Arranged Mafia Marriage

I turn to face the man who stands not six feet from me.

“Don’t kill him, please. Kill me; take my life, but not his.”

He raises his gun, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Please let it be quick. Please let it not hurt… Please let him spare Christian. Oh, Christian, why didn’t I tell you I love you? Why?

At least, I can warn him. If I scream again, perhaps he’ll hear me and be warned. I open my mouth to do just that when a shot rings out. I scream, clamp my hands over my ears, and squeeze my eyes shut. The ringing seems to intensify, then someone grips my shoulder. I scream again and try to pull away. “Let me go, don’t touch me,” I yell.

“Aurora, it’s me,” Christian soothes. His voice sounds like he’s a long distance away, although I know he’s standing right beside me.

I snap my eyes open. “Christian?” My voice echoes inside of my head. I glance from side to side to find no one is there.

“He’s gone,” Christian murmurs. “Who was he? Did he hurt you?” He straightens, takes a step in the direction of where the other guy has gone, but I jump up and grab his arm.

“Please, don’t go after him. Please don’t.”

He glances down to where I’m clutching at his sleeve, then back at my face, where he can, surely, see my fear. “Who was he, Aurora? Why were you talking to him?”

“He…” I swallow. “I…” I glance away. I don’t want to lie to Christian, but can I afford to tell him the truth?

“What is it, Aurora?” He frowns. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Do I?

I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “Christian, please don’t make me.” More tears run down my cheek, and I wipe them away.

“What is it?” His voice softens. “You can trust me.”

Can I? What if I tell you and you end up hating me? How could I live with myself then?

“Why did you come out here, Aurora? Did you know him? Did he know that you would be meeting him? Was he waiting for you? If so, how did you communicate with him?” He wrinkles his brow, and I swear, I can see the gears clicking in his head. “The face at the window yesterday…” he muses. “That was him, wasn’t it?”

I glance away, unable to meet his eyes. Shit, shit, shit, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I tell him everything? Why do I feel like he’s going to judge me for what I did? Why do I feel like I made a huge mistake? Because I did. Because I was so against the Mafia, I jumped at the chance of taking revenge against them. And when Christian proposed the fake marriage, my feelings only intensified. I’d made up my mind to do anything to get my freedom, including sacrificing his life, if necessary… Only, I’ve changed my mind. At least, I’ve managed to save him… This time… Which doesn’t mean that monster won’t come back and try to kill us again. Not to mention, he told me he’d take a hit out on Christian. OMG, what am I going to do?

I glance around the space, then back at the lodge. “We should get back inside.”

Christian’s gaze narrows. “What is it? What are you not telling me, Aurora? Are you worried that he will come back for us? Do you know something that I don’t?” He closes the distance between us and peers into my eyes. “I can’t keep you safe unless you tell me what’s happening here.”

“It’s you I’m worried about, Christian.” I swallow, “If something were to happen to you-I … I couldn’t live with myself.”

“What’s going to happen to me? Is that man after me? If so, why was he trying to shoot you? I’m asking you again, Aurora, tell me what you know.” The skin stretches across his cheekbones, and the color seems to fade from his features.

“I … I can’t.” I shake my head. “Please, Christian, you have to believe me.”

“I’m not sure what to believe.” He releases my hand and takes a step back. “Perhaps you’re not what you seem.” Sweat beads his brow. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to trust you. Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye.” He sways, then glances down. I follow his gaze to the red that stains the left side of his shirt.NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.

“Oh my god, Christian,” I cry out. “He shot you?”

I jump toward him, but he throws up a hand. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m a doctor.” I push away his arm, and the very fact that he doesn’t protest worries me even more. He sways again, and I grab his uninjured shoulder to steady him. “We need to get you back inside.” I throw his arm over my shoulder and steady him. We begin to head back, and he seems to grow heavier with each step. By the time we reach the entrance to the lodge, I’m almost bent double by his weight.

We make it to the living room, and I lower him onto a chair. The fire must have gone out sometime in the night because the inside of the house seems almost as cold as the outside. I undo the buttons of his shirt, push it aside, and take in the wound on his shoulder. Blood bubbles out from it. “Shit, shit, shit.” I race to the bathroom, grab a towel, then run back to him. I push the towel against his wound. “Hold this there.” I grab his hand and place it on the towel. Once I’m convinced that he has enough of a hold on it, I grab his uninjured shoulder. “Sit up.”

“What?” He scowls up at me from his slouched position.

“Sit up, so I can check the damage,” I explain as I nudge my shoulder under his uninjured arm and heave. He sits up, then sways again. “Shit!” I manage to take some of his weight. I push down the sleeves of his shirt and manage to peel it off, so I can take a closer look at the wound on the shoulder… It’s deep, but hopefully, it’s not so deep that I can’t stitch it. The bullet only grazed the flesh. The breath I wasn’t aware I’m holding whooshes out. “Where’s the first aid kit?” I demand.

“In the cabinet in the bathroom,” he says in a low voice. His features have definitely gone even more pale in the last few minutes. Shit!

I change direction, race to the bathroom, and rummage around in the cabinet. “There!” I grab the kit, and race back to him, open the kit, and scowl. “There’s nothing here that I can sew you with.”

He glances at the sewing kit, then back at me.

“Oh, no. I’m not using that to stitch you up.”

“Poetic justice, don’t you think?” His lips curl. “Thought you’d like the opportunity to stick a needle into me.”

