3
“B ambina .” Gabriella knocked on the bathroom door impatiently. “Hurry up; we'll be late for brunch.”
Alessandra finished applying lipstick, taking pleasure in ignoring her mother for another minute. When she was done, she fluffed her hair and threw one last look in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. Her mother was already gone, so she grabbed her purse and phone and headed downstairs.
Their driver, Ronnie, was leaning against the black SUV, hands into his slacks' pockets and legs crossed at the ankles. He smiled when he saw her, offering a playful wink as he opened the back door for her. “Your Mamma is in a mood today.”
Alessandra fought a grin. Ronnie's cheerful disposition was like a balm to her own sour mood. Climbing into the backseat, she continued to ignore her mother who was busy typing something on her phone .
“Quit pouting,” Gabriella said, not lifting her eyes to look at her. “It's been more than a week.”
Alessandra let out an annoyed sigh, and her voice was tinged with resentment when she spoke. “Thanks for the encouraging words, Mamma.”
Gabriella paused typing, and this time she did glance at her daughter. “Do you think I want my only daughter married off to that... Russian ? I am as upset with your father as you are.”
“Then do something about it,” Alessandra challenged, although she knew it was useless.
“I've tried, bambina . You know I have. Your father will not hear me.”
Alessandra knew as much. Of course, she did. Once her father decided something, there was no changing his mind. Still, the frustration inside of her mounted until the point of spillover.
“It's not fair,” she muttered, doing her best to rein in her feelings. She’d already cried her eyes out every day since that fatidic Sunday afternoon, and it hadn’t helped with anything.
The car merged into traffic, and she glanced out her window to watch the passing buildings.
“I know,” her mother said more gently. She had nothing else to offer.
A victim of her own upbringing, Gabriella had married Nero in the same fashion her daughter was being forced to marry an outsider.
The humiliation was all the greater for Alessandra because she couldn't even have a husband from their own social circle.
In the mafia world, Russians had the worst reputation.
Everyone and their sister knew it. Despite being upset about the unfavorable turn of events, Alessandra knew Gabriella's heart ached with the uncertainty looming over her child's future alongside such a man.
The rest of the ride was spent in silence, neither woman in a mood to further discuss Nero’s decision or his motives for it.
Alessandra didn’t think her mother knew the real reason for the unlikely alliance, but even if she did, she wasn’t going to share it with her.
Her father had always been strict about the information reaching Alessandra’s ears, and this time was no exception.
If her mother knew more than she was letting on, she was keeping it to herself.
Ronnie dropped them off in front of the restaurant where they were meeting Vito's wife and niece. The two women were already seated at their usual table in the corner, chatting over cups of espresso when Alessandra and her mother made their way inside.
“Gabriella, Alessandra,” Carmen greeted with a smile, air-kissing both of them.
Luca’s mother was a beautiful woman, looking much younger than her fifty-two years.
Her hazel-colored eyes lingered on Alessandra’s face for a second, and the soft lines around her mouth betrayed her displeasure, though she would never dare to voice it.
Alessandra felt uncomfortable being there. The awkwardness surrounding their current predicament couldn't be denied, although it was certainly going to be ignored.
Mia gave Alessandra a supportive smile over the rim of her water glass.
During the years, Carmen’s numerous attempts at producing another Morano child had failed, much to Vito’s disappointment, who had been hoping for more heirs.
As a result, Carmen was now dragging her adult niece to all sorts of social outings in a desperate attempt to fill that void.
Alessandra liked Mia just fine. Although a few years older than her, they got along well, and she could almost consider Mia a friend.
Over the course of the next two hours, the four women indulged in pricey food and small talk.
They never touched the thorny subject of Alessandra’s impending nuptials to Roman Leskov, nor the broken arrangement between their families which was a shock in itself for their secluded universe thriving in the heart of Chicago.
After dessert, Mia excused herself to go outside for a smoke. It was a habit frowned upon by the women in their entourage, but her husband didn't mind it, and she tended not to give a fuck about other people's opinions.
Alessandra used the opportunity to get away from the table and the conversation centering on the latest gossip about one of their mutual female acquaintances.
“You look like you could use one,” Mia teased when Alessandra stepped outside, lifting the cigarette to her lips and taking a long drag.
“In times like these, I wish I smoked.”
“It's never too late to start.”
Alessandra knew Mia was only messing with her, but she couldn't help the sudden urge to do something she wasn’t supposed to. Something forbidden that her parents resented.
She didn’t pause to consider her next action.
She was still angry about her father’s betrayal, and, for once, she wished she could tell him and the entire world to just fuck off.
Snatching the cigarette from Mia's fingers, she brought it to her mouth.
She'd done it before, on occasion, so this wasn't anything new to her, though she really wasn’t a fan.
Mia watched, amused, as Alessandra blew out a cloud of smoke.
“Did Luca talk to you?” Alessandra got straight to the point, effectively wiping the smile from the other girl’s face.
“No. He talked to Gio, though. He’s very upset about the whole thing.”
Alessandra let out a deriding puff of air through her nose. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why hasn’t he reached out, then? He hasn’t said a word to me since that day.”
