Chapter Three
Penelope
ANOTHER FANCY-LOOKING car is waiting for us when we land, and we're driven straight to the Marchetti Mansion at the center of Boston. It looks more like a haunted university than a home, to be honest, and it even has stone gargoyles scowling at us from the rooftop.
While the grounds are crawling with bodyguards armed to the teeth, the high-ceilinged living room with its mosaic windows and marble fireplace is completely empty. The walls are of darkly stained wood, and there are sculptures of angels in every corner, also of marble. Every piece of furniture looks like it could fetch thousands of dollars in auctions, and I'm betting it's no coincidence that the leather cushions are the color of blood.
With a 'famiglia' like theirs, you gotta be proactive when hiding evidence of murder.
An imperial staircase provides a majestic backdrop for the living room, and La Strega has already ascended a step when she pauses to turn back and look at me.
"This shall be your home for the next couple of days, so please make yourself comfortable. Cesare will be with you shortly."
The way she nods at me feels like a 'see ya' and 'you're dismissed' at the same time, and I find myself remaining on my feet even when she reaches the top of the stairs and disappears from view.
She obviously isn't worried I'd be tempted to escape, but that's probably because she also knows I'm neither stupid nor suicidal. Big guys with bigger guns notwithstanding, I've also spied packs of bloodhounds running around, and none of them looked remotely friendly .
Boston being colder than Brooklyn is a pretty well-known fact, but I'm starting to realize it's one thing to know this...and another thing entirely to experience it. I rub my arms in an effort to keep myself warm, but it's useless, and my own fears are only making me feel even colder.
"Ciao, Penelope."
The voice makes me whirl around in shock, and my throat dries up as I have my first glimpse of La Strega's grandson...and the man I've been allegedly betrothed to since birth.
Cesare Marchetti.
He's strikingly tall and shockingly virile, his presence dominating the room in an instant. His hair is black as sable, and his eyes are dark like La Strega 's, and just as sinister, too. The V-neckline of his black sweater reveals a bronze wall of muscles, and the way he has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows accentuates the sculpted strength of his arms.
He's perfectly beautiful, perfectly hot, and perfectly dangerous. He's the kind of man whose path should never have crossed with mine...and yet I'm supposed to believe I'm this man's promised bride since birth?
"I apologize for making you wait."
His accent is more Italian than Boston, more coolly composed than brutally cold. His voice is mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time, and the sound of it makes my heart race, either out of fear or a foolish sense of excitement, I'm not really sure.
La Strega seemed so convinced earlier I won't say 'no' to marrying her grandson, and now I think I know why. They say attraction can be fatal...and I don't think it can get any more fatal than this, with Cesare Marchetti striding towards me like a biblical lion looking for something to devour, but instead of running away I find myself breathless and unwilling to move.
I feel like I'm a lamb about to be swallowed whole...or one that's about to be slaughtered by marriage, and the most terrifying thing about all of this is how neither prospect makes me want to run away.
My heart is actually pounding with excitement, and I can barely keep still when he finally slows to a stop before me, and the scent of his aftershave lures me in like a moth to a flame.
Holy...shit.
I'm terribly scared of him still, but I also find his scent terribly appealing. Does this mean I've officially started losing my mind?
"There's no need to look nervous," he murmurs. "I'm not going to harm you."
Says every serial killer, natch .
"You are no use to us dead—-"
If I needed any more proof that he's related to La Strega, that would be it.
"Or married to someone else," he finishes silkily. "But you're not thinking of marrying another man...are you, Penelope?"
I'm tempted to say 'no' just because he scares the shit out of me, but...
"What about you?" I dare to ask. "Are you really okay with marrying...me?"
" Sì. "
His dark gaze glitters down at my person as he says this, and I fight against the urge to run away.
Memories devour my soul, and I'm back in the cage of my past. It's just me and that monster again in the shower, and bile rises to my throat.
