4. Gio
GIO
Ihave her. At fucking last.
Vampa looks at me in the car’s rearview mirror. Cocks a brow, asking the unspoken questions.
Is it really her?
Are we close to ending this?
I nod, allowing myself a moment of triumph as I relax in the backseat of the luxurious sedan. My patience and plotting have finally paid off.
Viviana Salviati is mine.
Only, she’s not a Salviati anymore. She’s a Marchetti. My wife. Purchased off her father at an astronomical price. One I’d gladly pay a million times over.
There was a moment back in Chicago when I thought I was going to have to kill the fucker and accept the ensuing war, but Carlo Salviati saved me the trouble. Saved his own life, too, conceding just in time.
Rather, his greed did.
Threatening to kill his youngest daughter didn’t hurt, either.
Once I made the terms of our arrangement excruciatingly clear, the asshole was more than happy to sign on the dotted line and betray his long-standing alliance with the Valoris.
I don’t know the conditions of Viviana’s arranged marriage to that pezzo di merda Tino, but whatever the terms, they weren’t enough to stop her father from upgrading to a new arrangement, dollar signs dancing in his greedy fucking eyes.
Carlo Salviati walked his dutiful daughter straight into my waiting arms, counting his money every step of the way.
In some families, there really is a price on loyalty.
Not in mine.
Not unless you count the liters of blood we spill when someone threatens us, betrays us, dares to steal from us. Territory, property. Life.
Then the cost is high, and no debt goes unpaid.
It’s a truth everyone in this world—my world—knows in the deepest crevice of their blood-stained souls. For true ‘ndranghetisti, loyalty matters above everything else. If you’re unfaithful, you’re dead, and it will most likely be your closest family members who kill you.
It was true when my father was capobastone of our ’Ndrangheta family.
It is true now that I’ve taken his place.
Tension unknots in the base of my spine. The final part of the plan is underway. Finally, I have what I need. My new bride.
The Salviatis knew what they were doing when they sent their eldest daughter to that convent. It’s tantamount to a high-security prison, as impossible to escape as it is to penetrate. Even the craziest among us aren’t going to fuck with a bunch of nuns.
It’s taken me countless bribes and far too much time to get actionable intel on the Convento dell'Addolorata’s American ward.
What I found made executing my plan even harder.
Viviana was a captive inside that place.
Since her arrival a decade ago, she’s been allowed beyond the medieval walls exactly twice.
Two individual moments in time that inextricably twined her fate with mine.
The first time she was allowed out was two years ago, when she was permitted to spend the morning in the nearby village of Sant’Angelo. Viviana was away from the convent for less than three hours. Five minutes of which changed the entire direction of my life.
The second time Viviana was allowed to leave was two days ago, when she was flown to the US to attend her own wedding.
For her, it was supposed to be the start of her brand new life.
For me, it was the only opening I had before she exchanged the confines of the convent for the impenetrable walls of the Valori’s Chicago compound.
My chance to take her, and the perfect opportunity to execute my favorite type of plan. Acceptable risk, incredibly high reward.
I purchased her hand in marriage.
Yes, there was some bloodshed. Yes, the Valoris were being fucking troublesome, so my men used arson as a countermeasure. Yes, the church will be receiving an anonymous donation to cover the costs of repairs. All acceptable losses given the size of the prize.
No one can take Viviana from me now, not without inciting a war across two continents. With my ring on her finger and our vows stated for an entire congregation to hear, she is incontestably mine.
A ‘Ndrangheta princess with a vicious bloodline.
The woman who will secure my family’s future.
Like I said. No debt goes unpaid.
Viviana is asleep next to me as my second in command whisks us off the tarmac of the private airport.
She looks like she’s coming from a battlefield, not a wedding.
Smudges of soot from the church fire are still visible on her cheeks, and the matching black sweatshirt and sweatpants Francesca selected make her fair skin look violently pale.
I study my bride. There’s no need to be shy. She’s mine to do with as I please.
I could be particularly cruel and humiliate her. Make her strip naked every time she rides in my car.
If I were a true monster, I’d make her spend every journey on her knees, those doll eyes watering as her plush mouth cradles my cock.
The salacious image of her long red hair spread across my thighs and twisted in my fists gets lodged in my brain. It’s harder to shake off than it should be.
Cazzo. I’ve been celibate too long.
It’s been literal years since I’ve fucked a woman.
When I was younger and less calculating, I never would’ve deprived myself for so long.
But I’m thirty-eight and with age has come self-control, and I’ve had far more important things to do than waste energy on physical pleasure.
My focus has been equally divided between managing the Family’s empire, expanding my own, protecting what’s left of my family, and exploiting every connection at my disposal to get my hands on this woman.
Sexual satisfaction has been the furthest thing from my mind. No amount of sinfully plush curves or pouty lips is going to change that.
Especially not hers.
I touch the ring on my right pinky finger, rubbing the worn gold like I’ve done countless times before.
Don’t lose focus. Remember who you are doing this for. Remember why you’ve spent so much precious time away from home.
I spare Viviana one last look. I’ve pictured this moment often, fantasized about having her in my possession. Never in my fantasies did she look like this.
She’s softer than I remember.
Sweeter looking, too. And incredibly young.
I’ve never given her age a second thought, but she’s still wearing a veneer of innocence that’s at odds with the woman I’ve been plotting to kidnap for more than a year.
My phone vibrates. Another message from Elio. The third since my plane landed.
I catch Vampa’s eye, motion for him to drive faster. “Your protege, Castiglione, is a real pain in the ass.”
