3. Carina
CHAPTER 3
Carina
C onstantine Donati walks with a grace that not even the King of England carries. It’s the gait of his walk, so self assured and confident but not enough to be blatantly arrogant that causes people to part for him like the Red Sea while they can’t help but gawk.
Of all of the many faces here tonight, both influential and political, it is him that will be the most remembered.
Not just because of his dashingly good looks or even the money that stacks behind him skyscraper high. It’s because Constantine Donati is the most important person in any room that he’s present in.
The King of the Underworld.
The Devil of the East Coast.
A feared man among monsters.
And yet with all that power and fear that clings to his name I don’t feel an ounce of fear towards him at all.
Even my brother, one of the most sadistic and cruelest men that I know alongside our papa regards Constantine with slight apprehension.
To elicit that type of reaction from him means that everything they say about the man is true.
He’s not just a myth to scare the lowly criminals to make them think twice before dealing on his territory. He’s more than just a man. More than flesh and bone. His darkness and immorality have made him become what all men in our world could only hope to be.
The perfect ideal.
A true King with a legacy.
My brother tips his head slightly down towards my ear. Lowly he reminds me, “Smile, mia Carina. Men find women who smile charming.”
I hold back the scoff that wants to rip out of my throat, and I bite my tongue so hard that the taste of metallic explodes in my mouth.
Men.
Us women do not have to smile for no man.
And if I don’t feel like smiling I’m not going to fucking smile.
But to appease my fratello I bare my teeth at him with a grin that is more beastly than demure.
He grunts, the awful sound most pleasant to my ears.
Perhaps I’m a bit sadistic myself to take such satisfaction in my brother’s frustration with me.
I may be complying with his and papa’s demands but under no circumstances does that mean I have to become a docile woman.
They may order me around like a dog but they confuse me for the wrong type of bitch.
I value my life, yes, but I also demand the same amount of respect as every other man in The Fiore Famiglia.
His blue eyes harden to ice. “Must I remind you again, within the span of ten minutes, what will happen if you don’t succeed tonight?”
“I know what is expected of me tonight, Luca,” I say in a bored tone, tired of his constant reminders. I’m not a dense woman, if I was papa would have found a way to have gotten rid of me long ago. The fact that my brother treats me as such is both disrespectful and degrading.
“Eccellente.” He surveys the crowd around us and politely nods his head to one of the state judges of New York. Charles Huntington, a man in his late sixties with a rounded stomach and a full face that shows his gluttony proudly. His grey hair is thinning but he’s too proud to admit it. It is combed evenly to hide the balding spots that he can’t help from surfacing. He nods back at Luca subtly and with a hint of smile in his moss green eyes.
Charles Huntington, a respectable and honorable Judge of New York is affiliated with the Italian Mob. Specifically, his allegiance lies with The Donati Famiglia.
He has spent an abundance of money for erasing his past where his father had served for Stefano Donati.
Stefano Donati was The Don of The Donati Famiglia, papa of Constantine Donati, and when he passed away ten years ago Constantine took his place as Don at the ripe age of twenty-eight.
It was unheard of at the time for a man of that age to lead an entire organization. Many had thought with him as the new Don The Donati Famiglia would slowly die. That Constantine would run his papa’s organization to the ground.
I know my papa was one of the people who secretly wished for his failure.
As did many others.
With the fall of The Donati Famiglia it would mean a new family would rise.
They all had hoped for it. And in the beginning of his reign he had multiple assassination attempts. All of which had failed miserably and led to countless deaths.
For his dashing good looks, charming smile and captivating eyes he is also merciless, deceiving and barbarous.
Any Made Man is but Constantine Donati is something else entirely.
I don’t believe a man like him had to experience a rebirth. No, a man like him was born that way. Which only makes him a thousand times more dangerous than his reputation perceives him to be.
Why else would they call him The Devil?
My brother takes a flute of champagne from the waiter who passes us by. He doesn’t even have the decency to snare one for myself.
The alcohol would be welcoming for what lies ahead of me this evening.
“A true gentleman serves a lady before he serves himself,” the haunting yet beautiful deep and rich voice that carries an Italian accent says from behind us. I watch as my brother plasters a charming smile on his face that is a tad too wide to be natural.