I draw in a breath, then release him before I walk back to the bathroom and grab all the clean towels I can find. Next, I go to the kitchen, boil the kettle, and carry it and a bowl to the living room. I help him out of the remnants of his shirt, then grab the bottle of whiskey from the bar.

“You ready?”

He holds out his hand, I place the bottle of whiskey in it, and he swigs from it before handing it back to me. I pour the whiskey over the wound, and he winces. Once I’m sure that the wound is reasonably clear, I clean it with the quickly-cooling water from the kettle. I drop the blood-sodden towels into the bowl, then walk over to the side table to survey the sewing kit. Thankfully, the kit is fancy enough that I can find a curved needle and silk thread to run through the eye of the needle.

“This is going to hurt.”

“I have a feeling that you’ve already hurt me much more than the damage you can inflict on me with a needle.”

I stiffen. “It’s … it’s not what it seems, Christian.”

“Then what is it? Explain it to me, Aurora, because from where I am, it doesn’t look very good for you.”

Of course, I know that. And of course, I know what it looks like. But if I tell him the truth behind why I was speaking to the man, that I knew him, had arranged to meet him, had agreed to give up the secrets of the Sovranos to him… Then, not only will he no longer be interested in marrying me, he’ll kill me and my family right away. The needle almost slips from my sweaty fingers. “Cazzo,” I swear aloud as I tighten my grip on it at the last minute. “I need to sterilize this, at least.”

I thread the needle before I head to the bar and grab a bottle of vodka-it’s a clearer spirit than whiskey, so hopefully, it should sterilize it. I pour some of the vodka into a glass, then drop the needle and thread in it. I pull on a pair of gloves from the first-aid kit, then fish out the needle and thread before returning to him.

“This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m a doctor, not a … a … savage. What if the wound gets infected?”

“I know you won’t let that happen,” his voice is slurred.

I glance at his face and find the shadows under his eyes are more pronounced. His features are gaunt, and when I glance down at his shoulder, I find the blood is running down his arm to pool at his feet.

“Maledizione!” I snatch up another towel, press it to this shoulder, and hold it there for a few minutes until the blood oozing out seems to slow somewhat. I throw the sodden cloth aside, then once more, clean the wound with the warm water.

I hand him two of the painkillers I find in the first aid kit. Before I can get him a glass of water, he swallows them dry.

“Go on.” He jerks his chin toward his chest.

I hesitate only for a second, then begin to stitch him up.

For a few seconds, there’s silence, then, “You swear in Italian when you’re upset, you know that?”

“What?” I frown, trying to focus on pushing the needle through the gaping lips of the wound.

“You swear in Italian when you’re under emotional stress.”

“It happens,” I mutter.

“And you get these cute wrinkles between your eyebrows when you are focused on something.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And your scent… You always smell of honeysuckle and crushed rose petals.”

“Eh?” I glance up at him. His pupils are dilated with… Pain? Awareness? Pain, probably. It has to be painful when I stab the needle through his skin, but he hasn’t jerked once. “Not long now,” I mutter, then turn back to my task.

“Take your time. At least this way, you have a real reason to stay close to me.”

“You’re delirious,” I murmur.

“Am I?” He clears his throat. “I know the only reason you’ve stayed with me is because I threatened your family.”

I don’t reply.

“If I had asked you to pose as my fake wife, you never would have agreed.”

“That’s true,” I agree.

“But it doesn’t need to be that way, you know.”

“Right.” Just a few more stitches to go now. I can do this.

“Just tell me what you’re hiding from me, and I’ll forgive you, and I promise not to hurt you or your family either.”

My finger slips, the needle stabs his skin extra hard, and he winces. “I know you don’t like me, but try not to kill me with that needle, okay?”

I shoot him a glance from under my eyelashes. “Don’t be a baby; you can take the pain.”

“But can I take the agony when I find out that you have been betraying me?”

“What?” I stare, “I … I haven’t been betraying you.”

“Haven’t you?” He chuckles. “You’re such a bad liar, Flower.” He reaches up and pushes the hair off of my forehead. “But that’s okay. I know how to spank the truth out of you.”

“You’re not going to be doing much of anything except lying on your back and recovering.”

“I’d rather you be lying on your back,” he smirks, “with me on top, of course.”

“Of course,” I say dryly as I continue with my task.

“Better still, I can lay back, as long as you practice some of your kinky doctor shit on me.”

“Kinky doctor shit?” I chuckle. Drunk-with-pain Christian is a lot more fun than sober Christian. “What does kinky doctor shit involve?”

“You know”-his lips curl-“you giving me a thorough full-body examination.”

“The only thing you’re getting from me is a prostrate examination, buster.”

He laughs.

I scowl at him. “No, don’t tell me. With your perverted tastes, you’d probably enjoy that too much.”

“I’d enjoy it more if I could return the favor with a breast examination, followed by a pelvic scan. You know, the kind where I get to use my dick instead of a probe.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really, you’re going there?” I knot the thread one last time, then grab the scissors and cut it off.

His muscles go solid.

I raise my gaze to his face to find his eyelids shut. “You okay?”

“What do you think?” He opens his eyes and fixes me with that blue gaze. “My fiancee-”

“Fake fiancee.”

“-is hiding a secret from me, and I’ve just been shot.”

He rises to his feet and sways. I grip the arm attached to his uninjured shoulder. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Fuck that.”

“The wound can still get infected, and all I have done is patch you up temporarily, at best. Maybe I should find my way to the chalet and get help?”

“I’ll be fine,” he snaps. “Just help me to bed, will you?”