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“That’s a good start, then. I don’t care if you hate me or not. You’ll learn what I expect and learn to make my expectations your priority. Right now? I care about making a statement.” I give her a patronizing smack to the ass that makes her instantly seethe at me, her body rigid against mine. I pour sarcasm and condescension into my tone. “You did good, babe. That’ll do.”
I release her. When she stumbles, I grab her arm and yank her back over to me, standing upright.
“You get that picture?” I ask my bodyguard.
“Yes, sir.”
“Post it.”
“Where, sir?”
“Everywhere.”
* * *
CHAPTERSIX
Marialena
My mama always told me that it didn't matter what happened, who hurt me, who was watching. The most important thing to remember is to never bow my head or look afraid. She told me that I would always be a target, and she would do everything in her power to make sure I didn't end up with a husband like hers.
I wonder if that's why she’s as upset as she is, if she feels she failed me. But when she said “everything within her power,” she wasn’t lying.
What was she going to do? Offer herself to Salvatore instead? My brothers likely offered money or favors, but that wasn’t what he wanted.
I don't yet know if Salvatore’s like my father, though I do know this. He's nothing like my brothers.
But I was raised by Tosca Rossi. My mother prepared me for many things, and I remember her advice now. I can almost hear her voice in my head.
Shoulders straight. Chin up. Rossi women do not flinch or hide. Never be ashamed of who you are. Never let anyone beat you down.
I am not ashamed of who I am, and I will never give him the satisfaction of besting me. Just because Salvatore’s biological makeup makes him a little stronger than I am doesn’tchangewho I am.
In this one particular circumstance, he has more power than I do. But I've known for a very long time how little control I actually have when it comes to mob dynamics. I've learned from my sister, my brothers’ wives, and my mother, though. A woman has a lot more power than some people give her credit for, and I will not forget that.
I learned how to stare my father in the eye when he hit me, making him face what he was doing. I did not cower. I did not protect myself or beg for his mercy.
And Salvatore won’t get weakness from me either.
For now, I observe everything I can. Observation is the key to knowledge. Fools don’t notice details when their world is swept out from underneath them, and my mama didn’t raise a fool.
I look away from him and try to forget the way my blood heated when I was overpowered. I hate that my body responded without my consent, but I console myself when I remember conversations with my sister. I’m not a teenager anymore, and I’ve talked at length to my sister and sisters-in-law. I’ve especially watched Rosa and Santo. I see how he is with her. My sister’s the most independent, hard-ass woman I know, but she’s… different with Santo. He’s the one exception for her. She said some women—most especially strong women—likebeing overpowered or dominated, that we can’t help our body’s intrinsic response.
Guess she was right.
I just didn’t really know what that would feel like.
She warned me that one day I might experience the same, given who I was and my place in our family. Makes sense. My brothers associate only with powerful men.
Rosa told me I might not be able to control the way I responded. She told me that many women don't want to admit that theylikebeing overpowered and ravished by a raw, primal male who claims her as his.
Isn’t that part of it, though? That he’s… staking a claim on me.
Rosa said it isn’t every man. It isn’t every woman. But she wanted me not to be surprised if I had less control over my reaction than I hoped.
And she was right. The funny thing about reactions and emotions is that sometimes we have so little control over any of them. And sometimes, our emotions contradict themselves.
I want to slap his face at the very same time that I want him to kiss me again. I want to kick him between his legs and make him scream in agony for daring to pull me over his lap, and at the same time I have to admit… I want him to do it again. Slower. More deliberately…
