Chapter Three
Romeo
The Dom in me rose to the challenge presented by my stubborn bride, while the Don demanded I instruct her on the importance of her new role in the hierarchy as my wife.
Based on her actions earlier, it was inevitable that she would attempt to run from me.
I admired her tenacity. Her blunt refusal to accept the status quo was admirable, but indulging that behavior publicly would be a mistake.
She fought me as I dragged her from the ceremony, unwittingly feeding right into my plan.
Even on my wedding day, I could not afford to look anything but ruthless.
My guests were, for the most part, my allies in the underworld, not my friends.
Any perceived weakness in front of them undermined my power and invited a future attack.
So I would let them think the worst of me.
In my line of work, fear was the only thing keeping us at the top.
I kept my facial expression blank and hard, but allowed her to see the fire in my eyes. Vittoria was not a woman easily cowed. That should have concerned me more than it did. I hadn’t met her before today, but claiming and taming the little brat was quickly becoming my obsession.
My entire body pulsed with desire and the need to own her in more than just name. But all that would need to wait, for now, until after I punished her for this morning’s childish misadventure.
I hadn’t expected to run into her prior to the wedding, but a last-second impulse had me jump in the procession of security vehicles headed to her home a short time ago. Massimo, swearing, jumped in as well and attempted to lecture me on security details, at which I waved him off.
“It’s my wedding day, brother. Let’s have a little fun, no?”
He shook his head in disgust and turned his focus out the window. Poor Massimo, he was far too serious for his own good, and while I loved his dedication to keeping me safe, he really needed to lighten up a bit.
After everything Vittoria’s father had told me about her, flight was the most predictable reaction to her impending nuptials.
So the first thing I had done after arriving at Don Calogerà’s home was lock down potential escape routes.
As soon as I saw what was left of the trellis on the west side of the house, I knew which window belonged to my young bride-to-be’s bedroom.
I wondered how many times she’d used it before her father had finally noticed and trimmed it down. How many lovers had she secretly rendezvoused with? The thought angered me and I lingered there, eyeing the drop while torturing myself with scenarios. And then I saw her peek over the edge.
I ducked in close against the wall, under the frieze where she was unlikely to see me, even if she looked down, but she seemed more concerned with the possibility of people wandering in from the front of the house, where my car was waiting to take her away.
I thought she might step out on the frieze and inch along it to another unlocked window, which would have been dangerous enough, but instead she climbed out over the sill and onto the trellis, clearly more willing to fall a good twenty feet from the bottom rung to the ground rather than marry me.
I supposed I should feel offended, but I couldn’t help the admiring smile that spread over my face as I watched her make her way down.
Here was a woman of true courage and fierce spirit, willing to risk everything for freedom.
Dual feelings fought for supremacy as I contemplated what could happen if her recklessness led to a fall and respect for her bravery, as misplaced as it was.
Clearly, Vittoria wasn’t a woman who waited for things to work out. She was a woman of action. Unfortunately, she acted before thinking, as evident by her current situation, which came to a rapid end when the trellis broke beneath her.
I discovered I could also act without thinking as I darted out to catch her, braced for the impact of a falling body, but when she landed and fit snuggly into the cradle of my arms, all I could do was marvel at the sheer perfection of how her body fit with mine.
Her look of shock allowed me a moment to decide how to handle her and somehow, ‘Mikey’ came out to meet ‘Ms. Neapolitan,’ and it was almost fun, the two of us, just talking.
Maybe even flirting. For a split-second, I was tempted to let her go, just for the fun of tracking her down and keeping the charade in play, but my guests were on their way and the Devil could not be seen being stood up at the altar.
Now here we were, all alone for the first time.
My eyes tracked slowly over her, the silk and lace doing little to disguise the fire beneath.
Full breasts strained against the fitted bodice, hard nipples visible beneath the white silk, while the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of her throat betrayed her agitation.
Good. It meant I was not the only one affected by this moment.
That she’d be a challenge had my cock hard and pressing painfully against my pants.