The weathered older man doesn’t crack a smile. “Sì.”
Vampa is a man of few words, but I trust him implicitly. He’s been a loyal soldier for our family since before I was born. If he says Elio Castiglione is worthy of succeeding him as my sottocapo, my underboss, I’ll give the kid a chance.
Assuming I don’t murder him in the next thirty minutes.
We’re supposed to be on the helo headed to the island, not racing along the winding coastal roads of southern Italy’s mainland.
Whatever crisis is happening at The Hotel Alba Dorata, it better be as bad as Elio says; otherwise, his apprenticeship is going to come to a very abrupt, very gruesome end.
When we arrive at the elegant sandstone building, Vampa has to wait for a crowd of late-night revelers to stumble their way up the steps before he can stop the car at the entrance.
This hotel—the newest in my ever-expanding empire—has been open for six months, and it’s already topping the Best Of lists.
Best place to be seen.
Best place for an excellent meal and an exquisite bottle of champagne.
Best place to fuck your wife. Or your mistress. Or both at the same time. No risk of scandals here. My staff knows how to keep their mouths shut.
Vampa kills the engine. Cyprus trees sway in the soft summer breeze as I step out of the car. Viviana stirs. She mumbles something, but it’s lost to the ambient noise of laughter and glasses clinking and ocean waves crashing off in the distance.
The triumph I felt earlier returns. Hotel Alba Dorata is a success.
The club I’m opening inside it next month will be too. When my father was capo, he was content to focus on the standard revenue streams: extortion, protection, drugs, money laundering, arms dealing.
In the years since I’ve been head of the Family, I’ve been diversifying our interests. Sports clubs, fashion houses, tech firms, art galleries, restaurants, hotels, nightclubs. What can I say? Even an ’Ndrangheta capobastone needs a hobby. And more entertaining ways to keep our money clean.
“Signore.” Vampa is out of the car, looking at me from the driver’s side door. “Just got confirmation; the package has arrived on the island.”
“Thank fuck.” Another reason I don’t want to be here. I wanted to see tonight’s delivery arrive at the villa with my own two eyes. “And Santoro knows what to do?”
“Sì, Signore.” Vampa’s voice reflects the confidence I know I should feel. “I gave him explicit orders. This is hardly his first time. He won’t fuck it up.”
No. He won’t. Not if he wants to keep his head attached to his shoulders. “Va bene.”
Vampa nods in the direction of my drowsy wife. “She coming too?”
Viviana is tired, disoriented, and dressed far too casually for this place. She’ll stand out like a butter knife at a gunfight. Dull and easily dismissed.
In any other scenario, with any other woman, I’d let her stay in the car.
Not Viviana. The threat against her sister’s life is an insurance policy, and it’s worked so far. But it’s not infallible. I can’t risk her trying to run away. Until we’re back on my private island, in a domain entirely under my control, Viviana stays where Vampa and I can see her.
I step around to her side of the vehicle, open the door, and give her shoulder a shake. “Time to go. Andiamo.”
“What?” She rubs her eyes, her voice low and gravely. It would be delicious coming from anyone but her.
“Get out of the car.”
There’s steel in my tone. It does something to her. Maybe it’s compounded by exhaustion. Or the lingering effects of the drugs her father slipped into her champagne before the ceremony. Either way, she doesn’t fight me the way I expect.
She does what she’s told.
Without protest, Viviana blinks away the sleep, tugs her wrinkled clothes into place, and drops her feet—encased in truly heinous sneakers—to the pavement.
Vampa and I exchange a look. Interesting.
That’s when two women walk by.
They’re tall and slender, wearing dresses that are little more than strategically placed pieces of satiny fabric. Their hair is styled, their skin tan from the Mediterranean sun, their faces glowing from carefully applied makeup and too much alcohol.
Men’s heads turn as they pass and Viviana can’t stop staring at them, her eyes getting wider, more panicked by the second. She’s practically curling in on herself as she watches them swish and sway their way up the steps and into the candle-lit lobby.
“Are we going in there?” Viviana asks. “With them?”
“Yes. Get out of the car.”
“I-I can’t go in there,” she stammers, touching her tangled mass of hair. “I’m a mess. I’m not dressed the right way. Everyone will stare.”
“So?” I don’t have time for this. “You’re going. Now.”
“I-I don’t want to be stared at. It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.” Her protest is weak, almost inaudible.
Ah, there's the resistance I’ve been expecting. Just a glimmer. She really must feel like shit; I was expecting her to be in full fight mode by now.
It doesn’t matter. This is a perfect moment to remind her who is in charge from now on.
I fill the door frame, pitching my voice for her ears only. Low, with no room for refusal. “You’re mine now, Viviana. If I tell you to get out of the car and go inside, you will get out of the car and go inside.”
Wide blue eyes flicker up to mine. She’s more frightened than I expect, but she doesn’t look away. I catch the smallest hint of backbone.
In any other woman it would be a turn-on. A tantalizing flicker of defiant heat I’d relish stroking into a bull-blown fire.
With Viviana, it sets my teeth on edge and strengthens my resolve to keep this deceptively docile creature in check.
Memories of the last time I saw her claw at the back of my brain, twisting something cruel inside of me. I force a calming breath through my teeth. Keep my voice flat, even. Control. Always control.
“You’re mine now, Viviana. You swore in front of your family and everyone in that church to obey your husband. From this moment on, you are going to do exactly that. You will obey. You will follow the rules. You will bow the fuck down to mine.”