Mia let out a heavy sigh. “Uncle Vito forbade him to talk to you.” Then her voice turned gentler. “I’m really sorry. Nobody expected that decision coming from your father.”
Alessandra knew as much. Not in a mood to further delve into that topic, she took another drag from the cigarette between her fingers before returning it to Mia.
“Is this what you do when your father is not around?”
Alessandra's head snapped up at the sound of the masculine voice she couldn’t place so fast. Her eyes widened a fraction when she recognized Roman standing a few feet away, sharp gaze fixed on her face.
She hadn't seen him since that afternoon at her house when they had been officially introduced and then forcefully engaged not even two minutes later.
It took her a minute to find her voice.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her tone flat, but something vulnerable seeped through. She was vulnerable in front of this man who was to be her husband. Her fate, her entire life, would soon depend entirely on him.
Almost against her will, she immediately noticed the way his dark-gray suit clung to his powerful body, the color complementing beautifully the pale blue of his irises. He was even more handsome than the first time she had set eyes on him.
But as ignorant as her father had wanted to keep her with regard to his work, she knew there were certain parts of the city that belonged to him. Future husband or not, Roman was still not a part of their organization, and he definitely had no business being in the heart of their territory.
“I asked you a question first, Alessandra.”
She liked it a little too much how her full name sounded coming out of his mouth.
“I don't smoke,” she said simply, straightening her posture a little bit. Besides, he had no right to demand answers from her. Not yet, anyway. “I think you’re in the wrong part of the city.”
His lips lifted at the corner, clearly amused with the change in her demeanor. The first and only time he’d seen her, she had been a crying mess, desperately trying to understand her father’s cruel decision. “It's a free country, no?”
“My papà won't be pleased to find out you've been here,” she challenged, although she had no intention of telling on him.
“Don't worry, your father knows.”
She had no comeback to that. Instead, her brown eyes regarded him curiously.
This man was to become her husband in less than three weeks.
She knew next to nothing about him, but she would be lying to herself if she claimed she didn't find him devastatingly attractive.
He was tall and well-built, with dark hair and fair skin marred only by the harshness of the black ink spread across his knuckles.
As she took in his angular jaw covered in a few days' worth of stubble and the straight line of his nose, her gaze was drawn back up to the steely shade of blue in his eyes.
It took her brain a second to realize they were narrowed in the direction of her left hand.
“Where is your ring?” he demanded, all traces of amusement gone from his face.
Instinctively, she pulled her hand behind her back. “Forgot it on the nightstand,” she lied. In reality, she hadn't even opened the box to look at it.
Roman examined her face as if trying to decide if he believed her or not.
“Don't let me see you without it again,” he said on a parting note before walking past her and toward his car that was parked just down the street.
With a turn of her head, she watched him climb inside and drive away.
Mia was talking again, asking something about Roman, but Alessandra didn’t hear it, too focused on the empty spot where the black Mercedes had been moments before.
???
The house was quiet when they returned from their brunch. The women split up on the first floor—Gabriella heading toward her husband's study and Alessandra continuing up the stairs to her bedroom. She was surprised to find her brother sprawled out across her bed, watching TV .
“What are you doing in my room?” she asked in an unfriendly voice, tossing her purse on the loveseat at the foot of the bed.
Matteo sat up, a shadow of concern passing over his face. “You've been avoiding me.”
“And why do you think that is, Matty?” she accused, struggling to push back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She felt so betrayed she could barely look at him.
“Ale,” he said in a gentle voice, using the same nickname he had since they were children. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
“It doesn't matter now, does it? I still have to marry a complete stranger.”
“Fuck,” he swore harshly, running a hand through his hair. He stood after a moment, walking over to her and smoothing his palm over her long hair. “I tried. Dad won't listen to anyone. He's gotten into some bad shit with the Russians, and this is what they asked for in return for peace.”
Alessandra gaped at her brother in disbelief. “So I'm paying his debt to those people? Do you understand how messed up that is?”
“Trust me, I know. I'm fucking furious about it.”
An angry tear that she was unable to contain slid down her cheek. “I've known since I was ten that I would have to marry a man he chose for me. But it never even crossed my mind that he would barter me off like an old piece of junk to an outsider.”
Pain flashed in Matteo's green eyes. “Don't say that.”
“It's true, isn't it? What kind of parent does that?”
Matteo had no response to that question.
They both knew just how deplorable their father's actions had been.
Even in their violent and crime-infested world, you didn't just give away your only daughter to the enemy.
Alessandra suspected Matteo had a better idea of what had driven Nero to make such an appalling decision, but he wasn't going to share the details with her.
No matter how much her brother loved her, family life and business had to be kept separate.
“You'll tell me if he doesn't treat you right, you hear me?”
Despite her current state of mind, Alessandra wanted to laugh. “And what could you do about it, Matty?”
Something dark crossed his face. “Let me worry about that.”
She shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. “Do you know anything about him? Should I be worried?”
“Can't say I've had the pleasure to chat with him, Ale. I ran into him a few times over the years, and he's everything you could expect from a Russian—cold and with an ego the size of this house.”
Alessandra didn't bother to point out that Italian men weren't so modest in their perception of their self-worth either.