Page 16 of Jackpot Joker

The type who runs the Irish Mob, but I can’t tell her that. I shrug. “It’s the arrangement that was made. Her husband checks in with my father weekly, discussing business, their status on procreation, and an update as to what she’s doing.”

“Their status on procreation?” Jasmine is gritting her teeth, and if she wasn’t so damn sexy right now, I might be scared.

“It’s the arrangement that was made,” I repeat.

“What kind of marriage has an arrangement like that?”

I laugh. “An arranged one.”

Chapter 9

Jasmine

My mind is grappling with the words Dario said to me. When I gather my senses again, he’s walked away and is standing beside a table with a wooden wheel. I walk over to him as it spins, a white ball bouncing between a blur of black and red numbers.

“Did you say an arranged marriage?” I whisper-shout at him.

Dario sighs. “Yes. When Martina turned twenty-one, she wed an associate of my father’s.”

“Your father is the one who chose her husband?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is the way.”

“‘It is the way,’” I mimic. “To sell your daughter off to the highest bidder and not speak to her for over a decade?”

Dario shrugs. “Arranged marriages are a sort of tradition in the”—he coughs—“in my family. Martina knew what her life would be.”

Martina. My heart hurts for this woman I’ve never met—this woman who was never granted the luxury of deciding what her own life would look like.

A shudder runs through me. Marriage sounds horrible, but one that’s been arranged as a business transaction? Even worse. I can’t help but look at Dario and wonder if the same fate awaits him.

“Do you have someone lined up for you?”

“Are you offering?” Dario teases, and I mock throwing up.

He shakes his head with a gentle smile. “No, the men in my family are free to choose whomever they want to wed or bed, but unfortunately, the women are not as lucky.”

Fucking double standard. “That’s a pathetic family tradition. A real one, one worth keeping, would hold both people to the same standard. Same choice. Same voice. Same risk. Marriage is supposed to be a partnership, not a loveless transaction. It isn’t some negotiation between families where the woman is the bargaining chip.”

Dario’s typical bright grin turns soft. “Che bello, il mio toro.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“I agree,” Dario says, shocking me. “I don’t see things the way my father and ancestors did. Or even my brothers do. Everything you’re saying is aligned with how I feel. Women are meant to be our partners in life.”

I scrutinize him. “Are you saying that to shut me up?”

“No.” Dario laughs. “I truly mean it. How do you build a life with someone who didn’t get to choose you?”

I stare at him, stunned that he’s agreeing with me and not defending the family I’ve heard values loyalty over anything else. When his hazelnut eyes soften, and I find myself getting lost in them, I clear my throat. “So you want to get married?” I ask.

Dario shrugs. “One day, maybe. I’d like to find a partner. Someone who stands beside me because they want to. Someone I choose, and who chooses me back.”

I remain silent, so he continues, “Do you want to get married one day?”

“I’m married to my career.”

“You don’t feel like you could divide your time?”