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“Flowers, sir,” someone mutters. A wide-eyed florist with a box of bloodred rosebud boutonnieres stands in the doorway.
I jerk my head for him to come in. “Let’s get this over with. I take vows in minutes. This should’ve already been done.”
“He got held up,” Giuseppe’s brother Federico mutters. Federico’s been a member of my company for much longer, and he’s the reason why his younger brother’s been recruited.
“Why?” I snap, standing in front of the shaking florist. I scowl. “Get your shit together. Unless you plan on stealing from me or touching my new wife, you got shit to be shaking about, you get me? Pin the fucking flowers on and be done with it.”
“Yessir,” he mutters.
Federico smirks. “Guard at the door thought the pearl-covered pins were a weapon.”
I pull one of the pins out of the box and roll my eyes. “I’d pick my teeth with one of these for Christ’s sake.”
“Saw someone take out an eye with one, once,” one of the guys mutters.
“When, fucking prom night?”
Cristiano slips back into the room.
The men all laugh, but I can’t help but wonder if we’ve taken things too far. Too much caution so now my men are fucking worried about pearl-headed pins?
I don’t often feel nervous, and I’m not even sure the adrenaline that surges through my veins is what one would even call nerves. I’m about to take vows to Marialena. My decision to marry her is one no one can change or even impact in any way.
And this decision will be life changing.
I envy the men that know for years who their wives will be. I even envy those who marry for love, not because of the position they put themselves in—it’s one reason I’d never choose to marry for love myself—but because there’s at least a semblance of autonomy with such a marriage.
This is a forced circumstance due to situations beyond our control. I suppose there’s a certain refuge or even weakness in granting choices to someone else. And even though I orchestrated the marriage part of our arrangement, I consider it even now a mercy.
I want to take these vows.
I want to claim her, mark her, and make her mine.
I want everyone to know that precocious, stunning woman bears my last name and took vows of submission and obedience to me.
I want to serve as Don with a mafia princess at my side.
“Ready, bro?” Cristiano asks from the doorway.
“In a minute. Everyone but Cristiano take your positions.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes grow apprehensive when I detain him. He knows I haven’t forgotten his infraction against me.
The door clicks shut behind the last guard. Cristiano shifts nervously on his feet.
“Come here.”
Slowly, like a child about to be scolded, he drags his feet to me. When he’s only a few feet away, I reach my hand to his face. He flinches.
“Listen to me,” I say in a low, warning voice. “The only reason I haven’t fucked you up yet is for the sake of pictures. Memories. So we have those framed prints on the mantle to show what a big fucking happy family we all are.”
His watery eyes widen, but he licks his lips and nods just the same.
“Got it.”
“But if you fuck this up—if you touch my wife, or even talk to her, if you overstep your position or who you are—you’ll answer to me, pictures be damned. You get me?”
He nods. “Of course. You’re the boss,” he replies, unable to hide the disdain and jealousy in his voice. Ahhh. So now we’re getting somewhere.
