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32
Luca
"What’s taking them so long?" I tug on the sleeve of my shirt, then straighten the lapel of my jacket. Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. It was meant to be simple. We’d elope, get married, return, and that would be that. I’d expected us to fly from the airport to Malta, get married, then spend a few hours in our room consummating the wedding, and fly back. As easy as loading a gun and shooting.
I might have gotten away with it, too, if I hadn’t involved Massimo in my plans. I’d gotten on the plane, and while she’d slept, I’d touched base with him.
I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t arrange what I had in mind without his help. So, I broke the promise I made to myself not to let anyone in my family know that my marriage was an arrangement.
It was supposed to be an elopement, but watching her features relax, I realized the only other time I’d seen her this unworried was when she was with her friends. I knew, then, I had to invite them to the wedding.
Massimo helped get their phone numbers. Then, I spoke to both of them and told them Massimo would be coming by to pick them up. They were more than happy to join us. And Massimo accompanied them.
No, he didn’t tell me that was his plan, either.
"Not sure what you’re doing here." I scowl at him.
"Did you think I wouldn’t turn up in person to witness your downfall?" He smirks.
"The fuck you talking about?"
His smile broadens.
"The fuck you laughing at,stronzo?"
"At you?" He rocks back on his heels. "Or should I say, at a man who’s willingly knotting the noose around his neck?"
At the other end of the room, the official who waits to solemnize the wedding shuffles his feet. In the light from the overhead chandelier, his face seems bleached. Probably a combination of fear and greed. Which is what brought him here in the first place. Massimo suitably compensated him for his efforts, no doubt, but it wasn’t until he arrived here and saw us, he must’ve realized who he was going to marry.
I scowl at him and he pales further. He takes a few steps back, until he’s almost at the wall. Then, just for shits and giggles, I stab my forefinger and middle finger toward my eyes, then at him.
The man almost collapses before he shuffles toward a seat and sinks down into it.
"Stop playing with your food," Massimo says mildly.
"Fuck you very much, too." I run my finger around the collar of my shirt. Why is it that the tie seems to be getting tighter by the second? I slide my palm down the fabric of my tie. The silky smooth cloth rustles across my skin. As silken as the curve of her butt. As soft as her lips. As velvety as her cunt. Where she is concerned, I clearly have a one-track mind, which begins and ends with wanting to own her. And yet, when she asked me to fuck her, I backed away. Oh, I wanted to take her so badly, and I didn’t care that our first time would be in the car, but a part of me wanted to have my ring on her finger before I finally bury myself inside her. Maybe I’m more old-fashioned than I realized. Or perhaps, it’s simply that it satisfies some primal part of me to have my mark of ownership on her before I fuck her?Stocazzo, where are these thoughts coming from?
"Luca?" Massimo touches my shoulder and I start.
"What is it?" I growl.
"You’ve gone pale,fratello." He searches my features. "There’s still time to call this off."
"Why would I do that?"
"Maybe you’re deeper into this than you thought?"
"You’re not making sense." I pull away from him and head to the window of the conservatory that’s attached to the living room of the place. It might be a safe house, but it doesn’t lack for luxury. After all, it’s a piece of real estate purchased by the Sovranos, and we pride ourselves on owning the best. Like her. She’s an asset. A commodity I acquired to help me get my family off my back. So why is my heart thumping so hard? Why is my pulse banging against my wrists? Why is my throat so dry, it feels like I swallowed sand.
"A drink?" I glance around the space, then spy the bar attached to the wall on the far end of the room.
I march over to the counter, grab a bottle of grappa—another dead giveaway that we’re in a Sovrano space—and twist the cap off. I tilt the bottle to my lips and chug down a healthy portion. The honeyed liquid soothes the scratchiness in my throat and hits my stomach, where it imbues me with warmth. I lower the bottle to the counter and take a deep breath.
"Ever consider the possibility that you may have feelings for her?" Massimo’s voice interrupts the stream of consciousness that I seem to be, of late, indulging in far too often.
"Feelings?" I cap the bottle and turn to him, feeling steadier. "I just met her."
"Yet you’re marrying her?"