I then, too, turn around to the man or rather Devil, who will decide if he will take my hand in marriage that my papa offered.
I should have prepared myself before I had turned.
Because seeing him up close, taking his beauty in with fresh clear eyes has the breath stuck in my throat.
His eyes, the shade of long aged whisky spent in a wooden barrel are rich and strong. They’re intoxicating and if you stare too long you’ll become inebriated.
I blink slowly as I swallow due to my mouth having gone dry.
There’s an unfamiliar rhythm to my heartbeat. The dead muscular organ brings itself back to life with a startling pace.
“Ah, si, Constantine,” my brother quickly agrees. “But mia cara sorella does not appreciate champagne.” The lie flows easily from his lips. I enjoy all alcohol, especially the ones that burn. For those are the ones that remind me I’m alive.
Constantine cocks his head to the side, detecting if my brother is telling the truth or a lie. And from the smirk that graces his lips I think he has chosen the latter.
He then pins his gaze on me. His eyes do a sweep of my body, lingering on the flare of my hips and the narrowness of my waist before meeting my own.
Then boldly he takes a step closer. The air between us magnetizes with something between a deep hatred and a mutual attraction.
It is clear in those intoxicatingly dark eyes of his that he likes what he sees, but the way they darken to coal when they meet mine holds something much more sinister.
I stand tall before him, squaring my shoulders and not looking away from his eyes.
I am not a woman who cowers.
“Per favore, forgive my younger sister,” Luca apologizes on my behalf but Constantine doesn’t spare him a glance. He keeps those whisky eyes on mine. “She’s usually much more well-mannered. This is-”
“Carina Fiore.” The way he says my name, the sound of it on his tongue, velvety with a deep caress meant to pull me in the dark depths of the unknown, has arisen goosebumps on my flesh.
“As you can see, Constantine my sister-”
Then he does spare my brother a glance. His eyes cut him with a sharpness and coldness that is unnerving. “Signore,” he corrects him. “We are not close enough to be on a first name basis and even if we were my rank above yours means you will speak to me with the respect I am owed. Capisce?”
Luca’s jaw tightens as his cheeks turn red.
I refrain from widening my eyes.
I have never heard anyone speak to my brother in that manner other than papa. And even then papa isn’t as severe. Papa may be emotionless but he isn’t as cut and dry.
He’ll at least have the mercy to deceive you.
“Capisce,” he responds through tight lips and gives a small nod.
“Carina,” he says my name again and I hate how my body comes alive. There’s a flutter in my stomach that I can’t quite identify but I immediately want to kill it. Purge it from existence.
He extends his large roughened hand that has furrows of dark hair on his knuckles and even more so on the exposed olive skin of his wrist. “Dance with me.”
I notice right away how he doesn’t ask me.
Constantine Donati isn’t a man who asks for anything.
You’ll obey his every command.
And my instincts, the one that sits like lead in my gut, are telling me not to take his hand. My head is screaming at me to run while I can. Run far away, from this life, but most importantly from him. Because once he has me I have this sick feeling that he’ll never let me go.
Haven’t all women been warned never to dance with the Devil?
This evening I have to do my part.
My life depends on it.
I nod my head and take his outstretched hand. His fingers curl around mine with a gentleness that I wasn’t expecting.
As he leads me to the center of the dance floor I can’t help but feel as if I am walking to the edge of the plank. One wrong move with him and he’ll send me to my death.
With a nod of his head to the conductor the swell of music from the orchestra begins. I recognize the piece, Chopin - Nocturnes, Op. 48: No. 1 in C minor.
A melancholy piece, one too depressing to dance to.
He places his large hand on my lower back and presses me close to him.
The scent of cinnamon, musk and sin fill my nostrils. A heady combination that one might not be able to resist.
I am not a foolish woman nor am I one to fall at whims so easily.
Yet, still, my body reacts to his touch. Lighting flames in my nerve endings. Sending mixed signals to my brain.
With my hand held delicately in his he interlocks our fingers, his hand practically swallowing mine whole.
And I can’t help but feel like little red riding hood snared in the teeth of the big bad wolf.
He leads the dance, sweeping us across the floor with an elegance that even professionals can admire.