I remember feeling ashamed by my nakedness, remember blaming myself for catching the eye of someone bigger, stronger, and meaner. It was that part of my life which taught me what it truly meant to be prey, in a world ruled by animals whose only thought was to harm me.
I look back at Cesare, and even though he's so much bigger and stronger and meaner than the foster father who tried to force himself on me—-
He's different.
Maybe this is just me finally losing my mind after everything's that happened. Or maybe this is just my hormones going on overdrive, since it's my first time to meet a man I find sexually attractive.
I can't explain it. I just know, I just feel the truth all the way to my soul. Cesare Marchetti is not a good man, but he's not and will never be evil the way my foster father was—-
" If we marry," I begin.
"You mean ' when' we marry," he puts in smoothly.
Like grandmother, like grandson, I can't help thinking, with how both of them are acting like our wedding is already a foregone conclusion.
But while that's obviously not the case, I think I should let it go for now...since I still have a more important question to ask, which is—-
"What kind of marriage do you think we'll have?"
"Are you asking me if I plan to fuck you?"
My face turns red. "No!"
"The answer is yes, by the way."
"I don't care," I manage to choke out...even if I'm not quite sure I'm telling the truth.
"Then perhaps you can elaborate," Cesare invites. "What exactly are you asking, Penelope?"
"I just want to know if we'd be like a normal couple—-"
"Don't normal couples fuck?"
I should've seen that coming, dammit.
"I'm being serious here," I say stiffly. "I need to know—-"
"No, we will not be a normal couple."
Uh...ouch?
"My answer obviously disappoints you."
"Why can't we be a normal couple?"
"Why would you want to be?"
"Is it because you, I mean, is it because we , are, uh, famiglia ?"
"That's part of the reason, but if you'd really like me to spell it out..."
"Yes!"
"Then it's because I don't want you to think of me as your husband—-even when we're married."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sure you're aware that today's normal marriages have high divorce rates all over the world. Marriages between famiglia, though...divorce and annulments are exceptionally rare, and do you know why that is?"
If I have to guess...I think that's because some members of famiglia may not see anything wrong with shooting their spouses or lovers when one of them wants out. So who needs a lengthy divorce battle, when you can just turn yourself into a widow real quick?
"When you're famiglia, you eventually understand as you grow older that marriages are more likely to last when both parties treat it as a business transaction. And we can't do that if you think of me as your husband...or insist on seeing yourself as a wife."
"Then how do you want us to see each other then?" I ask in confusion. "As business partners?"
"That could do," he acknowledges, "but since that's boring as fuck, I would like you to see me as your owner instead."
"Excuse me?"
"And you, on the other hand, will be my property."
" You're kidding me. Right?"
"I could've lied to you," he points out, "and use pretty words to convince you that I have feelings for you. Instead, I'm telling you the truth...because I don't want our marriage to be built on lies."
"But...an owner ?" I choke out. "I'm not an object to be owned. What you're suggesting is completely crazy—-"
"Will you still think that," he muses, "if I say that you shall own me as well?"
My mouth opens and closes several times, but I'm still unable to think of what to say.
"I thought that would catch your attention."
The lazy amusement in his tone makes me feel like bristling and blushing at the same time. "If this is some kind of joke—-"
"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you on that score, since I've never been good at cracking jokes."
That , I have no trouble believing, but...
"You seem to be the sensible type, tesoro. So tell me. Would it be sensible for you to reject my proposition...without giving it a try?"
Oh...no.
"Allow yourself to imagine what it would be like, for me to own you."
I think he's trying to seduce me like the Devil tempting a human to sell his soul to him.
"Imagine me as your owner, taking care of your every need, your every whim."
And I'm afraid—-
"Just close your eyes," he whispers, "and imagine the hands of your owner engulfing your sweet, lovely tits—-"
He's succeeding very, very well, and how can he not, when it's the first time in my entire life that I've had someone say something so explicitly dirty to me?
