Forbidden Freedom - Chapter One
GEMMA
“ Son of a bitch.” I push through the hotel room door and slam it shut behind me. At least I try to, but the automatic stopper catches it, closing it with an unsatisfying click.
Stupid door.
I’m not even sure who I’m angrier with, my papà, for actually marrying me off, or my new husband, who had his cock sucked by someone who wasn’t me less than an hour after we said our vows.
Going into this arranged marriage with one of my dad’s business partners, I knew it wasn’t going to be some fairy-tale love story, but I was at the very least hoping for decency and respect between Luigi and me. That I would be treated like a person and not just as property or an accessory.
I guess I was wrong.
My chest feels too tight, the material of my wedding gown threatening to crush my rib cage and steal my breath.
My fingers blindly grasp for the top pearl button at the back of my neck, attempting to undo it, which isn’t an easy feat. I manage to unbutton two of them before I huff out in frustration. This isn’t going to work. None of this is. What I wouldn’t give to scream, or better yet, to punch a hole in the wall. But I don’t do things like that, or rather, the precious and obedient daughter of Lorenzo Fiore doesn’t.
Instead, I ball my hands into fists and try to alleviate some of this festering aggravation. My jaw is clenched so hard, I’m worried I might actually break a tooth if I can’t get out of this damn wedding dress in the next moment. I guess I could call my cousin, Ally, or someone who works for Papà to help, but I don’t want to see anyone right now.
Thank goodness I decided to change into a more casual outfit after we welcomed our guests at the wedding reception. This way, I should have a good half an hour before someone searches for me, maybe even forty-five minutes, if I’m lucky. Either way, I’m beyond grateful for this break. No way in hell would I have been able to keep a smile on my face after catching my husband cheating on me. I can only pretend to be the devoted new wife for so long.
My gaze lands on the desk, and a spark of hope blooms in my chest. I walk over and rummage through the drawers, excited to find what I was looking for . . . a pair of scissors. With an actual smile on my face, I snatch them and get to work. Careful not to cut myself, I start at the neckline and slowly make my way down the front of my body.
The pressure eases off my chest, and I sigh in relief when it allows me to fill my lungs with much-needed oxygen. The dress loosens around my hips, and I stop cutting and simply step out of it. My slip follows, both forming a large pile of chiffon, lace, and silk on the carpet.
Ah, freedom. At least for a short time.
I slip out of my shoes and walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The desk lamp near the suite door is the only light source, and I welcome the dimness as I walk up to the glass. From the forty-second floor, Manhattan seems miniscule from the bird’s-eye view, yet also vast and enormous with all its skyscrapers.
A movement to my left snaps my gaze away from the city skyline and to the armchair situated in the corner.
It’s plush . . . but, more importantly, it’s occupied.
The person in it is swallowed up by the surrounding darkness. Once my eyes have adjusted to the low lighting, I'm able to make out a large man. Who is he? And how the hell did he get up here past security? Do they know him?
I swallow, trying to fight against the weight that’s pressing on my chest and robbing me of breath. Again.
“I have to say, you’re not anything like I expected. Luigi Rizzo usually likes his women quiet and obedient. Somehow, you don’t strike me as either.” His voice is dark and deep, like a cool touch on my overheated skin.
“Who are you?” I inhale deeply, my chest expanding with the fresh oxygen.
The rise and fall of my breasts is a painful reminder that I’m standing here in nothing but my bustier, thong, and garter belt. My hands itch to cover myself in front of this stranger, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of my embarrassment.
If I’ve learned one thing from my papà, it’s that Fiores don’t show their fear. Or their emotions for that matter. I might have been kept home the last few years like a damn prisoner, but I’ve watched my male cousins receive their lessons from Papà or my uncle. Even when they thought I wasn’t paying any attention to them. My papà, and now my new husband, expect me to be a compliant princess, which I usually am around men, but I’m not a damn robot.
The stranger unfolds his legs and pushes off the chair. He’s tall, close to one of my cousin’s six-foot-five height, and instinctively, I take a step back.
“I’m a friend of the Martino family. They wanted me to talk to Luigi.” His steps toward me are slow and casual, clearly demonstrating who’s in charge here.
And the Martino family? My brain scrambles to remember any information about them.
To my knowledge, my family doesn’t have any beef with them, but Luigi does, which means now that I carry his name, I do too.
Fuck.
He makes his way closer to me, and even though I’m itching to wipe my damp palms on something, I refuse to show him an ounce of my discomfort. That’s what these guys usually get off on. They expect a woman to quiver in their shoes or to run away.
My eyes have finally fully adjusted to the dark, and with the stranger angled toward the light, I’m able to get a better glimpse of him when he’s only a few inches in front of me.
Holy shit. He’s a breathtaking masterpiece in a gray suit.
Dark hair, brooding eyes, and a sharp jawline peppered with stubble.
His gaze travels down my face and over my body until it stops at my chest. He lifts a hand, one of his fingers reaching out to brush the skin between my breasts. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. His touch holds me hostage as my whole body reacts to it, a low and pleasant hum radiating through my blood.
What the hell is going on?
The contact is brief, not lasting for more than a second or two, but it feels like he just imprinted himself on my skin.
He lifts his thumb to his mouth. “Mmmm. Delicious, just like I knew you’d taste.”
It’s then I notice the slight burn on my skin where he touched me, and the speck of blood that’s now smeared over several inches of my skin. Somehow, I must have unknowingly cut myself with the scissors. And . . . and this guy just tasted my blood.
Swinging my eyes back to his, I’m trapped in his penetrating gaze once more. Every neuron in my body fires, and it’s difficult to form a coherent thought.
The same thumb he just touched to his lips is suddenly in front of my mouth, and he stares at me intently. “Open up, sposa.”