I keep my eyes averted from his. This close I don’t trust myself to stare in the whisky color of his eyes. For I don’t know if I’ll become inebriated or want to pluck them out with a fine knife. The emotions he is stirring in me either way must never see the light of day.
I must be in control. Have perfect poise.
The fact that he is awakening me from the dead disturbs me.
And it’s one more thing I can hate him for.
“Quite a somber piece to dance to,” I comment, my voice a soft caress meant to lure him in.
He hums thoughtfully. From my peripheral vision I see him incline his head towards me. I feel the heat of his breath along my neck. “One would beg to differ that you could dance to anything.”
“It certainly isn’t appropriate.”
His fingers on my lower back tease the opening of my open back satin floor length formal gown. My breath catches in my throat.
I feel his lips against the shell of my ear as he asks me, “Do I look like the type of man who concerns himself with what’s appropriate or politically correct?”
“No,” I breathe.
“I expect you to look at me when you speak to me.”
I grind down on my teeth, tempted to ruin his expensive premium leather Italian shoes by staining them with blood once I pierce through them with my heel.
“If you expect it, that doesn’t necessarily mean it will happen. It’s only likely,” I tell him coolly.
He chuckles, the dark sound a melancholy melody to tempt even the purest of souls. “Are you saying you would respond better to an order?”
“I’m merely stating that if you expect something there is the slight chance that it may not happen.”
He hums again, this time amused.
What does it mean for one’s life to amuse the Devil?
“And if I order you now to look in my eyes, will you?”
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
Abruptly but in time with the crescendo of the music he spins me out. The sound of my dress makes a dramatic swoosh across the marbled floor. Then just as abruptly he pulls me back in and dips me. His arm cradling my back and his hand wholly covering my outer thigh as he bends it. His body fills the space between my parted legs as he too leans in with me. I’m so close to the floor the ends of my hair kiss it. My eyes fly wide to his, finally looking into them since our dance had started.
A smirk graces his lips. “It seems as if I don’t have to order you after all.”
Damn him.
I grind down on my teeth to the point where my molars ache.
The crowd erupts in applause and bright lights flash.
He raises us back up with ease and keeps his large hand on the span of my back. Except this time his fingers are splayed on my skin.
An electric current zaps throughout my body not because of the rough texture to his fingers, but because of what his fingers are touching.
My heart gallops from my chest and takes hold in my throat.
He tilts his head to the side, those whisky eyes narrowing down at me. “You’re scarred.”
I’m fully aware that I am wearing a gown that exposes my scarred skin. It’s papa’s and Luca’s own twisted way of saying that they even torture their own flesh and blood. If they can do that then what makes anyone else think they can be spared?
But no one has ever come close to my scars, let alone touch them.
Breathing through my nose I reply, “And you can state the obvious.”
He hums again. His eyes are still assessing me like I’m his very own test object and he’s awaiting the results.
His fingers run languidly along the jagged irregular lines of my scars. They create a burn worse than when I was receiving my lashings.
“Don’t worry, Carina, I do not take pleasure in hurting women unless they are traitors.” This piece of information surprises me but I do not let it show.
I arch a cool brow. “Doesn’t the Devil take pleasure in the torture of anyone?”
“You speak as if you know me.” There’s a sharpness to his tone, like the tip of a blade pressed to one’s throat.
“Doesn’t everyone have an inkling of knowledge about you?” I counter.
“They only know what I want to be known,” he corrects me.
The piece will soon be coming to an end and so will our dance.
And as much as I am ready to be freed of him I can’t help but want to discover more about him. To be able to know what no one else does.
It’s for strategic advantages, is what I tell myself.
It’s because one must be close to their enemy to be able to cause their downfall, is what I tell myself next.
But is it really?
This banter between us, the fire and ice, my indifference to his interest has been the most alive I have felt in months.
It’s only fitting really, how the cause of my death which led to my rebirth would also be the cause of my awakening.
And as much as I long to feel alive once again I hate with a burning passion that it is him who makes me feel it.
Damn him back to Hell where he belongs.
“And you want me to know you take pleasure in hurting women who are traitors. Why?”
His fingers stop their exploration of my scars as he flattens his hand on the middle of my back and pulls me flush against him.
I ignore the damn flutters that make their presence known once again.
