nerves stretch until I’m sure they’re going to snap.

“Well?” I finally burst out. “What do you think?”

And why does his opinion matter anyway, hmm?

His lips curl, and he looks me up and down once more, his glance more cursory this time. “You’ll do,” he drawls.

“What the-!” I flush. “How dare you-?”

“Speak the truth?” He smirks, and anger sears my veins. My fingers tingle and hell, if I don’t want to slap him and wipe that self-satisfied expression off of his face, but I don’t. Instead, I tip up my chin and brush past him, in my six-inches high stilettos.

“Fuck you,” I hiss as I flounce past, then gasp when he grips my wrist and tugs. I lose my balance and fall against him. The hard planes of his chest dig into my upper arm.

He yanks my arm behind my back and pulls me into him. “What did you say?” he says in that low mean voice that arrows straight to my belly and coils in my core.

“N-nothing.” I swallow.

“Lying, Flower?”

“Always,” I manage to choke out, “and especially to you.”

He lowers his face to mine, until his mouth is exactly on top of mine. His breath sears my lips, and his scent, like dark coffee laced with brandy, overwhelms me. He’s above me, all around me. The force of his dominance crashes into my chest and pins me in place. I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my lips.

“Christian,” I whisper.

It seems to break the spell because he releases me. I stare up at him, my breath coming in pants.

He steps back, and cool air rushes over my heated skin.

“Let’s go.” He brushes past me and heads for the door.

I walk onto the terrace and take in the assembled guests. In one corner, Christian’s brother Michael, who recently took over as Don of the Cosa Nostra, and his wife Karma are engaged in conversation with Michael and Christian’s grandmother. The older woman says something that makes the couple laugh. The breeze blows over us, lifting Karma’s lustrous locks and Michael’s thick dark hair. They seem so carefree, so happy.

Considering everything they’ve been through, including the recent loss of their unborn child, they look well. Like the trials that they’ve been through have brought them together. I, more than anyone, know how deceptive appearances can be.NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

My mother had always put on a brave front, though she hated being part of the Cosa Nostra. Her father and his father before him were part of the Mafia, as was her husband. My mother and father had fought many nights when she begged him to leave, and he’d always refuse. My father was a doctor, who could have found a career outside of the Cosa Nostra if he wanted. But he simply didn’t want to leave. He was steeped in the Mafia culture himself, felt beholden to the then Don-Michael and Christian’s father-who had helped him out when in need. He felt it was his duty to stay and serve them. “Chi lascia la strada vecchia per la nuova, sa quel che lascia, ma non sa quel che trova,” so he loved to say.

Those who leave the old road for the new know what they leave behind, but not what they’ll find.

It was another reason I couldn’t wait to leave for medical college in the UK. In fact, I tried my best to lose my Italian accent while I was there and succeeded enough that I speak English like a true Brit. It’s one of the things I’m proud of, that when someone speaks to me, they can’t place me as being from Italy. Given the choice, I wouldn’t have returned to Sicily, but my father needed help, and when he had asked, I couldn’t refuse him.

Also, I felt guilty about leaving my sister behind when I went to England to study, even though I knew it was the right thing to do. If I could break out of the Mafia and find my own way, then Elena would have a chance to do the same. I’d made sure to come as often as possible to see her. And then my father had asked me to return, and I’d agreed.

Also, it fell in with the larger plan. So, I had to come back. It also helps that I felt compelled to help my family. And now, I’m walking into another family. One much more powerful and complicated when it comes to relationships.

Cassandra, Michael’s housekeeper and someone who I have grown to know better over the past month, walks toward us with a tray of prosecco flutes. Christian takes one and offers it to me. Cass glances at me, sweeps her gaze over my outfit-a far cry from the simple pants and shirts that I normally favor-and her gaze widens.

She peers into my features. I see the question in them, but don’t allow the expression on my face to change. Instead, I toss back the prosecco, emptying the glass in one go. The cool liquid slides down my throat and hits my stomach. The alcohol sets off a low burn in my belly. Tendrils of heat vibrate through my veins. Guess they weren’t lying about alcohol helping you face anything, hmm? I place the now empty flute back on the tray that Cass is holding, then reach for a second glass. Christian grabs my wrist; I turn to him with a frown. “Let go of me,” I hiss.

He jerks his chin at Cass, who glances between us. She seems like she is about to say something.

Then, his lips kick up in a smirk. “Watch what you say, Flower,” he drawls, “my family is watching.”

“Like I care?”

“Well, you should. Your life and your family’s life depend on it.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “You wouldn’t hurt them, would you?” I swallow.

“That’s entirely up to you now, isn’t it?”

Anger coils in my chest and pours through my veins. “I hate you,” I whisper, “I really do.”

Karma glances past Michael’s nonna. She spots me and her features break into a smile, then she sweeps her gaze down to where Christian holds my wrist. I try to pull away, but of course, the jerk face only tightens his grip on me. Her eyebrows furrow. She narrows her gaze on me, and I glance away. That’s when Christian moves toward them. He pulls me with him, so I have no choice but to follow him.

He pauses in front of Michael and Karma. “Don Sovrano,” he declares, “meet the woman who has agreed to become my wife.”