Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
I glared at my father, sitting behind his desk as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.
I clenched my fists. “You’re seriously going through with this harebrained arranged-marriage thing, Dad?”
The words tumbled out in a furious rush before my throat closed up, but I ignored all the emotions threatening to burst out. We’d had this discussion multiple times. I’d cried, I’d begged, and it changed nothing. By now, the only feeling left in me was anger fueled even more by the asshole that was Vincenzo Salvini back in my library.
And it was safer to concentrate on how fucking furious I was anyway and not on how Salvini managed to make me breathless and piss me off at the exact same time. “Why are you kissing Vincenzo Salvini’s ass, of all people? I’ve never heard a single good thing about ‘those Italian bastards’ from you, and now you’re seriously going through with marrying me off to one of them?”
My father’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing at my outburst. “Mind your tone, Jemma. You were there; you know why I couldn’t say no.”
Frustration welled up inside me like a tidal wave. I was there when my cousin Fee jumped out of a window to escape after my uncle tried to force her to marry some Russian mobster.
Thank God her very own Italian Mafia hero came to the rescue—well, more like to a Mexican standoff. Sadly, he took along the bastard who started this farce. “I never expected you to just hand me over like some sort of bargaining chip!”
Dad slammed his hand on the desk, making me flinch. “Enough! I couldn’t just let them kill your uncle now, could I?” His voice boomed through the wood-paneled office, and the very walls seemed to tremble…as did I.
It wasn’t often I got to see his ruthless side—the side that made him one of the most feared and revered men in the Boston Irish mob, who had the reputation to be mean as a snake and without mercy. That man, that version of him…he’d rarely shown it to me and my sisters.
On the contrary.
I couldn’t have wished for a better father or a more loving environment. He’d always given his best, especially after Mom’s death despite struggling while bringing up three girls all on his own. That was why his decision, or agreement to that arranged marriage, felt like even more of a betrayal. He’d always protected us; why would he feed me to the wolves now?
I stared at him from across the room. I’d acted out of character these last couple of months, I knew I did. But coming back home after having been kidnapped in Italy, I just wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same. It was as if this nagging sensation I’d had almost my whole life was proved true once more.
Was that what set my father on edge? And led to him doing this?
And he didn’t even know about the hacking—because if he’d known, if he knew how far I’d taken my support for the emergency shelter I’d volunteered for, he would probably take all my digital devices, lock me in my room, and never let me out again.
Exhausted, I sank into one of the plush leather futons and scratched my forehead—carefully, so as not to accidentally move my ball cap and wig and show my shorn, bright green head—another impulsive action he could never know about.
Because he would not understand.
Right? Right.
I exhaled, and my gaze landed on the framed photo of Mom on the wall behind his desk. Her warm smile was a stark contrast to the coldness that now permeated the room and me. She’d loved us so much…until the end.
My throat constricted, making it hard to breathe—a sensation that had become more frequent since Italy. I couldn’t remember a lot about Mom, apart from the memories of her combing my hair and giving the best hugs in the world…and the guilt and shame surrounding her death. Shouldn’t I be able to remember more about her? I was already ten when she died. I should know how she would’ve acted in this kind of situation.
The only thing I knew was that she wouldn’t want me unhappy, so she never would’ve let my dad go through with something like this. And neither would I. I ground my teeth and forced myself to empty my mind and let go of my thoughts until the choking sensation slowly subsided.
Now was not the time to break down, especially not with Salvini in the house. But I would not marry Matteo Salvini.
Period.
I stared at my father, who was looking at his computer screen. How could he claim to love me and yet disregard my own wishes so completely? “Mom wouldn’t be happy about this,” I stated.
My father’s gaze snapped to me, his blue eyes dark and unreadable.
I met his gaze head-on. The ticking of the antique clock only amplified the tension stretching between us. I bit back the torrent of feelings threatening to swamp me again and refocused on the anger inside of me. Anger was better than fear; anger was better than guilt, or shame, or sadness.
And under these circumstances, anger was the one emotion that was valid when your father practically sold you into marriage.
We kept staring at each other, like opponents from their corners. My father was the first to look away. He picked up the smaller frame—a family photo—from his desk, and suddenly, the tension in his face disappeared. “Did I ever tell you about how your mother and I got married, Button?”
I narrowed my eyes. My father hadn’t used my old nickname in forever. I tried to recall any details of my parents’ marriage but came up short. “No, was she forced into an arranged marriage, as well?” I mocked.
He focused back on me, cocked his head, and grinned. “It was the best thing that ever happened to both of us.”
My mouth fell open, and I stared at him in disbelief, his words ringing in my ears like an annoying echo.
My parents had an arranged marriage?
An arranged marriage that actually worked out? I scoffed. The notion seemed as preposterous as telling me Vincenzo Salvini was a prince in shining armor with a heart of gold—which he clearly was not.