It would take willpower to hold back, but right now it wasn’t about taking her virginity, if indeed it was still intact.
Such traditional attitudes were still prevalent in my world, and although I hadn’t asked during our negotiations, her father had made it known that he could not speak for her honor.
I had accepted this with a cool nod, tailored to intimidate, but in reality, I didn’t care.
Honor was not lost in the bedroom, but built by actions, particularly as she did her duty as my wife in our social circles.
Her wildness was not a moral testament, merely an opportunity to tame her to my liking.
The past was the past and not worth worrying about, what mattered was now, she belonged to me.
Mine!
A blush spread quickly across her chest and up her neck, such a visual contrast with the stark contrast of her white dress. My new bride might be angry, but she was also excited. I kept my eyes on her as I removed my tux jacket and lay it over a nearby chair.
Slowly, I rolled the sleeves of my shirt up.
Her pupils dilated when she saw my forearms. She licked her lips as if turned on by what she saw.
Was it the ink or the muscles, or maybe both.
I curled my finger at her, almost laughing at the shift from horny haughtiness to prideful scorn in her expressive face.
Her eyes roamed around the room, darting from the doors to the windows, but I’d picked this room for a reason and the only way out was behind me. Then her restless gaze paused in a predictable place and I knew what was coming next.
She grabbed a vase from a table and chucked it at me.
Her aim was good; my reflexes were better.
I didn’t flinch as it shattered against the wall behind me.
She scrabbled to find something else to throw at me, but I was too fast, pinning both her arms behind her back, and pulling her hard against my chest.
“Tsk, tsk, Tesoro. Is that any way to treat your new husband?” I growled, and smiled as I felt her shudder and watched goosebumps break out on her bare skin. “You can fight me all you want, Vittoria, but in the end, I will win. Now, if I let you go, will you be a good girl?”
Another shudder. “Yes.”
“Yes, what, wife?”
“Yes, husband?”
She was adorable, but in private, she would address me as Sir.
The thought of her beneath me, restrained and obedient, sent darker thoughts spiraling through my mind.
Christ. At this rate, I’d be hard through the entire reception.
“You will call me Sir when I desire it and right now, that is what I desire.”
Her body relaxed and became pliant in my arms.
“Yes, Sir.”
I released her wrists and slid my hands down her arms. “Good girl,” I praised.
Stabbing pain in my shin almost brought me to my knees. Almost. The brat had kicked me with one of her stilettos. My patience evaporated.
“Thank you, wife,” I said as I brought her kicking over to the bed.
“For what?” she yelled.
“For giving me the excuse to belt your ass. I was only going to give you a warning spanking, but now, well, I think you need a far harsher lesson.”
I pinned her face-down on the bed while yanking off her shoes. “You won’t be needing these anymore. You have lost your shoe privileges for one week. If you fight me on this, you will also lose your clothing privileges,” I warned.
She stopped struggling immediately.
“You wouldn’t,” she accused. The bedspread muted her voice, making her words come out sounding younger and less serious than what the situation entailed.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” I put my mouth right up to her ear and growled, “Who did you marry?”
She trembled in my grip. “Il Diavolo.”
“That’s right. ‘The Devil’, and if you know that, I think you also understand exactly what it means to belong to me.
Let this serve as a warning to you, wife, that while I admire your spirit, I will not permit defiance, and you will be punished accordingly.
No clothing privileges is only the beginning of what I can take away.
Is that really how you wish to begin our union? ”
I let her think about that for a moment, careful to keep my face a perfect blank.
Even the Devil had his limits. Barefoot, perhaps, but I couldn’t see myself forcing Vittoria to attend the reception naked.
I told myself it was practicality. Rival men would look.
Rival men would speak. And I would answer with violence.
But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous: the thought of humiliating her unsettled me.
“Our guests are expecting to greet and congratulate Mrs. Vitale. Being clothed for that is up to you, Vittoria. Obey me and do as I instruct, or I will take the choice from you. Understood?” I sounded harsh, like when I was speaking with one of my men, but she needed to obey me, this would set the tone of our marriage.