"Imagine me feeding on your nipples because they're mine. Every fucking inch of you is mine—-"
"S-Stop it." I make a desperate attempt to cover my ears, but this only has the Devil, I mean Cesare, releasing a low laugh that also sounds devilish...just as he forces my arms back down, and I'm once again powerless to resist the sinful temptation of his words.
"I'm far from done, tesoro. There's still more for you to imagine...because I want you to have a vivid idea of what it would be like for me to own you."
All I can do is shake my head...since I no longer trust myself not to cry out.
"Imagine my cock owning your pussy, Penelope. And I'm not going to lie—-I'm fucking bigger than most men."
The words are a trap, and I know it.
But even so.
I still end up doing what he wants me to do, with my body trembling violently as my gaze slowly drifts past his chest...until I find myself staring at the impossibly huge bulge behind his jeans.
Holy...shitty...cow.
If it were anyone else, I'd be tempted to think what I'm seeing includes several inches' worth of padding.
But because this is Cesare Marchetti and his, um, package I'm gaping at...
I know it can only be real, and it has my breasts aching and swelling like they've never done in the past.
"Do you remember what I told you earlier, tesoro? " The lust coating his whispered words makes my womanly folds start to throb with forbidden heat.
"Our marriage is not a one-way street of ownership. Just as I own every inch of you, all of me is also yours, tesoro... and that includes all fourteen inches of my cock."
Did he just say fourteen inches?
My gaze jerks up to his...and a gasp escapes me when I realize that all this time Cesare has been talking, he's also been busy devouring my flesh with his gaze...with my nipples all shamefully puckered up against my dress.
Shit!
I'm about to cross my arms over my chest when we hear the nervous intrusion of another woman's voice.
" Signor Marchetti?"
Cesare turns his back to me, and I nearly sag in relief.
Phew.
The maid says something about supper being served in the Blue Room, and I listen vaguely to the two of them talk while hurriedly gulping air back into my lungs. I honestly didn't even realize I was holding my breath the entire time he was speaking. It's as if the darkly inviting sound of Cesare's voice had me under a spell, and every word he's silkily let slip is a new layer of seductive entrapment.
You can't let him get to you like that again, dude!
My head starts to hurt as I try to mentally regroup. I can't believe it was just hours ago when I was so desperately starving...that I had seriously planned to mug a (seemingly but not really) defenseless old woman.
That was just hours ago, for heaven's sake, but here I am now, feeling a shamefully different kind of hunger, and all because Cesare Marchetti said 'cock' and 'pussy' in the same breath.
C'mon, dude!
I grit my teeth and tell myself I'll do better, but as soon as Cesare turns to face me again, my body betrays me anew, and my pussy starts getting wet like it's turned into his personal faucet of desire.
Shiiiiiiit!
"You're blushing, my Penelope."
I wish I could say he needs to have his eyes checked, but I can't. The heat burning my cheeks is impossible to deny, and him calling me his Penelope only makes me blush even harder.
How in the world have we gotten to this point? We were supposed to have a serious discussion about what our marriage may be like, if it pushes through, but the only thing that the past few minutes has made clear is how my wildly wanton body is not to be trusted at all.
"Would you like to tell me why?"
Never.
"Or perhaps you'd prefer I make a guess," he teases.
Nope.
"Is it possible...that you're blushing because you've finally realized how filthy fucking good it would feel...when we become each other's owner in marriage?"
Yes! No! I mean, I don't know at all, with how diabolically good he is at using really dirty words to mess with my senses.
When I ran away from my foster home, I already knew to expect the worst once I became homeless, and I think that was what helped me survive my first few days in the streets.
I knew what I was getting into that time...unlike now.
Nothing in this world has prepared me for the reality of having to match wits with Boston's underworld royalty—-or resisting the wiles of a smolderingly hot mafia boss like Cesare Marchetti.
Everything that's happened today has completely blindsided me, and I have the craziest urge to laugh and cry when Cesare offers me his hand, and I realize how absolutely none of the thoughts racing in my mind has to do with rejecting his touch.
This man already owns me.
But can I really believe him when he says he'll also be mine?