Obsession (Sinners of New Orleans #3)

Chapter 2

TWO

Madi

Three months later

T here are no bachelorette parties when you’re being forced to marry a man you hate. No one wants to celebrate a marriage that is nothing more than a business arrangement with penis confetti and matching t-shirts.

So I had to make my own fun.

Unfortunately for me, I only have two friends, and one is currently hiding out in New York to escape her own arranged marriage. Lucky bitch. That leaves me with Sadie, my newly twenty-one and only friend. She’s also the only dumbass willing to disobey my family with me. That may be because she doesn’t watch the news, leaving her na?ve about what my family actually does. I’m not gonna be the one to tell her, though.

Marcus, my brother, is good at scaring away more than just the boys who want to date me. He also effectively scares off anyone from wanting to be my friend. I have plenty of acquaintances, but actual friends are scarce. The only one who understood what it means to be born a Costello was my cousin, Lana, and now she’s gone.

Lana was arranged to marry Davis LaFontaine, a congressman in New Orleans. And then she met the love of her life, who unfortunately for her, was a low-level soldier who worked for my brother. They snuck around for months before her wedding, and then at the last minute, my cousins, John and Sam, helped her escape. Now she’s in New York City under the protection of Leo De Santis and the Colombo family.

If John and Sam were able to get her out of a marriage to a congressman, surely my marriage to a lawyer can’t be that hard. Right?

But currently, Sam, the cousin who is supposed to take over the Costello famiglia after my nonno’s death, is holed up in prison for attempting to murder his father. Something we all know he didn’t do, and John is set on proving.

The only problem is, my family is split down the center. My mother and brother make up the side that’s vying for power against Sam, the rightful heir. Getting his father out of the picture was likely the doing of my family — not that I’m supposed to know anything about the “business” side of my family.

Bearing the Costello name definitely comes with its burden.

In high school, girls and boys alike were driven away by nothing more than the look of my brother. And then once the stories started being passed around and everyone learned my father was “Crazy Al Ricci” and my grandfather was Carmine “The Boss” Costello, absolutely no one wanted to take the chance of being my friend.

The people around me tend to die in gruesome ways. And after I watched my brother beat the first boy who kissed me, I stopped seeking them out. Flirting with me was bound to get you a warning if you were lucky, a black eye if you weren’t. Kissing me clearly got you hit. But fucking me? That would have to come with a lot more pain. And I’ve never been willing to inflict that sentence on anyone.

So now I’m a virgin being married off like cattle to a not-so-clean lawyer willing to do all of my brother’s dirty work.

Sadie, however, is an excellent distraction from the shitshow that is my life.

“This place is fucking wild!” she shouts over the loud music, a pink concoction of too much alcohol sloshing around in one hand while her other is up in the air. The color of her mixed drink matches the skin-tight dress she’s wearing. There’s a wide smile stretching across her glossy lips and her blonde curls bounce as she moves her body in time with the music.

Bourbon Street is wild. New Orleans is known for our crazy drinking culture and the lack of a closing time. You can just walk around the Quarter with a drink as long as it’s in plastic. Every street corner has a Daiquiri bar and souvenir cups for the tourists.

Marcus doesn’t approve of me venturing to Bourbon Street, as he scoffs at the thought of drinking cheap liquor with tourists. But the thing is, this street is filled with locals. The city thrives on the money tourists bring here and locals crowd the streets with tarot cards and photo opportunities. Not to mention, the bars that exist solely for the drunks who wander Bourbon.

I had to lose my enforcers in order to be here tonight, something Marcus would be pissed about, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

I tug on Sadie’s arm. “I need a shot!” She grins at that, dragging me over to the bar, where we both chug the rest of our drinks and flag down the bartender for another round. Our third round? Fourth, maybe? The alcohol has blurred all the lines in my head, and all I know now is that I’m undoubtedly drunk.