“It might’ve worked out for you.” I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “But it will not work for me.”
The lines around his eyes deepened with concern—or was it determination? His jaw tightened, and he gave a solemn nod. “If it doesn’t work out, we’ll find a solution,” he promised, but his words felt hollow—as hollow as the sound when that rose I dropped into Mom’s open grave hit her casket deep down.
My fingers dug into the worn denim of my jeans as I fought to keep my voice level. He didn’t understand, not really…and he never would. “I’m not okay with this, no matter how you phrase it. No matter if it’s only for a short time. And nothing you say will change that.”
Because I didn’t believe in happy endings anymore, didn’t believe in promises that everything would work out anymore. Nobody knew if they even woke up the next day. Nobody knew what the future would hold.
A metallic taste flooded my mouth as I clenched my teeth and bit the inside of my cheek. This wasn’t about finding some agreeable solution or compromise.
This was about seizing control of my own life.
I wasn’t willing to lay my fate into someone else’s hands—anyone else’s—or to rely on hope. I’d lost that in that basement.
The memories appeared like an unwanted flickering reel of nightmares—the dark room in the basement, the sounds of fear that flooded the room whenever we heard footsteps approaching. I really thought we wouldn’t get out of there alive. And when we did, that’s when everything changed.
That’s when I changed.
I thought if I were a good girl, if I fit in and did as I was told, nothing bad would happen again. Well. I should’ve known that was just BS. I should’ve learned my lesson with Mom’s death that life didn’t work that way. Should’ve known it would happen again. I’d lived with that sense of doom my whole life, and the kidnapping was just a reminder from the universe. A reminder for which Sophie and Fee paid dearly.
I focused on my breathing again until I’d pushed the shame and guilt back down where they belonged and focused on the problem at hand.
It was time to accept that whatever happened, happened. But it didn’t mean I would blindly follow a script for a life someone else decided on.
Not anymore.
I would create a life of my own design. And I was willing to do whatever was necessary to get the freedom to do so.
Starting with finding a way to prevent my father and Vincenzo Salvini from going through with this sinister plan.
A heavy knock on the door made me flinch, and my heart slammed against my rib cage. Instinctively, I squared my shoulders, bracing myself for battle.
“Come in,” my father said and sent me a warning look.
The door swung open, and there he stood—Vincenzo Salvini himself—filling the doorway with his ominous presence.
He stepped into the room, and it felt like shadows stretched across the floor in his wake. His dark eyes scanned the room, then settled on me with disturbing focus.
I crossed my arms and lifted my chin in a silent challenge. If he thought he was dealing with some trembling damsel in distress, ready to just fall in line, he was thoroughly mistaken.
My action earlier was a tactical retreat, not me running from him.
My father rose from behind his desk, a practiced smile curving his lips.
What a farce.
“Vince,” he said smoothly as if they were discussing business over tea rather than bartering with my life.
“Craig,” Salvini replied with a nod that seemed more military than cordial.
Behind Salvini, Matt entered.
Silence stretched, and the tension in the room ratcheted up a notch as nobody said another word.
Then Salvini turned to me.
His intensity sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. But I wouldn’t cower; I couldn’t afford to show weakness—not for a single second. I narrowed my eyes and scowled at him.
“Fee and Alex will stay for a while,” he said as if my cousin’s and her husband’s presence was of any consequence to what was going on in here. Then he turned to my father. “I think we talked about everything we needed to talk about. I’ll take care of the rest.”
My father narrowed his brows, held Salvini’s gaze, then nodded once.
I sucked in air through my teeth. He would take care of the rest? Like deciding on my future without me? “No fucking way.”
My father’s head shot around to me. “Watch your language.”
I scoffed. “My language isn’t the problem here,” I said, then glared at him. “You’re not going through with this, right? This is my life you’re talking about.” Thank God my voice remained steady despite the internal chaos threatening to spill over.
“It’s done. Don’t waste your energy.” Salvini’s voice was low and deceptively flat.
I turned my gaze to him and narrowed my eyes. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
I could see his brows lower. He was getting pissed, which was only fair since I was way beyond pissed already.
“Jemma,” my father growled, then nodded at two of his men who stood at the door.
They approached me, grabbed my arms, and pulled me across the room toward the exit.
Seriously? Now, I was the one being dragged out of the room when the true and only villain in this story was Salvini and Salvini alone.
I scoffed, truly done.
Salvini’s gaze didn’t waver as he watched me being dragged out of my father’s office.
“I’ll find you and kill you in your sleep,” I whispered when I passed by him, then broke free, and exited the room with my head held high.
I didn’t anticipate that Salvini would follow.
He slung his arm around my waist from behind and stopped me in my tracks, then shut the door to my father’s office and in the face of my father’s men, effectively shutting them in.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m done talking to you.”
