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Suna
The following morning saw no sign of Vincenzo, so I showered and dressed in peace before heading out to the cavernous living room. I didn’t miss his hurricane of a presence.I didn’t. The house was full of light and bustling energy. The penthouse apartment was truly impressive, and I had to admit, it was a beautiful home.
I slid to a stop as I entered the kitchen and registered the group of people standing there. All light and hopeful thoughts deserted me. It was a perplexing group to take in.
“Good morning,” Vincenzo said, striding to me.
He was wearing a dark suit. I blinked at it. It was a tuxedo, and the ends of a dark bowtie dangling around his neck unfastened.
“I hope you got some rest.” He leaned in to press a kiss against my cheek like a doting husband, not the self-imposed jailor he was.
“Where were you last night?” I asked with something close to annoyance and jealousy.
Whoah, Suna, cool it.
I blushed as his mouth curved into a grin at my bitter question. The thought that Vincenzo knew how addicted I was to his pushy hands and possessive company burned me. I hated the vulnerability I felt in this man’s presence. No one else could see through my veneer like he could.
“Working and entertaining your father and brother,” Vincenzo replied.
His honesty surprised me, as did the shock of hearing that the three most important men in my life had been in the same space together.“Are they still alive?”
A swift smirk crossed his lips, and he nodded. “For now. Enough small talk. We have something to do today, and it won’t wait.” He turned to look at the assembled people behind him.
I took in the bags cluttering the floor and the long dress bag hanging from the fridge.“What the hell is happening?”
Vincenzo gave me a positively wicked look. He tucked my hanging lock of hair back and leaned in to speak in my ear. The rasp of his stubble reminded me of his teeth on my skin a few days ago. “You are becoming my wife. I’m tired of waiting for the wedding. In approximately two hours, you’ll be mine.”
“That’s crazy,” I muttered, turning my head to meet his eyes. His lips were only inches from mine, and his breath teased over my skin.
“Crazy or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be mine. Running and tricks will not stop me from having you.” He pressed his lips to mine.
I couldn’t fight my body’s reaction to him. It swooned into his possessive touch needily, and when his tongue swept over the seam of my lips, I opened for him, letting him delve inside and devour me. Too quickly, far too quickly, he pulled back.
“Later,” he murmured, pressing a nearly chaste kiss to my forehead and letting out a long, slightly shaky exhale. “Later, and forever after that. I’m not into audiences. Only I get to see you come undone.” I stiffened when I remembered the people watching us. “Now, get ready. I’ll give you an hour, but after that, I can’t promise to keep my patience. I want the paperwork signed within the next two hours.”
With that, he turned me and gave the slightest push toward the women fast descending on me. I barely had time to turn back and see him before I was swept toward the bedroom. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if I should be scared or angry. I was getting married here, not in the big ceremony my mother was looking forward to, and it was happening today, not in two days. My head was spinning and my belly was squirming. It was odd and unfamiliar. It wasn’t fear or anger blossoming inside me but excitement. That alone was the most terrifying of all.
* * *
An hour later,the beauty team had met their brief perfectly. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Vincenzo’s bedroom and stared at myself. Wait, this wasn’t only Vincenzo’s bedroom. It wasourbedroom.I tried it out in my head, and it didn’t sound half bad. The dress was long and silky. It was surprisingly elegant and understated for a mob wedding. I’d seen ceremonies where the bride could barely fit through the doorway because the skirts of the dress had been so voluminous.
My long hair was twisted up in a complicated coil, and red roses were pinned in the ebony depths. My dress proclaimed I was virginal and untouched, while the underwear beneath screamed anything but. It was white, but the shape of the body suit was scandalous as hell. I blushed, thinking about Vincenzo seeing it. The complicated laces and ribbons and strategic holes had me trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving, and my soon-to-be husband would be the one to handle me.
Husband.
A thrill went through me at the thought. What was happening to me? How had I gone from pity for the women in my family sold off to wealthy made men to advance my father’s position in the underworld to giggly at the thought of Vincenzo being my husband? It had to be the corset. It had reduced the blood flow to my brain. I wasn’t a giggler, and I certainly wasn’t grateful or excited for a husband my father had chosen for me simply because it furthered his investments.
Right. If I kept saying it, maybe I’d believe it?
“Miss Song, they’re ready for you,” Magda, the chief hairdresser, said.
I jolted, hearing soft strains of opera floating from the next room. Christ. This was happening. I turned on shaky legs and made my way toward the door. There was no escape from this. I couldn’t run, and where could I go that Vincenzo wouldn’t drag me back? For some reason, this powerful, sexy as hell man, a killer, a leader, a brother, had decided on me. He was a man who got what he wanted.
And he wanted me.
A hot coal stewed in my gut, and the heat spread through my limbs as I reached the doorway and peered out into the sitting room. Rose petals were strewn on the floor, white and perfect, and a rose-lined bower had been set before the endless glass.
Vincenzo stood watching me, waiting not by the justice of the peace as I’d imagined but right there, by the door.
