Arranged Mafia Marriage

Michael

“It’s only me.” I hold up my hands.

She draws in a breath, “Michael?” Her hushed voice shudders across my skin, and a shiver runs down my spine. My nerve endings pop. The blood drains to my groin as I lean forward in my seat.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little dazed,” she yawns, then looks around the room, “Where am I? What happened?” She runs her fingers through her hair. “One moment you were kissing me, the next moment, I think I blacked out…”

“You were out for a little while,” I concede.

“Why are you sitting in darkness?” I sense rather than see her scowl. She reaches over, flicks on the light next to the bed, then winces. She blinks her eyes as her eyesight adjusts, then glances over at me. “You going to tell me what happened?” She folds her arms about her waist.

I rise up to my feet and walk over to her. Sink down next to her on the bed. Reach for her, but she pulls away.

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head, “no, no, no.” She throws up her hands. “Keep your distance, buster…”

“Or what?” I smirk.

“Or… ” she glances about the room, then grabs the book next to the bed, “or I’ll throw this at you.”

“You sure you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Have you seen what the book is about?”

She frowns at me, then lowers the book, “It’s a fashion sketchbook.” She turns it over, then flips the pages. “With readymade templates I can use to sketch my fashion designs…”

“And…”

“And plan my outfits; and for my illustrations; also, a diary to take notes when inspiration strikes.” She lowers the book, “If you think you can distract me that easily-”

“That’s not all,” I nod toward the side table.

She glances down and her gaze widens. She places down the sketchbook, then picks up the other slim volume, “25 Cats Named Sam and One Blue Pussy.” Her voice hitches. “Am I the Blue Pussy? Is that why you bought this for me?”

“You’re my pussy, regardless of the color, Bellezza.”

“Ha, you’re funny.” She laughs nervously as she swipes her palm across the book.

“I mean it.”

She peers into my face. “You really do mean it, don’t you?” she says in a low voice.

“You know, I do.” I jerk my chin toward the book, “Open it.”

“Is it what I think it is?” she murmurs.

I chuckle, “Only one way to find out.”

She flips open the cover and draws in a breath. “It’s the original illustrated manuscript by Andy Warhol.” She glances up at me. “It is the original illustrated manuscript, isn’t it?”

I arch an eyebrow, and she blows out a breath. “Shit, it really is the original manuscript.” She glances down at the book again, “I didn’t think this was available to buy.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Then, how-?” She glances up at me, “I have a feeling you may have had to spill a little blood to get a hold of this.”

I stare at her and her gaze widens. “In fact, I am sure that you had to spill more than a little blood to get ahold of this, but you know what…?”

I tilt my head.

“In this instance, murder may have been justified.”

I blink. “Say that again?”

“I said, you may have had to commit-”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“I heard you.” I reach for her, and this time, she doesn’t shy away. A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I push a strand of hair behind her ear. “I had a dream, which was not all a dream…” I whisper.

She swallows, “The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars…”

“Did wander darkling in the eternal space…” I lean in close enough for us to share breath.

Her pupils dilate, “Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth…”

“Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air,” we say in unison.

“Byron,” she murmurs.

“Lord-fucking-Darkness himself.”

“What is with you and Byron?” She peers into my face, “Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to why you recite him than what meets the eye?”

I pull away, then stand up, “Because there is.”

I turn to walk away, and she grabs my wrist, “That’s it? That’s all you are going to give me?”

I glare down at her fingers and her grip tightens. “You can scare your men with that Michael Byron stare, but it doesn’t do anything to me.”

“Is that right?”

She stares at me with a strange look on her features.

“What?” I scowl, “What is it?”

“Michael Byron,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“Were you named after Byron, as well?”

I drag my fingers through my hair, “It’s also my father’s name.”

“The two of you share more than your first name, huh?”

“Cursed to have not one, but all four of my names in common,” I reply bitterly.

“You don’t like him, huh?”

“Did you like your father?”

She shakes her head.

“There you go.”

“Still, you are following in his footsteps, so I assume it’s not all bad when it comes to the relationship between the two of you?”

“Some things I do only because it’s tactically the right thing.”

“You love plotting your moves, huh? You love to move people around like they are pawns on a chessboard, and only you have control over their futures.”

“I am the only one who has control over the destinies of my clan.”

“And that includes me?”

“You’re my wife, so you’re part of the clan; ergo…” I raise a shoulder.

“That’s why you did whatever it is you did earlier?”

“What did I do earlier?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Michael.” She places the book back on the side table with care, then throws off the cover and rises to her feet. “What did you do, earlier? Tell me.”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“You mean, you don’t think I want to know,” She scoffs.

“Getting sassy, Mrs. Michael Byron Domenico Sovrano?”

“I didn’t say that I have accepted being your wife yet.”

“Not giving you a choice, Beauty.”

“There’s always a choice.” She tosses her head, “Also, if you really did think of me as your wife, you’d tell me what happened earlier.” She scowls at me, and there’s something in her eyes, some kind of knowledge…a suspicion, maybe, of what happened earlier.

