Chapter Two
Gianna
Being an afterthought is kind of my thing.
My mother barely remembers she has a daughter. Not when she is too busy banging the pool guy, the gardener, and her security. Father doesn’t care because he married her for one reason: to create an alliance with her father. Too bad he had no idea her father had long ago burnt his bridges and had alliances with no one.
My father almost forgot about me entirely. Until I was useful. Once his creepy boss from the waste disposal company set his sights on me, it was over. They started talking about weddings and agreements I have had no say in. It is not uncommon for marriages to be arranged in our world. I thought perhaps I would escape that fate, but it seems my father has other thoughts.
“Behave tonight. You must make a good impression on him.”
“Well, being as he wants to marry me without us ever speaking, I assume I made all the impression I need to.”
“Do not make a fool out of me, Gianna!”
Cowering under his shout, under his glowering look, I nod. I do not want to get married. Least of all to one of the men in the five families. Marconi is a spoiled brat who wants me just because he thinks he can have me. We’ve never spoken more than a hello. We know nothing about each other. All he cares about is how I fill out a dress and how docile I will be.
Newsflash: docile is not a word ever used to describe me.
Take for instance tonight’s affair. It is black tie as these stupid engagement parties often are. Black or white dresses for the women and dark suits for the men. I bypass the handful of dresses my mother set out for me. I choose a bright, pink, sparkling number that I have no other excuse to wear.
It is not demure or docile at all. I will stand out and cause a scene I suspect. It is the least I can do at my own engagement party. If I have to be there, I will be there on my own terms. My father calls me a spoiled brat, just as Marconi is. He says we’re a perfect match. I disagree.
I am not a spoiled brat. I am a princess. A strong, proud, warrior princess willing to do whatever I can to screw up this engagement. There are no rules I won’t break or lines I won’t cross to run him off. I will not be his bride.
Slipping on high heels my mother and father would never approve of, I brush out my thick hair, leaving it down. It is wild and slightly unkempt. They will hate that too. I do not bother with makeup which will also upset them. They prefer I am made up to look like a doll, some inanimate object.
Knowing I am about to piss off plenty of people, I head downstairs. My would-be fiancé is down there ahead of me, shaking hands, taking wads of cash from everyone here to wish us a good marriage. No amount of cash tucked into my palm could make me want this marriage.
When I step into the foyer, I let out a little sigh. I barely know all of these people. They’re around all the time, yet I doubt I’ve spoken to more than a handful of them. I have done my best to fade into the background. To never be noticed. It worked until Marconi decided he liked a wallflower.
“Mi bella ,” he greets me with open arms and a crooked smile. I cringe as I step down from the stairway, trying to avoid his embrace. No such luck. Bending his head, he presses a kiss to my cheek and hisses a warning in my ear. “Go back upstairs and change! You know better.”
Shaking my head, I pull back, beaming up at him with a fake smile. “Thank you, I love this dress too.”
His face twists in a frown as his hand circles my arm. It is like a shackle on me, yanking me after him. There will be bruises later, and I suspect that is what he wants. Reminders of how much he did not appreciate my little act of defiance. Well, he ought to get used to it. If we do make it to the altar, there will be plenty more acts of defiance to piss him off.
Just as my arm starts to tingle from the pressure of his grip, a man I do not recognize sails past us. Tall and broad, he is in a dark suit that looks as if it was made for him. And it probably was. He pauses as he passes us, shooting a dismissive look at Santino Marconi that stuns me. Everyone else here bows their heads and gets out of his way. Not this man.
Beside him, a huge, handsome man in his own snazzy suit shoots Santino the same look. Only he doesn’t stop at a look. He advances on him fast. I wonder for a moment if this is where my betrothed bullshit ends. Is this man going to end Santino—and my misery—right here and now?
“ Vuole scambiare due parole con lei .” Who wants a word with me?
Why me? And…who is he ? Not just whoever is asking for a word with me, but the other well-dressed man who stalked off after throwing that glare at Santino. I would love to learn his ways. I almost laugh at the stupid thought. Before I get lost in daydreams of being taught how to grimace and scowl, Santino speaks.
“No. He has no right to speak with her.”
“You want to tell Gabriel no?”
Gabriel. The man in the nice suit with the nice dark eyes and the big, wide body. He looked at Santino the way one would look at an ant ruining their pretty picnic. I stiffen my spine as Santino glares back at me, letting go of his vice like grip on my arm.
“Go. Greet our guest, it is the polite thing to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble what he would expect from me.
