Chapter 3 #2
There were no visible scars or tattoos, but his black eyes bored into me like they could see the deepest recesses of my soul.
Like he knew every secret I'd ever kept. His frame was twice that of my father’s, solid muscle beneath the expensive suit, and while I was possibly in imminent danger, I felt safe in his presence.
The contradiction made no sense. As for the other weapon on his person, the one the women gossiped about endlessly, I'd be inclined to believe that gossip. Everything about him screamed power.
He leaned closer to me, and I stayed perfectly still, refusing to yield even as his scent surrounded me.
"I would like to speak with the dona." His whispered words sent a chill through my veins, and I could feel my forced smile wobble just a bit.
The muscle at the corner of my mouth twitched before I could hold it back.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. If you want to talk to my don, you will have to go out to the lobby to find him," I said flatly, staring straight ahead at the red curtains around us. The fabric seemed to pulse in my peripheral vision.
"Now come, Emilia. Your father might not have known who's pulling the strings in his organization, but I do.
" He shifted in his seat and turned to face me, his knee brushing against my dress.
My heart raced. Could he see that beneath the neckline of my dress?
My pulse was visible, I was sure of it, betraying me.
My toe involuntarily tapped beneath the hem of my dress, and I tried to control my breathing so I wouldn't give him a glimpse that I was in panic mode.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don't let him see you break.
"Ms. Carminatti. It is entirely inappropriate for you to be calling me by my first name.
" I feigned horror, letting my voice rise slightly with indignation, but in all truth, I liked hearing him use my name.
The way it rolled off his tongue was soft and possessive.
I couldn't look at him, but his powerful hand under my chin gave me no choice but to turn and look at him.
His skin was warm, his grip firm but not painful.
"It would if I were a stranger, but I'm not." His thumb brushed my jaw, a casual touch that felt anything but casual.
"Well, I hate to argue that fact, but you are.
I've never seen you before in my life." I tried to keep my voice light and airy like I was supposed to, like I was discussing the weather or the evening's program.
He reached over and placed his hand under my chin, his touch light and firm as he turned my head toward him, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"But I've seen you, Emilia. This morning, actually.
" He moved his hand from my chin and traced the tips of his fingers over my shoulder and down my arm, following the line of my sleeve, brushing the bandage concealed under the sleeve of my dress.
The touch was feather-light, but I felt it like a brand.
"Before this beautiful evening started, I made a deal with your father for your hand, in exchange for keeping silent about you.
He wasn't pleased when he found out you were pulling the strings in his organization.
" Each word was carefully enunciated, deliberate.
Slowly, he moved his hand from my arm to my stomach, where she slid it up, over my breasts, to my neck.
The path his hand took left heat in its wake.
My breath hitched in my throat, and an ache between my legs started involuntarily.
My body was betraying me, responding to him despite my mind screaming danger.
With gentle pressure, he closed his hand around my throat as he leaned closer to me, his breath warm against my cheek.
"You've brought the Carminatti name shame, little Emi, which delivered you and your father into my lap.
" His voice was low, menacing, and I could feel the anger bubbling up from my toes.
The diminutive nickname should have insulted me, but instead it felt intimate.
Possessive. "Oh, I touched a nerve. Your pulse is racing, but you look unfazed by this news.
You were taught well. A skill I will use to my advantage in our marriage.
" The word 'marriage' hung in the air between us like a death sentence.
I tried to move my head away from him, but it only made him tighten his grip on my neck.
Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who was in control.
His eyes danced, amusement and something darker playing across his features, and I wanted to kill him.
"Let go of me," I said through gritted teeth, putting every ounce of venom I could muster into the words.
He did as I demanded, releasing me so suddenly I almost fell forward.
He leaned in close to my ear, his lips nearly brushing it.
"That will be the only time I don't leave my mark on you, my bride.
If you ever cross me, I will spill your blood where you stand.
" The threat was delivered in the same tone he might use to compliment the weather.
He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, ancient-looking velvet box.
Then he took my hand in his, his fingers enveloping mine, and slid something onto my finger.
A diamond, as large as Texas, now adorned my hand.
The weight of it was shocking, pulling my hand downward.