Merda, I ball my fingers into fists at my sides. Why the hell am I second guessing myself here? Why can’t I just tell her what I did? Since when have I become so…worried about someone else’s response? She’s my wife. She’ll damn well take whatever I do to her… And if I had wanted someone meek and servile, I’d have married someone from my clan a long time ago. Maybe I had been holding out for someone like her, and I hadn’t even been aware of it. I shake my head to clear it. And since when have I begun thinking in such emotional terms about her? Love is for fools and poets, neither of which I am.

“You going to tell me about it, yet?” She scowls.

“Do you want me to tell you about it?”

She throws up her hands, “What else have we been talking about all this time?”

“Okay, then.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, okay. I’ll tell you about it.”

“So, what are you waiting for?”

There’s a knock on the door and I smirk at her, “This.” I pivot, walk over to the door, and open it just enough to accept the covered basket that Seb hands over to me.

“You owe me, fratellastro.” He scowls.

I nod, “I won’t forget this.” I shut the door on him, then turn back and prowl over to her. I plant the basket at her feet.

“What’s that?”

“Open it.”

She hesitates and I chuckle, “Not like you to be uncertain.”

“Hmm, let me see… A surprise given to me by the Capo himself,” she jabs a finger in her cheek, “why does that not reassure me?”

I laugh, “I promise, this one won’t bite you… Well, not unless you provoke it.”

“Huh?” She scowls, “Now that has piqued my curiosity.”

Bingo! I can’t stop the smile from curving my lips as she bends, then grabs the cloth and whisks it off.

Stunned, she stares into the basket. “What…what is that?” she splutters.

“What do you think?”

“I… I…” she reaches for the tiny creature that stretches and yawns. “It’s a…cat?”

“A kitten,” I correct her.

“Oh!” She rubs the forehead of the little thing that mewls pitifully. “Oh, you beautiful, beautiful creature.” She scoops up the kitten and holds it against her chest. The animal nestles against her breasts. What the fuck? When I had bought her a pet, I hadn’t anticipated competition for her attentions. I scowl at the beast, which nuzzles into her palm.

“What’s your name, you sweet little thing?”

“He doesn’t have a name, yet” Shit should have bought a female kitten. Now, I have another male in the house who is closer to her than I am.

“Andy,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“His name is Andy.”

“Because I bought you a book by Andy Warhol?”

“D-u-h!” She smiles without look at me. “Are you hungry, Andy? Do you want something to eat?”

“There’s cat food in the kitchen, if you want to feed him.”

She stares at me, and I scowl back, “What?”

“You bought cat food?”

“I got you a kitten. Of course, I also bought cat food.” I shrug. “Well, kitten food, to be exact.”

Her gaze widens.

“What?” A flush heats my neck. “I am not completely heartless, you know?”

“Hmm.” She bites down on her lower lip, and hell, my groin instantly hardens.

“How did you know that I wanted a Savannah?” she murmurs.

“Lucky guess?”

“And how did you find out that Andy Warhol is one of my fave artists ever?”

I raise a shoulder, “His style of expression seemed closest to how I see you.”

“How do you see me?”

“You don’t get to ask me the questions.” I scowl and her smile widens.

“Humor me on this, Capo.”

Fuck, when she calls me that, I’ll do anything for her. Good thing she doesn’t realize that.

“So,” she urges, “how do you see me?”

“I see you as being original, unique, someone who stands apart just by being herself.”

“Wow,” she breathes, “that’s a huge compliment.”

“Saying it as it is, Beauty.”

The kitten mewls again and she frowns, “I think he’s getting hungry.”

“Why don’t I call Cassandra and ask her to feed it.”

“What?” she cries. “No way. ” She pulls the creature closer to her chest, “No one feeds my baby except me.”

Ten minutes later, I am seated at the table in the kitchen, nursing a glass of whiskey as she watches the kitten eat from his bowl. Yeah, I bought not just cat food, but also all of the shit that the beast would need-bowls to eat from, more bowls to drink from, a basket in the corner of the kitchen with the softest blankets that can be used for his bed. She kneels down next to the kitten, pets him as he eats. She makes little cooing noises and I stare. Her entire attention is focused on the creature. I take another drink of my whiskey, place the glass down on the table with a thwack that echoes around the room. She doesn’t even look up.

Gesu Cristo, maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. On the other hand, she hasn’t breathed a word about what had happened earlier, so there’s that.

“Don’t think your buying me a kitten has bought you into my good graces,” she murmurs at me over her shoulder.

“Me?” I raise my hands, “I’d never think that.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, “why don’t I believe that? Speaking of,” her forehead furrows, “I only told you that I wanted a cat last evening, and you’ve managed to get me one in what…twelve hours?”

Nine, but who’s counting?

“How did you do that?”

I smirk and she rolls her eyes, “Why do I even bother to ask these questions?”

She continues to pet the creature and it’s like I have been dismissed. Che cazzo? Have I been usurped by a few weeks old kitten, and in my own home? I drag my fingers through my hair. And why the hell am I even threatened by that beast? Is it her proximity that’s making me weak? Is it the fact that by falling for her…

Hold on. Back up. Who said anything about falling for her? I want her to stay my wife. Doesn’t mean I have feelings for her…do I? And if I do? What then? What am I going to do about that, eh? I lower my chin, narrow my gaze on her, “I chipped you.”