“Because if I am to take Savio Fiore’s offer for your hand you must understand,” he begins and then unclasping our hands he pinches my chin between his finger and thumb and tips my head back to keep my gaze on his, “if you are to betray me I will take pleasure in making you bleed.”
A shiver slithers its way down my spine without me being able to stop it.
And I see it now.
This. . .this is the man that people fear.
This face is the one who haunts people in their dreams and keeps them terrified when light breaks.
I swallow in fear and he smiles because of it.
“But you know all too well the consequences of a traitor, don’t you Carina?” I narrow my eyes at him questioningly. “Your fratellino, Elio, si?”
I stiffen in his hold. My bones turn to stone as dread hits hard and heavy in the pit of my stomach. My chest constricts and I find it hard to breathe.
Nobody and I mean nobody knows that I was the one who murdered my little brother in cold blood.
Everyone in The Fiore Famiglia, besides papa and Luca, think that Luca was the one who ended our brother’s life.
It’s only another reason for his men to fear him. To earn more of their respect. To always have their obedience and loyalty.
But the glint in Constantine’s eyes tells me differently. He seems to know the unspoken truth.
“You see, I know you, Carina Fiore. I remember the girl you once were. She had vibrancy in her eyes and a smile that lit up her entire face. You had an innocence so sweet that it could have caused a toothache. But now, Carina, now your taste is sharp on the tongue. And it leaves a bitter aftertaste that one can’t get rid of.”
My lungs feel as if they are shrinking inside the cavity of my ribs. Deflating like a balloon.
To be seen in full transparency has me shaken down to my very core.
“Tell me, Carina, how did it feel to submerge yourself in the darkness?”
“You act as if there was a choice,” I bite.
He smirks devilishly at me and it’s then that I realize my mistake.
I reacted.
“Your eyes, cara Carina, your eyes have been dead for months but would you look at that? They’re alive.”
I tear my eyes away from him and try to focus on anything other than all the emotions swelling inside of me at once. I’m a volcano about to erupt. A woman without her composure. My strings that papa and Luca control so beautifully are about to come undone.
All because of Constantine Donati.
There in the distance, on the outskirts of the dance floor, I see my brother with the same champagne flute in his hand. He stands beside a man, conversing with him. The man seems far more interested than Luca, for he is animated when he talks. However, my brother’s gaze lies solely on me. There’s a darkness there, a darkness that is different from the one I see in Constantine’s.
I can read my brother’s mind.
He’s secretly hoping that I fail.
If I do, I will no longer become the most important piece on the chess board.
I’ll no longer be the apple of papa’s eyes.
All the attention will fall solely on him once again.
Before my rebirth I’ve never known my brother to be so sinister.
And here I am in the clutches of the Devil but my body fears the man in the distance, for it knows what’s to come if I don’t succeed tonight.
They say you fear what you don’t understand but I have to disagree.
I fear what I know lies ahead.
I fear what I know one is capable of.
And with Luca Fiore I fear what he’ll do to me if Constantine denies papa’s offer.
“You’re afraid,” he acknowledges and my eyes return to his. They curiously look at me but he sounds fascinated when he concludes, “But not of me.”
I’ve already made one too many mistakes tonight so I keep my mouth shut to prevent another.
The music finally comes to its end. The conductor giving the final direction and the strings' haunting melody linger in the air.
Since our dance has come to an end I go to remove myself from his hold but his hand only presses me tighter against him.
I can feel each hard edge and line of his body. The black tuxedo jacket with black lapels does nothing to hide his physique. In fact it only enhances it.
Leave it to Constantine Donati to dominate even a tuxedo.
What isn’t there that bends to his will?
“Another dance,” he orders lowly, his eyes intent on mine.
Daringly I look past him and see my brother subtly pointing to his Movado watch plated in yellow gold.
Constantine pinches my chin and forces me to look at him. “Do not make me repeat myself, Carina.”
My eyes flare. “What would you do if I did?”
His lips graze the shell of my ear as he promises me darkly, “I’ll make that ass of yours so red that you won’t be able to sit for a week.”
My head reels back as I regard him with an arched brow and pursed lips. “I thought you didn’t take pleasure in hurting women.”
His eyes darken with mischief. Liquid pools of black that want to drag you in and remain lost in the depths of them. “Trust me, mia Carina, there is a fine line between pleasure and pain that can be blurred.”
