2. Cian
Cian
I gnoring my new bride, we ride in silence to my waiting jet that will take us to Florida for our honeymoon, escaping the cold New York winter for a while.
Don Lorenzo Pontrelli wouldn’t budge on this point in our negotiations.
I have to take his daughter on a honeymoon, he even paid for it.
I can only assume he thinks that if I spend enough time with her, I’ll be pussy whipped, and more malleable when I return.
Fuck that. No cunt is sweet enough that I’ll lose my wits. Never again. Been there, done that, and have the scars to prove it.
Worse, maybe she’s a spy. Not that she’ll get any important information to take back to her daddy. If I catch her trying, or snooping around my house, I’ll kill her. I don’t make idle threats.
I sneak a glance at her, at my wife— Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Fuck, I’m married . Never thought that would happen. I’m not the marrying type.
It’s really too bad that she’s so pretty.
Beautiful, in fact. I hate that. Her beauty taunts me.
I’d have preferred a plain wife, one that doesn’t draw my eye.
I knew I should have demanded to see the girl before marrying her, but Pontrelli wouldn’t allow that.
He assured me I’d be pleased with her looks.
Since I didn’t care how ugly she might be, I never pressed the matter. Now I regret it.
Avoiding this siren is out of the question until this stupid honeymoon is over, and unfortunately, until we produce an heir.
Then we’ll have separate wings of the house and I’ll never have to lay eyes on her again.
I can always fuck her in the dark until she’s pregnant. One heir is good, two is even better.
My gaze rakes down her body. The white wedding dress hugs her curves enough to show off her assets. Everything about her is meant to seduce. She looks good, smells good, hell she probably even tastes good.
A real-life temptress. A complication that I don’t need.
I shake away that thought, and adjust in my seat, scowling at my body’s reaction to this woman.
Temptress she may be, but this time, I’m in charge. I won’t be blinded by a woman's charms ever again. Our marriage will play out the way I want.
If I want to fuck her, but never hear her voice, I have every right to shove a gag in that pretty mouth.
I can ignore her and still demand she spreads her legs for me when I’m in the mood.
She’s a mafia princess, she was raised with these kinds of expectations.
She’ll be obedient. I don’t need to worry about that.
Don Pontrelli promised me she’d do as she’s told.
The limo pulls onto the tarmac, where my jet awaits.
Reaching over, I grab the girl’s arm and haul her out of the vehicle.
She comes willingly, quietly, and a sense of relief settles in my gut.
I’m not sure why I half expected her to resist. Out of fear of coming with me, perhaps?
Though so far, she doesn’t appear frightened of me, just annoyed.
Which is not usually an emotion I evoke in females.
Fear and disgust? Yes. Annoyance? No.
She walks in front of me up the stairs and enters the jet, where the flight attendant shows her to a seat, then turns to face me.
The uniformed woman stares, gaping as she takes in my harsh, scarred features. She’s obviously a new hire if she hasn’t seen my face before and learned to control her reaction. The horror in her eyes makes my stomach churn. Shame pierces my chest. I grit my teeth.
“It’s rude to stare,” snaps a feminine voice. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my new wife just chastised the flight attendant. My curious gaze bores a hole in the side of her veiled head, but she remains facing forward, ignoring me.
“I-I’m so sorry.” The attendant quickly gets back to work, gaze downcast, an embarrassed pink on her cheeks.
With a confused frown, I drop into the seat across the aisle from my bride. Why would this woman— Elena, that’s her name —defend me? She didn’t have to say anything. I’m used to the way people, and especially women, stare at me like I’m the most hideous thing they’ve ever seen.
Even though some of them, on occasion, like to fuck this monster. I really don’t understand the female psyche, nor do I care to try.
The jet taxis along the runway, gaining first speed, then altitude as it lifts from the ground. The air in the cabin grows thick with silent tension. I should say something, anything, to break this strained silence. But I’m not especially good with words.
“I’m Steff, I’ll be serving you both today,” says the attendant, saving me from what would likely have been an awkward attempt at conversation with this Italian seductress. “What can I get you to drink, Mr. O’Rourke?”
“Whiskey. Neat.” I need something to take the edge off.
“And for you, Mrs. O’Rourke?”
The girl startles at the sound of her new name. I find myself slightly rattled too. She’s my goddamn wife . The Mrs. O’Rourke, until death do us part.
“Mrs. O’Rourke?” Steff prompts when she doesn’t respond.
“I’ll have a vodka martini, please, and make it dry.”
“Coming right up.”
Left alone again, I can sense the Italian beauty’s eyes on me but not see them. For no rational reason, that irritates the fuck out of me.
“Take off your veil,” I demand. “The wedding’s over.”
