Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I slide it onto my finger and try not to cry.
Chapter 8
Luca
I slide the marriage certificate over and hand her the pen.
The private plane hums around us as we head back to New York and his crew studiously ignores us. Tony is asleep, snoring, and Niccolo’s flirting with the pretty flight attendant. Giacomo’s got his headphones on and he’s watching a movie.
We’re sitting in the very back of the cabin on the same side of a table covered in paperwork.
It’s like I’m alone with Kacia, but I wonder if we’ll ever be alone again. The house back in New York is always crowded with staff, my father’s personal soldiers, capos, associates, and women, so many fucking women, always coming in and out hoping they’ll end up as the don’s next wife.
She arches her eyebrows and skims the paperwork. “What, no ceremony?”
“This isn’t some fucking telenovela. We’re not going to wear white and stand at the altar. No, no ceremony, just a contract. Sign your name.”
She rolls her eyes and signs. “Just what a girl’s always wanted.”
“Better than being dead.”
“Easy for you to say.”
I take the papers from her and sign. “When we’re back in the States, I’ll get a judge to make this all official.”
“What about your family? I assume I have to meet your father. And you never talk about your mother.”
“My mother passed years ago when I was a baby and you don’t have to worry about my father.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. And that’s not a good answer. Your father wanted me dead, but instead you married me. What’s going to happen?”
I look at the ring on her finger. My wife, my bride. Why the fuck am I doing this? Because she’s beautiful and I can’t stop myself from tasting her? But I already got my fill back at the house on Sicily, and now I should throw her off this plane over the Atlantic and be done with her.
Instead, she’s wearing my ring and looking radiant in jeans and a sweatshirt she bought on the way to the airport.
Though I prefer her naked and dripping with sweat, legs spread, breasts shaking with every heaving breath. Forget jewelry and clothes and wealth, all I want is her.
“My father is going to be angry,” I say softly and evenly, “but eventually he’ll get used to the idea. He won’t have much of a choice.”
“Unless he kills me.”
“He wouldn’t. You’re mine now.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I stare at her, but don’t answer. I’m sure she’s mine—but am I sure my father won’t try to kill her?
No, not at all, and I’m not going to lie to her about it.
Marrying me does mean she has some measure of protection, but the Famiglia is going to be up in arms when I bring home a new Greek bride.
My father and all his capos want me to marry an Italian girl. One of the daughters of the strong families, a good girl that knows how things go and will give me a dozen solid Italian babies.
Instead, my children will be half-Greek, and to the Valverde Famiglia, that’s a fucking travesty.
Worse than all that, she’s the daughter of our enemy. Our dead enemy, but still, a lot of good soldiers died in the war against her family. Sons, good boys, with friends and a lot of people with loved ones still around. Loved ones with vendettas and guns.
It’s like lowering her into a snake’s den and hoping none of them bite.
Except they’re all hungry, and Kacia’s the tastiest thing around.
So no, I can’t guarantee anything—her safety will be in jeopardy for a long time coming.
But she’s my wife now and she’s mine to protect.
“Try to get some sleep,” I say, turning away to stare out at the night sky. “We’ve got a long flight.” I cross my arms and close my eyes, but I’m distinctly aware of her sitting beside me.
Will she do what I said? Bide her time until my guard’s down and then try to kill me? I wonder if she’ll do it now—maybe she’ll sneak off and grab a knife from the flight attendant’s stuff. Or maybe she’ll find a gun in one of the bags and try to hold it against my head.
Like I held my gun to her temple.
The memory is like a dagger in my eyes and I have to push it away. I don’t know what came over me—I acted like a psycho. My father has that effect on me, and I wanted to do it, I wanted to kill her, only there was something in her eyes that made me pause.
Something pleading and beautiful.
I can’t kid myself into thinking Kacia’s going to roll over and accept this marriage. She’s not interested in being the wife of a mafia capo, much less the son of the Don himself. This isn’t going to go down easy, and while she may be on her best behavior right now, I have to keep my eyes on her.