My brain latches on to the fact that he just called me ‘bride,’ a terrible time to be reminded of my marital status and the reality that I’m expected to consummate my marriage tonight. My stomach churns at the idea of Luigi putting his repulsive dick inside me, but I push it back down. I can worry about that later.
Pressure against my lips snaps me out of my thoughts as this stranger presses his thumb in my mouth. My tongue acts on its own, twirling and sucking around it, as if on reflex. Or maybe it’s my subconscious enjoying this small instant of defiance, of doing something terribly forbidden, because I know I’ll never feel even an ounce of the same attraction for my husband as I do for this stranger.
Sometimes, our bodies form a connection that is purely based on instinct, which is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for my reaction to him. His mere presence has turned my brain into a buzzing mess of static.
The sound that escapes his throat is almost feral, and before I have a chance to react, he pulls his thumb from my mouth and drags it down my chin and neck. When his hand closes around my throat and squeezes softly, a shiver of pure pleasure runs through my entire body.
His eyes are dark, liquid pools of pure lust, and I’m sure mine mirror his.
Agonizing moments later, his grip tightens at the same time he slams his mouth on mine. His lips are rough, his tongue invading my mouth like he owns it. His other hand lands on my hip, his fingers digging into my naked flesh and tugging me against the hard planes of his body.
A moan bubbles up in my throat, and he swallows every last bit of it.
I’ve never experienced anything like this, my senses completely overloaded.
I brush my hands against the expensive material of his white shirt. It’s soft under my fingertips, but the urge to rip it to shreds, so I can feel his hot skin underneath, is almost irresistible. His masculine woodsy scent surrounds me, and his thick length presses into my stomach.
Without thinking, I rise on my toes.
I need more of him.
I need him to touch me.
Everywhere.
I need him to turn my world so far upside down that it can never be righted again.
Just when his fingers brush the top of my panty line, a noise in the hallway snaps us out of this all-encompassing spell.
Taking a step back, I stare at him.
What the hell just happened?
And what was I thinking? Someone could have walked in on us. And if there’s one thing Papà has drilled into my cousins and the rest of the Fiore family, over and over, it’s to not fuck up. There are no second chances in the Mafia, not even for family.
We stare at each other until one corner of his mouth lifts, and he gives me a little salute.
“Ciao, passerotta. Until we meet again.”
With that, he leaves me standing there with my lips still parted, my panties wet, and an ache between my legs I’ve never felt before.
And he called me little sparrow, an endearing little bird.
The entire scene, every forbidden moment, replays in my head as I put myself back together and try to mentally prepare for my new life. For my new husband. It doesn’t matter that all I can think about is the handsome man I just made out with and actually . . . liked it. Does that make me as bad as my cheating husband?
Either my dad or Luigi must have gotten impatient for me to come back to the reception because the instant I open the door fifteen minutes later, someone from the security team is already waiting for me.
Without saying a single word, we take the elevator down and head to the reception, which is taking place in the hotel’s beautiful ballroom. The wedding planner and staff outdid themselves, turning the room into a fairy tale come to life. Everything from the romantic and elegant table decorations to the delicate light-pink-and-white flower arrangements, the stunning sparkling chandeliers, and expensive personalized menu, is absolute perfection.
The security guard stays by the door, and I stop a few feet into the room, taking it all in before I’m spotted and have to play the bride role. I try to feel an ounce of happiness, of excitement for this day, this huge life event, for my future. No matter how small it is, I desperately long to find it, but I only come up empty.
I bet you’d feel differently if you married the handsome stranger you just encountered in your hotel room.
The thought pops in my mind, forbidden and unwanted, and I fight the heat that threatens to overtake my body once more. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about another man on my wedding day, for crying out loud. I married the man, and even if it wasn’t my choice, I need to find a way to deal with it, to make the most of it.
I have to.
I promised my mamma I’d do it because family is everything, and sometimes, sacrifices must be made.
A hand suddenly wraps around my upper arm and drags me to the side.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” My dad’s angry voice hits my ear. “You know better than to just wander off like you did.”
“Sorry, Papà. I went to my room to get changed.” I wiggle my arm, trying to put some room between us, but to no avail.
“I don’t give a fuck. And I’m sure Luigi doesn’t appreciate his sposa suddenly disappearing.”
I scoff. “I’m sure he didn’t even notice. He appeared rather occupied wh?—”
Papà’s grip tightens on my arm, and I yelp quietly, trying to pull back, but he’s got an iron hold on me.
“Papà, you’re hurting me.”
“It seems like somebody needs to teach you a lesson if you’re acting like a brat.”
For a second, he squeezes even tighter, cutting off my circulation almost entirely, but then he quickly frees my arm, steps up beside me, and grins widely at the man approaching.
“Ciao, Luigi.”
My husband.
Double my age at forty, a little plump around his middle, and with a slightly receding hairline.
The image of him getting a blow job earlier reenters my mind, and I bite the inside of my cheek to remain quiet, even though I’d like nothing more than to call off the marriage for infidelity, but I can’t.
This is my life. It might not be perfect, but it’s going to be okay. Right? It has to be.
Luigi steps up to me and kisses my cheek. “Ciao, bella. There you are. My beautiful bride.”
I want to turn my head, to move away from him so he can’t touch any part of me, but ever the dutiful daughter, I stay frozen in place. Like this isn’t really my life to live but someone else’s. Except I’ve played this role for so long now, what if I’ve already become her without even knowing it.
The overly pungent smell of perfume that surrounds him makes me nauseated to the point I want to throw up, but then he takes a step back and smiles at me, and I return it with the fakest one I can manage.
Family is everything.
La famiglia è tutto.
Two hours later, my husband is dead.