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I pursed my lips but otherwise said nothing else. I turned from my mother and walked over to the window, pulling the heavy curtain out of the way and looking outside. My bedroom faced the front of the house, the long, elaborate and winding driveway leading down to the wrought iron gate.
I felt like a caged bird in a beautiful prison.
No doubt right now my father would be working overtime to make sure everything was proper and perfect and in its rightful place before that dinner that would change everything.
My life wasn't my own. It never had been and it never would be, and that wouldn’t change because of who I married.
And Nikolai was no different than my father. In fact, I had a feeling he was even worse. The very devil himself.
4
Amara
Shopping with my mother is basically me following her around as she tosses items into my arms as well as the guard who’d come with us. Today we had two of my father’s men with us, Tomasso, my mother’s guard, and Edoardo, the new guy my father had assigned to me until the wedding.
The man detailed to me was a kid, if I were being honest. He barely looked older than me.
Edoardo was an annoying shadow that I should have been grateful for because I knew he would protect me with his life. Not because he cared about me, but because he worked for my father, was paid by him, and feared for his own safety if he didn’t uphold his duties.
My mother shoved a few more dresses into my arms and gently pushed me toward one of the changing rooms.
“Don’t take too long, Amara. We have lunch with Maria and Francesca.”
I stifled an eye roll at the sound of Maria’s daughter’s name. Francesca was spoiled by her father, and had a holier than thou attitude to match. But I was forced to be polite and grin and bear it because we ran in the same circle and drama was the last thing I needed.
Women using any kind of intellect or independent thought process in the mafia world didn't do any good. We were meant to be seen, not heard.
I tried on the dresses, doing the obligatory “showoff” for my mother. Once everything was paid for and our bags were in hand, we left the boutique. Tomasso walked beside my mother, and Edoardo kept right behind me.
The sun was bright and I lifted my hand to shield my eyes. We made our way down the sidewalk, but it was only a few seconds before I felt this prickling on the back of my neck, and skating down the length of my spine. I found myself stopping and looking around, the very real feeling of being watched so pronounced it was impossible to ignore.
My mother and Tomasso continued forward, not realizing that I’d stopped, but Edoardo was a solid presence behind me as I glanced up and down the street.
There were a handful of cars driving by, and a dozen or so people walking up and down the sidewalks, shopping bags in hand, the unseasonably warm spring weather bringing them out.
But nobody seemed to be paying attention to me. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was definitely being watched and not just in passing, but full-on staring at me enough I felt like it was a physical presence skating over me.
“What’s the problem?” Edoardo’s hard voice pierced through my thoughts and I blinked back to clear my mind, looking over my shoulder at him, my hand still shielding the sun from my eyes.
I noticed his hand started to go toward the inside of his jacket, and knew he was reaching for his gun. I felt my pulse race a little, because despite being surrounded by men like Edoardo and Tomasso, men who were like every other male in my life--brutal and savage and easily able to kill without remorse--I still found it shocking, appalling that somebody could be so coldhearted that they’d have no problem putting a bullet in someone in plain sight.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I murmured and started walking again to catch up to my mother.
But no matter how much or how far I walked, I still felt someone watching me and I knew what it was.
A predator.
“I’msure it’ll be a beautiful wedding. I bet you're so excited, Amara.”
My name being said, dragged me from my thoughts and I looked across the table to see Maria smiling at me warmly. Her daughter might be stuck-up and cold, but Maria was as sweet as they came and I found myself giving her a genuine smile in return.
“Of course,” I lied easily.
I picked up my cup of tea and brought it to my mouth, not really tasting the flavor, and everything in me feeling numb. I listened idly to my mother and Maria talking, glancing over at Francesca to see her on her phone.
She had this sardonic little smirk on her face and then she looked at me, her expression telling me how much shedidn’twant to be here.
I felt a pinch of annoyance, but she looked back at her phone, dismissing me.
