Chapter 2
DARIO
I see her walking toward me, on her father’s arm. Her dress is exquisite, it clings to her in all the right places, and yet I find myself irritated by the fact her veil covers her face entirely. I’d like to see the displeased scowl that is undoubtedly on her face as she steps toward her new husband.
We are surrounded by an over-elaborately decorated room and crowds of people who mean nothing to either her, or me. All our guests have been strategically selected by my father, gathered here to witness the ceremony that brings me one step closer to leading them.
“At least she showed.” Vito, my best man, utters under his breath, and when I turn my attention away from her and see the clever grin on his face, I shake my head.
“It would have been more than what her life is worth not to,” I remind him, and myself, of the fact that Madalina Conte had no choice but to show, no one refuses my father.
Alfeo Conte looks so proud when he reaches the top of the altar and presents his daughter's hand to me. And why wouldn’t he be? He has just earned himself the best district in our city, and lifetime security for his family. It’s a security that will be needed if his son continues to make such careless mistakes.
The priest encourages me with a nod of his head, and when I slowly lift the veil from my bride's face, I’m quite surprised at what I uncover.
There is no denying that Madalina is pretty, I saw that in the seventeen-year-old girl who vexed me at her father’s house two years ago, but what I’m seeing here now almost knocks me back on my ass.
The look on her face is just as stubborn as it was back then, though her eyelashes have been extended, and the gloss on her lips is making me wonder how it would feel to slip my cock between them. I guess being her husband gives me the privilege of finding out.
She looks up at me through those lashes, with a smirk on her face, the kind that warns of trouble. And I smile at her out of pity, because she may be confident now but she hasn’t got a clue what’s coming to her.
The priest gets on with his words, and the long, drawn-out traditional service my father insisted upon seems to go on forever. Madalina doesn’t break eye contact with me for the entirety of it, and when she speaks her vows, I don’t miss the way her voice expels them as if they are a threat. Leading up to this, all I've thought about doing is breaking that spirit I witnessed when we first met. It’s hard to believe that here I am, amused by it enough to actually consider letting her keep it.
The ceremony finally ends and the priest turns us around to face the congregation so he can announce to them all that we are man and wife. Mr. and Mrs. DeMarco. The future of the New York underworld. As hard as the girl tries, she can’t keep the sourness off her face, especially when I stick with tradition and use this opportunity to give my wife her first kiss. I lead her into a false sense of security when my lips gently press against hers, then decide to dash it away just as quickly as I move my mouth up to her ear.
“I hope you’re still wearing that fake smile for me tonight when I’m fucking all the sass out of your virgin cunt,” I whisper, causing her to hold her breath, and when I pull back and see the slight quiver on her lips, the satisfaction of her reaction already gets my cock hard.
We spend the rest of the day being congratulated by our guests, there is no time for conversation between us, and even if there was, I doubt we would have much to say to each other. Madalina plays her part well, smiling from the top table, almost appearing to be grateful that she will be bonded to me for the rest of her life.
We cut the six-tiered cake, we dance a first dance, and when the guests start to leave and the car that will take us to her new home arrives she starts to show little glimpses of her nerves.
My new wife kisses her father and step-mother goodbye, while her brother gives me a look of warning. It’s amusing to think he considers himself a threat to me, amusing enough that I decide not to make him pay for it, and as I take my bride's hand and lead her toward the car I notice that her palm feels clammy against mine.
My driver opens the door for her, and when she gets inside and realizes I’m coming straight in after, she maneuvers the train of her long, lace gown and slides across the seat to make space for me. Lots of space, which makes it perfectly clear how she feels about this arrangement.
The car pulls away, and the silence descends as we make our way towards our home.
The way her body twists away from me irritates me even though I shouldn’t let it, and I try my best not to look at her in case she catches my reflection in the window. The tension in our forty-minute journey makes it feel like a lifetime, and when we finally pull through the gates to my home, getting out of the car and away from the atmosphere that's built up inside it, feels like a relief.
I shake my head at my driver once I’m out, then stand to hold the door open for her myself. She, of course, refuses the hand I offer, insisting on struggling out of the car by herself. So I let her, standing by and watching in amusement as she struggles with her dress and flops around like a salmon out of water.