But there’s no incentive to stop. Not now, not when I can still remember the lines of my future fiancé’s face and the way he smiles when he’s laughing at me.

The way he looked me in my eye and told me I was marrying him.

In one day, I’ll have a new set of chains belonging to my new owner.

Adrian Russo.

Marcus is probably drawing up a contract with him now. My marriage being nothing more than an arrangement. I wonder what I’m worth to these men. Is there a sum of money associated with me? A shipment of guns or drugs?

As long as I can remember that Saturday is my wedding day, I’m going to keep drinking. Drinking until I forget it all. All the rules, the lies, the ties that bind me to this family and this marriage.

The bartender slides two shots in front of Sadie and me. We take them quickly, tilting our heads and letting the liquor burn our throats.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” Sadie slurs. She’s smiling widely, mostly because she doesn’t know it’s a sham. “So fast!” she adds. “How did you two even meet?”

She’s a supportive friend, even though I can tell she knows something is off. But she hasn’t said a word. Maybe she’s smarter than I give her credit for.

“Family!” I shout over the music, taking another sip of the fruity drink.

“Is he hot?” she asks. Leaning her back against the bar, she looks out to the club floor. It’s past midnight, and the place is packed. Nothing but a sea of sweaty bodies pressed against each other, drinks in hand.

“Yeah,” I admit. Adrian is hot, a fact I can’t deny and one that makes it even harder to hate him. Even when every word spilling from his lips pisses me off, I can’t pretend that his face doesn’t look pretty. Or that I’m not imagining what it would feel like between my thighs.

I have to stop that image in my mind.

“Do you have a picture?”

Heat rises to my cheeks, because I do have a picture. One downloaded from the website of the last gala we attended. It’s a picture of him in his navy-blue suit, his hand resting gently on my bare arm. He’s looking down at me with a grin stretched wide from cheek to cheek. I’m angled so you can only see the low back of my dress, my exposed skin, and my hair twisted into a bun. I wish I knew what face I was making because from this angle, you can’t tell I hate the man touching me. We look like a couple in love, a story that makes sense when you hear he proposed a few days later.

I pull the image up on my phone and show it to Sadie, watching her eyes while she takes in the man who’s soon to be my husband.

“He’s fucking hot ,” she announces, a smile on her lips. “I’ll drink to that!” She raises her glass to clink against mine, and then we both tilt them back.

With each sip, the world has gotten a little wobblier, and when Sadie hands me another shot of tequila, I shoot it back without a care. And when she leads me out on the dance floor illuminated by bright flashing lights, I follow her.

Sober Madi is somewhere else. Somewhere pouting about her problems while drunk Madi takes the reins. I let my body flow with the music, and as everything starts to feel heavier, my limbs like weights pulling me down, I barely notice.

My eyes are closed when two hands come to either side of my hips, and when they drag me off the dance floor, I can’t be bothered to care.

It’s not until the warm June air feels sticky on my skin and my back is pressed against something hard and scratchy that I realize something is wrong. Something, someone, is touching me. Hands moving over my body.

My eyes open and the dark alleyway slowly comes into focus. There’s a man in a denim shirt touching me, kissing me, his lips clinging to my neck and moving to my mouth.

“No.” It’s spoken low, mumbled because of the shots, and the stranger doesn’t stop. “No,” I repeat, and I lift my hands this time, positioning them on his chest and pushing. But my strength is gone, holed up somewhere with sober Madi.

“Get the fuck off her.”

I don’t know what happens. One minute, I’m standing, my hands pushing on the stranger’s chest, and the next, I’m slumped against the wall, my ass on the cement as I watch the man fall, his head hitting the ground with a thud.

And then Adrian’s there, hovering over him, his fists crashing down into the stranger’s face. When he pulls his hand back, there’s blood on his knuckles, and the first thought that flies through my mind is, it can’t possibly be a good idea for a lawyer to act like a gangster.

But then again, Adrian Russo never promised to be anything else.