The stone caught the dim light and cast rainbows across the red walls.
"And what if I say no?" straightening my back, tilting my head up so I could more or less look down my nose at him, channeling every ounce of aristocratic disdain I've ever seen my mother display.
If he thinks I'm scared, he'll have another thing coming, even though I'm terrified and literally shaking in my shoes.
My knees were knocking together beneath my dress.
"Your father will no doubt be killed. The heads of the Cosa Nostra can't let him live.
He's a liability if he can't control his family, and a daughter no less.
" There wasn't any hesitation in his words, no wavering or doubt.
Just a cold, hard fact. The velvet curtains and the red upholstered walls were closing in around me.
The box felt smaller with each passing second.
The high neck of my dress was restrictive, tightening like a noose around my neck, cutting off my air.
"You seem to think I'm concerned about my father remaining above ground." My voice wavered slightly, betraying me again. Fuck now he's going to know he got to me. I thought to myself, cursing my weakness.
"What will happen to your sisters if he dies? I hate to say it, Emilia, but you’ll also be killed.
You've gone behind all our backs and chosen to ignore the rules dictated in this life, so you won't even be there to protect them.
" Again, he trailed his finger over my shoulder and down my arm to the bandage, knowing exactly where it was, like he'd been the one to place it there.
He wrapped his hand around it and gripped it tightly. Pain exploded up my arm. A slight whimper escaped my throat, and I closed my eyes, hating myself for the show of weakness. This was over; my life was over. Everything I'd built, everything I'd fought for, was gone in an instant.
In less than twenty minutes, I'd been exposed and now belonged to Niccolò Venosa.
My future had been decided without my input or consent.
The door opened, and light shone into the darkened box from the hallway, bright and intrusive, looking from the gaudy ring.
I watched my father and mother walk into the box.
They looked different somehow, smaller. My father looked from Niccolò to me, his eyes moving between us with calculation, and I saw something I'd never seen before when he looked at me. Something that made my blood run cold.
Disappointment.
"I hear congratulations are in order," my mother said lightly, her voice carrying that perfect pitch she used at social events.
I'd been trained to be just like her, and I never doubted she was seething inside but wouldn't show her hand.
That was until we were alone in our home, where the mask could come off.
Pulling me to her, she kissed my cheeks and hugged me, the embrace stiff and performative.
"You brought this on yourself, young one.
" Her words wouldn't have been heard by anyone other than me, whispered so quietly against my ear, and I blinked quickly to avoid tears slipping down my face. I would not cry. Not here. Not now.
She let me go and smiled perfectly at Niccolò, showing every tooth, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a practiced expression of joy.
"Welcome to our family." She beamed and kissed both his cheeks, leaving lipstick marks she didn't bother to wipe away.
"Don." She bowed slightly, giving him her allegiance and acknowledging what we all now knew. He was the true power here.
My father's gaze was locked on me, heavy and unblinking, sending a chill down my spine.
"You will be wed in five days." Seven words sucked the life from me, and my legs gave way.
Thankfully, the chair behind me stopped my descent, catching me before I could fall completely.
"It will give time to have everything arranged and for the necessary people to make their preparations.
It will also give me enough time to sign my territory over to Niccolò," my father said as he poured wine into the crystal glasses on the table beside him, the liquid sloshing slightly as his hands trembled.
He handed out the glasses and raised his own, the crystal catching the light.
"To my daughter, may she have the life she deserves.
" It wasn't said with love; it felt more like a threat. A curse disguised as a blessing.
"To Emilia." My mother and Niccolò said in unison as the three of them lifted their glasses and drank, the wine disappearing in synchronized swallows.
Slowly, I took a sip of the red wine and contemplated my father's words.
The wine was bitter on my tongue, or perhaps that was just the taste of my future.
I couldn’t remember the curtains opening or the orchestra playing for another hour.
All I could do was focus on the man who'd insisted on staying, his presence overwhelming everything else, the one who didn't ask to hold my hand.
He just took it. His palm was warm, slightly rough, completely engulfing mine.
The first man to touch me other than my family. The first man to claim me.
My soon-to-be husband.