I wait for her to be on her feet before I shake my head and step up to the front door, holding it open for her, like a true gentleman. She shows me no gratitude, just storms past me into the reception where she immediately stills. Her head lifts to examine the tall, decorative ceilings, and although she tries not to show that she’s impressed, she fails miserably.
I debate on how this should be handled. The girl has shown enough signs that she’s scared. It’s clear now, that her bratty, little attitude is only a mask to hide that from me. But that doesn’t mean it can be tolerated, and unfortunately for her, it goes against my nature to show kindness.
“Come.” I gesture my head toward the double doors that lead into the living room then, stepping through them, I make my way straight to the bar. Madalina follows, looking as pretty as she does vulnerable when she stands in the center of the room, wearing the skin-tight lace gown that I have every intention of ruining before the night is over. Her eyes warily survey the space around her and I can practically hear her heart beating from her chest.
I take two glasses and pour us something strong, and when I move to stand in front of her and offer her one, she stares at the glass in my hand before she brings those pretty, blue eyes up to meet with mine.
“I’m too young to drink,” she tells me, the flush on her cheeks confirming that her confidence has completely up and left her.
“Madalina, in case you have not noticed, I am not one to adhere to the law. Take the drink, you will need it.” I look down at the glass and watch her hand take it, causing the ice inside it to clink from the way she trembles. I gesture my hand toward the couch to offer her a seat and when she takes it, I stand tall in front of her and raise my glass before watching her take her first sip. I find it a little cute how she screws up her nose and almost chokes on the very expensive single malt her father gifted me after the arrangement we made became official but not cute enough to go easy on her.
“Tell me, Madalina, are you a virgin?” Up until now, I’ve assumed that she has been raised correctly, saving herself for a husband. I hope to be correct because I want so much for it to be me who takes this girl's innocence and makes her weep pretty, painful tears in the process.
She looks up at me as she reaches her arm around my leg and places her glass on the coffee table.
“What sort of question is that?” Her eyes narrow as if I’ve overstepped.
“The kind that a husband has the right to know. Are you a virgin?” I repeat.
“Yes!” Her answer comes out sharp and crude, and the way she refuses to make eye contact with me, makes me want to grab her face and force her eyes onto mine, but it doesn’t take away the fact that her answer pleases me.
Since there is no point wasting any more time, I finish what’s in my glass and place it on the table beside hers so I can offer her my hand.
“Stand up,” I demand, looking down at my virgin wife and considering all the positions I could break her in. I’m a little shocked when she does as I request so quickly, and that her hand takes mine as she slowly rises to her feet. I wrap my other hand around her waist, drawing her closer, and smile at the way she gasps when I spin her around so my chest presses against her back.
“Are you scared?” I whisper, taking her jaw in my hand and tilting her head so my mouth has access to the skin on her neck. I’m even more surprised when she offers me some honesty and nods against my grip. I reward that honesty with a trail of gentle kisses that lead all the way up to her ear.
“You should be.” I clamp my teeth down around her earlobe and the very expensive diamond earring she’s wearing. The fingers I have clasped around her jaw tense when I feel a shudder travel through her body.
“I am going to stretch your tight, little pussy so it fits me perfectly, and then I’m going to fill it to the brim with my cum until your womb holds the next DeMarco heir,” I whisper.
“No!” The word comes out fast. So fast that she forgets to hide the panic from her voice.
“No?” I repeat her simple little word back to her as my free hand slowly moves around her body and presses against her flat stomach.
“You don’t like the thought of carrying my child?” I can hear the amusement in my tone and can only imagine the irritation that carrying a permanent reminder that she is owned by me would cause her. The thought makes my cock press into the dip of her spine.
“I don’t know you…This is all too fast,” she tells me under her breath.
“You are my wife now, Madalina. You will obey me. You will take my cum inside you, and be fucking grateful for it. You’re not a spoiled, little girl anymore, you are a woman now.” I step away from her and pick up her glass from the table, handing it to her so she can finish. And she shows me that woman when her eyes pierce me with hate, as she knocks it back.