There’s a long pause, then she unexpectedly snarks, “I thought you didn’t want to look at my face.”
“I never said that.”
“No, you just put my veil back in place instead of lifting it off. What am I supposed to assume by that?”
I grind my teeth. That gag sounds like a good idea right about now. Don Lorenzo told me his daughter would be quiet, meek, and obedient. That’s not the vibe I’m getting from her. Apparently he’s a fucking liar.
“Take it off.” My tone’s chilly. “Now.”
She huffs. Actually huffs at me, like I’m the one being difficult.
But she does flip back her veil, revealing an angular face, dark red hair, and blue-grey eyes.
Her chin has a stubborn tilt to it, her full lips pursed with annoyance.
From her features alone, I’d guess she was Irish instead of full-blooded Italian, until I peer closer and find that Mediterranean sensuality peeking through.
As well as that aggravating Italian temperament.
“Your parents didn’t send a bag with your things, so there’s nothing for you to change into until we reach Key Largo.” I’m not sure why I’m telling her this, except in an attempt to ease the tension between us.
She casually nods, as if she already knew that. I’m not sure why she didn’t pack herself a bag. She must have known we’d be leaving right from the church. Not that it matters, I’ll buy her whatever she needs once we get there.
Actually, why wait? I can use the distraction to pass the time.
“Elena, what size clothing do you wear?”
She visibly flinches, her expression tense for a moment before her irritated mask slides back into place. I search her face, trying to decipher her thoughts. What just happened there? Did she not realize I knew her name? Or is it something else? Immediately, I’m suspicious.
She sits up straighter before answering. “I’m a six, or a small, on the bottom, but prefer a medium on the top.”
I grunt, taking notes on my phone. “Small underwear. What size bra?”
“Thirty-four C.” Her cheeks flush a distracting shade of rosy pink.
I clear my throat. “Shoes?”
“Eight.”
“Colors?”
“Earth-tones.”
I glance at her again. “Can you be more specific?”
“You know, I really prefer to shop for myself. If you give me the details of where we’re staying, I can?—”
“No. You’re too late. You didn’t bother to pack a bag for yourself, so this is now my responsibility. I’m going to make sure you have something other than a wedding dress to wear for a week.”
She gasps. “A week ?”
“Yes.” My brow furrows. “Didn’t your father tell you our honeymoon would last a week?”
“No. I thought it would be a couple of days, just long enough to… finalize our union.”
Realizing what she means, I bark a laugh. “Finalize our union? I think you mean consummate our marriage. Or better yet, fuck .”
She cringes at my crude language. I don’t think she’s faking her reaction, she really is a na?ve virgin.
At least Lorenzo told the truth about that.
He made sure I never forgot that I was getting a virgin out of this deal.
A pure wife. One to do with whatever I wanted.
If anything, he seemed envious, which always left me unsettled.
“Since you’re being difficult, I’ll just choose whichever colors I like,” I tell Elena. “You’re mine to dress now anyway. You’ll wear what I give you.”
She murmurs a word under her breath, but I hear it. “ Stronzo .”
I level a glare on her. “Yes, I am an asshole. Do yourself a favor and remember that. We’re not friends, we’re not even friendly.
Your father and his men murdered countless people of mine.
You’re nothing more than my enemy’s daughter, and a means to end this bloodshed.
I’m not even sorry that I killed your brother. ”
She cringes.
I revel in her reaction. “It was his death that finally made Lorenzo come to the table and negotiate a peace. You and I had to sacrifice ourselves for that peace, but I don’t ever expect us to like each other.
Hate me all you want, I don’t give a damn.
But you will not be disrespectful. Are we clear? ”
She glares at me, cold fire burning in her stormy eyes. “Crystal clear.”
“Good.”
The flight attendant delivers our drinks and I settle into my seat, swiping through my phone and ordering my wife the clothing I want her to wear.
It takes me the rest of the flight to finalize the transactions and have it all arranged to be delivered tomorrow morning.
I may have gone overboard with buying not only clothes and shoes, but perfume, cosmetics, and jewelry. Even some lingerie.
A sick kind of satisfaction courses through me at having this level of control over such an irritating woman.
She is my enemy’s daughter, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of making her do exactly what I want, all the way down to wearing the black silk panties I chose.
Everything on her body will be there because it’s what I command.
I crave her hatred, so I may as well give her every reason to hate me.
That’s the only way this marriage will work.
I wouldn’t want to confuse her, to have her think that I might be capable of developing feelings for her—because I never will.
I’ll never like her, much less love her, no matter how many years we are stuck together.
This is a lifetime of hell for the both of us. So why hold back?
‘Till death do us part .