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To distract her from her obvious terror, I asked, “Did you choose the dress?”
She jerked, her eyes growing wide. Huge blue eyes, so full of innocence I felt like they could wash even my sins away. And that golden hair…fuck me, I wanted to touch it to find out if it was as silky as it looked.
“No. My father did,” she said in that soft, genteel voice.
Of course he did. I could see her shivering from cold and fear. I decided to cut this ridiculous meeting short before Aria passed out on me, and I reached for the ring I’d bought for her a couple of days ago. My little fiancée flinched, and my mood dropped even further. I showed her the velvet box, hoping it would set her at ease, but she only stared. I wanted to shake some sense into her but that would only have proven her fears right. I shoved the box at her and she finally reached for it. When her fingers brushed mine, she pulled away with a gasp. I had to stifle my annoyance—not at her, but at her parents, Cavallaro, and my father who’d brought this mess down upon us. She was too young. I could only hope she’d gain some confidence in the next three years. I didn’t want a wife who cowered in front of me.
“Thank you,” she said after she’d checked out the ring. Her eyes met mine. I held out my arm. She took it with barely any hesitation and I led her toward the living room to the people who’d betrayed her.
The moment I released her, she rushed off to her sisters and mother as if they could protect her from what was to come.
I went over to the men.
“And?” Father asked smugly.
I wasn’t sure what he expected. A lewd comment about how I’d used my chance alone with Aria?
Matteo shot me a sideways glance.
“Aria accepted the ring,” I said matter-of-factly.
Scuderi’s face fell. “As she should. My daughter was brought up to be obedient. You’ll see.”
“Luca will make her obey him. He can bring the strongest men to their knees. A weak woman will bow to his will,” Father said snidely.
Dinner was served that moment and saved us from a fight. It was a pity. I would have enjoyed it thoroughly.
I sat down beside Scuderi as tradition dictated. Matteo sat across from me, a flicker of boredom on his face. A bored Matteo was always a ticking bomb.
Fiore Cavallaro raised his glass. The way his eyes went out of focus, I’d say he should stop drinking. Old bastard. I would have preferred dealing with his son, the cold fish Dante, but as long as his father was still in command, I’d have to live with the demented old fool. “To a long and successful partnership.”
I lifted my glass and downed the red wine. My eyes found Aria again. She was sitting at the other end of the table with the other women. She peered down at her ring as if it were something terrifying. Of course, it was. It bound her to me. It marked her as mine. When she looked up, our eyes met. She flushed and quickly turned away, red traveling up her delicate throat.
Matteo kicked me under the table, smirking. “Already lusting after your child bride?”
“I can wait,” I said. “It’s not like I can’t keep myself entertained.” But from this day, she was mine.After dinner, we moved to the lounge to drink and smoke. Rocco Scuderi and Fiore Cavallaro were insufferable show-offs, and Father tried to overshadow them with his own bragging. I wanted to stuff my ears with hot wax to be spared their bullshit talk. Aria better be worth it, because peace sounded less enticing with every fucking second I had to spend with the Outfit bastards.
I was on my fourth glass of scotch when everyone had finally left the lounge except for Matteo, Romero and Cesare. Father had left to meet with a high class prostitute from the Outfit’s best whorehouse, but I had no intention of risking a repeat performance of the Bratva whore incident.
I allowed myself to relax against the marble ledge of the fireplace. My eyes were heavy from being alert all day, and I couldn’t risk letting my guard down as long as we were in Chicago. Matteo was sprawled out on an armchair as if he owned the place. His grin didn’t bode well.
“It could have been worse,” Matteo said, grinning even wider. “She could have been ugly. But, holy fuck, your little fiancée is an apparition. That dress. That body. That hair and face.” Matteo whistled.
Anger surged through me. Matteo and I often talked about women like that, and even with less favorable words, but this was different.
“She’s a child,” I said dismissively, hiding my annoyance. Matteo would only irk me further if I gave him an opening.