His hot breath hit the back of my neck, and I broke out in goose bumps when I realized just how close he was and how his massive body was basically wrapped around me.
And the most surprising thing? My body actually calmed down instead of going on high alert. What the hell?
“Tough luck since I’m not done talking to you. I don’t take too kindly to death threats. Usually”—he leaned even closer until his lips almost touched my ear—“I’m the one doing the threatening.”
“Well, sorry for cramping your style,” I said, my voice much more breathy than I liked. What was it about him that made my body not function properly?
“You’re much more of a nuisance than I thought you’d be, Jemma Donnelly,” he whispered, and his hot breath against my skin made me choke. Go figure. “And you really don’t know what you’re doing. Little girls who play with fire get burned.”
Okay, now that was enough. I grabbed his thumb and pulled it back; he immediately loosened his grip and moved his hand and body to accommodate the unnatural direction I’d pulled his thumb and groaned.
I let go and took the stairs up to my room faster than I ever had.
As soon as I closed the door behind me, I sucked in air and stood frozen to the spot. Killing Salvini wasn’t part of my plan. But I could always make a quick detour to NYC. And he definitely deserved a very slow, very painful death.
I exhaled. What the hell just happened?
Didn’t I decide a low profile would be best?
What was it about Vince Salvini getting too close, and verbally insulting me, that made me react with violence every time?
I shook my head. Well, throwing hands with one of the most dangerous Mafia bosses wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile—threatening to kill him wasn’t either.
There was a knock on the door—well, knock was putting it mildly; it was more like someone trying to destroy my door with his fist.
I ripped it open while, at the same time, he pushed—and somehow—even though I’d never been the clumsy type in all my life—my luck left me, and the door hit me right in the forehead.
“Ouch.”
“Shit.” Salvini pulled me aside, opened the door fully, and was suddenly again up close and personal.
Too close. Too personal.
He grabbed my neck, then pulled up his other hand, covered my forehead, and pressed against my skin. “You okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”
His hand was dry and cool…and felt heavenly against my skin.
I stared at him, and his face was only inches from mine. Our eyes locked, and for the first time, he didn’t look angry or pissed off. Instead, there was a softness in his eyes, something in the way he really, really focused on me as if he wanted to make sure I was okay.
Again, my sudden heart palpitations were no joke, and a wave of heat flushed through me. I struggled against his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He looked at his hand on my forehead, then back at me. He narrowed his brows, the expression that had been almost caring a second ago hardened. “Whatever is necessary,” he growled.
As if that made any sense. “Covering my forehead is neither necessary nor will it prevent bruising,” I muttered.
Suddenly, Salvini looked like he wanted to kill me again before he was grabbed from behind by Matteo, who looked exactly like I was feeling.
Confused, pissed, and very tense.
“Let her go,” Matteo barked, and Salvini immediately let go, his hands hovering in the air.
“Give us a minute,” Matteo said, then turned until he stood next to me and shoved Salvini back outside.
Our gazes were still locked until Matteo shut the door in his face in one smooth move, locking him out and the two of us in.
I would’ve given everything to be able to see Salvini’s expression after being kicked out of my room so effortlessly.
Only now was not the time since there was still one man too many on this side of the door.
“What the fuck is wrong with your brother?” I asked, shaking my head, but there was no real heat behind my words.
Matteo stared at his feet, then shook his head before he looked up at me and took a step back. At least he wasn’t in the business of invading my personal space like his asshole brother.
“No clue. I’ve never seen him act like this. I have no clue why he would insist on this marriage either and what he would gain from it.”
As if I needed any more evidence.
Vincenzo Salvini had either lost his mind or he knew I was involved in hacking into Salvini Global Enterprise’s servers. But how could he? Our coding had been solid, our actions untraceable. And I never even touched the money. How could he have found out I was involved?
And even if, why would he force me to marry his brother?
So he could control me or lock me into a marriage? Or was it completely unrelated?
Either way, the wise thing for me to do was to disappear. The wise thing for everybody I loved.
“I’ll talk to him and fix this,” Matteo said.
I almost believed him, but then again. You couldn’t trust the Italians. That’s what I’d heard growing up. And that’s what proved to be true. Matteo might seem like a nice guy…compared to his brother, but he was still a Salvini.
And in a fight between Matteo and Vincenzo, I would not bet my money on Matteo—no matter his equally tall, dark, and dangerous aura.
Salvini would smoke him in seconds.
No. I shook my head. I needed to save myself. Which meant to get my shit together, set my plan in motion, and then, get out of my life as it was.
This way, I would ensure the well-being of my family and my freedom while one-upping Salvini.
Because besting and taking the most dangerous man in the Italian Mafia down a notch would send the perfect message.
In a twisted, organized-crime kind of way.
Do not mess with the Donnellys because you will not like the outcome.