Santino smirks at the other man, tipping his jaw at him. As if to say, look, she’s well trained. Lord knows both he and my father would adore it if I bowed down to either of them. Followed the rules, did as I was told. It has never been an option for me—doing what I am told. There was a reason my father warned me to behave earlier. Because by default, I rarely am behaving how he prefers me to.
“Who is it who wants to speak to me? Is it…is it allowed?” I force the words out, keeping my chin tucked close to my chest.
Running into the big wall of a man leading me from the others, I gasp. He turns back to look down at me. His eyes seem strange. One is blue, the other is gray. There is something off about the gray one, and I suspect it has something to do with the scar running down his left cheek. I want to ask because it is a curious thing, but I have learned not to ask these things.
“Gabriel Capelli. Heard of him?”
“No-no, sir. Do I call you sir? Is that…”
Turning back to me again, he shakes his head with a laugh. “Nah, sweetheart, you call me Dario. Far as I am concerned, you don’t need to call any of these other fucks sir, either” he adds with a wink.
Smiling at him, I let myself relax a little. Not that I should. I am in the presence of dangerous men. Men who steal, hurt, even kill those who get in their way. I should know better by now than to trust anyone, even if they ask me to. Especially if they ask me to.
Coming to a stop, I smell the sweet cherry scent of a cigar. It reminds me of my grandfather, my mother’s father. He was the last man I trusted. He was a good man. Somehow, this sets me at ease as I face Mr. Capelli. I am still confused why he called me over. Even more confused that with as possessive as he is, Santino allowed it. It must mean he is a lot scarier than my future husband. That should scare me, but it doesn’t.
Gabriel turns to face us, smelling of whisky and his sweet cigar. It creates a plume of smoke in front of his face. I almost laugh. It is very Godfather-esque, meeting him this way in a dark corner of this party. He steps forward, out of that smoke and I step back.
Because I am not prepared. Not for how beautiful he is. His hair is longer on top than most of the other men, shorn close on the sides. I find myself wondering how it would feel between my fingers. His light eyes stare at me, not looking me over, just looking directly at me. Seeing me.
“Mr. Capelli,” I stammer, my words sounding too thick.
“Gianna,” he whispers back, sending a wave of shock through me. Oh, his voice is…it’s warm, velvety, intimate. I want to hear him say my name again, that way. I take a shaky breath, taking a step closer to him.
“I... I am not supposed to talk to anyone else. Just my...well...I mean...my fiancé. He won’t let me talk to another man, if I am not back to him….” Gabriel’s eyes flash as he reaches out to grasp my wrist. It is a gentle touch, nothing like the way Santino handled me earlier.
“He will do nothing,” he declares, clear, crisp, commanding.
I stare at his mouth after he says this. I don’t understand it, but I know he is right. I don’t know how I know or how he could be right. Yet there is no doubt in my head that his words ring true. Something tells me he would have the upper hand in any dealing with Santino.
To my surprise, he takes my hand to lead me outside. I hesitate for just a moment. If my father saw me with another man, if Santino feels slighted by this, I am the one who will pay the price. Yet, I am so intrigued by this handsome man who stands out from the others.
We walk out on the patio, overlooking the sprawling gardens that make up the back acre of the property. We live in a modest home, but this would be my home now. I do not like a single thing about it. I wonder where Gabriel might live. What it might be like.
Out on the patio, we talk for a few moments. He stuns me by asking about my dreams. No one has ever asked me that. They told me the sort of dream life they thought I should crave. The life they lived and screwed up right in front of me. Why would I want that same life?
Telling him a silly little girl dream about wanting to get drunk at a local bar, I am smiling wide. I never get to talk about myself. Unless I am fighting for something I want, I hold my tongue. Before this engagement was announced, I did not want for much.
Getting drunk at a bar with friends. Hell, having friends. Going out to dance in a country bar. Sit on the beach from sunrise to sunset. Little things I was never allowed to do. All I ever put up a fight for was my Sunday’s. After church, I begged for a little freedom. It was never anything big. Just me being by myself for a few hours.
I find myself wanting to tell Gabriel about my Sunday’s. About what I do when I get to be alone. And I wonder if he has a ritual like that. Just a simple thing that he likes to do for himself. Something that reminds him that he is human and imperfect in the way he was meant to be. Before I can, he is telling me to head inside, ending the reprieve he had given me.
Back inside, I cannot stop thinking about him. I don’t even mind Santino keeping his gorilla grip on me for the rest of the night. I smile, I greet the others, and I pretend I am going to go along with this sham. I am not, of course. I could never say yes to a man who doesn’t ask me about my dreams.
Now that I know men like Gabriel exist, I think I ought to hold out for a man like that. One who does ask about my dreams.