“Are you suggesting that I will take pleasure from pain?” I balk and for the first time since my rebirth I scoff. I audibly scoff. “You must be mad to believe that I’ll let you do that, let alone touch me,” I spit out.
Oh, I am seething. My veins coursing with fire and my body vibrating with a fury so palpable that I know he can feel it.
“When I make you my wife I’ll be able to do anything I want with you,” he tells me. My nostrils flare as I glare up at him.
His eyes make a perusal down my body as his hand shifts to my lower back. The tips of his fingers kissing my ass.
I inhale a sharp breath.
Then his eyes take account of my lips stained in a merlot red before giving me his eyes again.
“You’ll be begging for my touch. This body of yours will be mine to do with as I please.”
“Over my dead body.”
He chuckles darkly and I loathe the sound of it. “Ah, Carina,” he breathes my name and I loathe how my body responds to it. “Your body has been dead for months. I’m only going to bring it back to life.”
“I promise you this, Signore,” I spit, “ if I become your wife-”
“ When you become my wife,” he corrects me.
I ignore that comment and continue on with a harsh bite in my tone. “You will not touch me. I forbid it.”
He snorts. “You forbid it?” He asks like I told him the joke of the millennia. “You’re not the one who makes the rules here, leonessa. Your father made a deal with the Devil. Do you know what that means, Carina?” He arches a brow and I remain quiet. “It means he cannot take it back. It means you’re mine for as long as I fucking wish. And as long as you’re mine I will do with you as I fucking please.”
From being papa’s marionette to his.
God, how I loathe him.
I want to take the nearest object and bash him in the head until his skull caves in.
I’m more than half tempted to take my precious heels and coat them in a new color of his blood.
But I’ve already caused enough of a stir this evening.
He’s already rattled me, and I acted upon my emotions. I let them control me because of him.
Damn him.
“But I am not yours at this moment,” I correct him. He looks astonished by my bravery. But it’s not bravery, for I don’t fear him. It’s my loathing that makes me so bold and blatant. The need for him to understand that I am not one of his countless possessions. “I thank you for the dance, Signore but now while I still have the will I must leave you.”
There in the dark depths of his eyes for the briefest of moments I see that he's impressed. But like a flicker of a candle the next second it is gone. If I had blinked I would have missed it.
His hand slides away from my lower back and then trails to my hip before making a path down the length of my outer thigh.
I shiver involuntarily. A dark gleam lights his eyes.
When he finally removes his hand from my body his touch still lingers. Like embers on my skin.
I nod my head out of respect but grit my teeth as I do.
As I turn to leave he captures my wrist in his big meaty hand.
I look back at him with my brow raised.
Then he does something startling. He bows slightly and brings my hand up to his lips. He blows on my hand, his hot breath tingling my skin. His eyes stay on mine and I’m lost in his gaze. Keeping contact he then presses his soft lips to my skin. Goosebumps coat my flesh as my heart beats rapidly in my chest.
From my peripheral vision I see the flash of cameras. I hear amongst the crowd the gossip between women.
Who am I and how have I captured the attention of Constantine Donati?
“Constantine,” he says against my skin. He presses one more opened mouth kiss to my hand but keeps my fingers hostage. “You will call me by my name.”
“You already know how I react to orders, Signore.” I don’t say his name out of spite. Even if we are to be wed his name will never pass my lips.
“And we have already discovered you obey me regardless,” he reminds me. “Those lips of yours will say my name, Carina and when they do I’ll be inside you.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t have to hold for long,” he says confidently.
I then violently snatch my hand from his and he lets me go with a chuckle. Amusement and challenge dance in those eyes.
As I turn my back on him I still hear his throaty laughter. My heart still races and my skin still burns from his touch, from his lips.
My nerve endings are exploding inside me. My mind is reeling.
And although I have succeeded in what was meant to be done this evening I can’t help but feel like I have failed myself.
I’ve impressed the Devil but by doing so I’ve betrayed myself.
That will happen no more.
He will no longer get a rise out of me.
He’s the reason why I had to be reborn and for that I will never submit to him.
I hate Constantine Donati with a burning passion. And if I have the choice to kill him I will take it.
There is nothing that will change that.
Nothing.