by Cora Reilly
When we stepped into the dining room, the women of my family had joined the men. The Vitiellos hadn’t brought female company. Maybe because they didn’t trust my father and the Cavallaros enough to risk bringing women into our house.
I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust my father or the Boss either. Luca dropped his arm and I quickly joined my mother and sisters, who pretended to admire my ring. Gianna gave me a look. What had our mother threatened her with to keep her silent? I could tell that Gianna had a scathing comment on the tip of her tongue. I shook my head at her and she rolled her eyes. Dinner was a blur. The men discussed business while we women remained quiet. My eyes kept drifting toward the ring on my finger. It felt too heavy, too tight, entirely too much. Luca had marked me as his possession.
* * *
After dinner the men moved on to the lounge to drink and smoke and discuss whatever else needed to be discussed. I returned to my room, but couldn’t fall asleep. Eventually, I put a bathrobe over my pajamas, slipped out of my room and crept downstairs. In a fit of craziness, I took the passage that led to the secret door behind the wall in the lounge. My grandfather thought it was necessary to have secret escapes in the office and the fireplace lounge because that’s where the men of the family usually held their meetings. I wondered what he thought would happen to the women after the men had all fled through the secret passage?
I found Gianna with her eyes pressed against the peephole of the disguised door. Of course, she was already there. She whirled around, eyes wide, but relaxed when she spotted me.
“What’s going on in there?” I said in a bare whisper, worried the men in the lounge would overhear us.
Gianna moved to the side, so I could peer through the second peephole. “Almost everyone’s already gone. Father and Cavallaro have details to discuss with Salvatore Vitiello. It’s only Luca and his entourage now.”
I squinted through the hole, which gave me a perfect view of the chairs crowded around the fireplace. Luca leaned against the marble ledge of the fireplace, legs casually crossed, a glass of Scotch in his hand. His brother Matteo lounged in an armchair beside him, legs wide apart and that wolfish grin on his face. Cesare and the second bodyguard they’d called Romero during dinner sat in the other armchairs. Romero looked to be the same age of Matteo, so around eighteen. Barely men by society’s standard, but not in our world.
“It could have been worse,” Matteo said, grinning. He might not have looked quite as deadly as Luca, but something in his eyes told me he was only able to hide it better. “She could have been ugly. But, holy fuck, your little fiancée is a vision. That dress. That body. That hair and face.” Matteo whistled. It seemed as if he was provoking his brother on purpose.
“She’s a child,” Luca said dismissively. Indignation rose in me, but I knew I should be glad that he didn’t look at me like a man looked at a woman.
“She didn’t look like a child to me,” Matteo said, then clucked his tongue. He nudged the older man, Cesare. “What do you say? Is Luca blind?”
Cesare shrugged with a careful glance at Luca. “I didn’t look at her closely.”
“What about you, Romero? You got functioning eyes in your head?”
Romero glanced up, then quickly looked back down to his drink.
Matteo threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck, Luca, did you tell your men you’d cut their dicks off if they looked at that girl? You aren’t even married to her.”
“She’s mine,” Luca said quietly, sending a chill down my back with his voice, not to mention his eyes.
He looked at Matteo, who shook his head. “For the next three years, you’ll be in New York and she will be here. You can’t always keep an eye on her, or do you intend to threaten every man in the Outfit? You can’t cut off all of their dicks. Maybe Scuderi knows of a few eunuchs who can keep watch over her.”
“I’ll do what I have to,” Luca said, swirling the drink in his glass. “Cesare, find the two idiots who are supposed to guard Aria.” The way my name rolled off his tongue made me shiver. I didn’t even know I had two guards now. Umberto had always protected me and my sisters.
Cesare left immediately and returned ten minutes later with Umberto and Raffaele, both looking butt-hurt that they’d been summoned like dogs by someone from New York. Father was a step behind them.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Father asked.
“I want to have a word with the men you chose to protect what’s mine.”
Gianna huffed beside me, but I pinched her. Nobody could know we were listening in on this conversation. Father would throw a fit if we revealed the position of his secret door.
“They are good soldiers, both of them. Raffaele is Aria’s cousin, and Umberto has worked for me for almost two decades.”
“I’d like to decide for myself if I trust them,” Luca said. I held my breath. That was as close to an insult as he could get without actually speaking against my father openly. Father’s lips thinned, but he gave a curt nod. He remained in the room. Luca stepped up to Umberto. “I hear you are good with the knife.”
“The best,” Father interjected. A muscle in Luca’s jaw twitched.
“Not as good as your brother, as rumor has it,” Umberto said with a nod toward Matteo, who flashed him a shark grin. “But better than any other man in our territory,” Umberto admitted eventually.
“Are you married?”
Umberto nodded. “For twenty-one years.”
“That’s a long time,” Matteo said. “Aria must look awfully delicious in comparison to your old wife.” I stifled a gasp.
Umberto’s hand twitched an inch toward the holster around his waist. Everyone saw it. Father watched like a hawk but didn’t interfere. Umberto cleared his throat. “I’ve known Aria since her birth. She is a child.”
“She won’t be a child for much longer,” Luca said.
“She will always be a child in my eyes. And I’m faithful to my wife.” Umberto glared at Matteo. “If you insult my wife again, I’ll ask your father for permission to challenge you in a knife fight to defend her honor, and I’ll kill you.”
This would end badly.
Matteo inclined his head. “You could try.” He bared his white teeth. “But you would not succeed.”
Luca crossed his arms, then gave a nod. “I think you are a good choice, Umberto.” Umberto stepped back, but kept his gaze fixed on Matteo, who ignored him.
Luca’s eyes settled on Raffaele, and he dropped whatever civility had cloaked the monster within until that point. He moved so close to Raffaele that my cousin had to tilt his head back to return the stare. Raffaele tried to keep his expression arrogant and self-confident, but he looked like a Chihuahua pup attempting to impress a Bengal tiger. He and Luca might as well have been two different species.
“He’s family. Are you honestly going to accuse him of having an interest in my daughter?”
“I saw how you looked at Aria,” Luca said, never taking his eyes off of Raffaele.
“Like a juicy peach you wanted to pluck,” Matteo threw in, enjoying this entirely too much.
Raffaele’s eyes darted toward my father, looking for help.
“Don’t deny it. I know want when I see it. And you want Aria,” Luca growled. Raffaele didn’t deny it. “If I find out you are looking at her like that again. If I find out you are in a room alone with her. If I find out you touch as much as her hand, I will kill you.”
Raffaele flushed red. “You aren’t a member of the Outfit. Nobody would tell you anything even if I raped her. I could break her in for you.” God, Raffaele, shut your mouth. Couldn’t he see murder in Luca’s eyes? “Maybe I’ll even film it for you.”
Before I could even blink, Luca had thrown Raffaele to the ground, dug a knee into his spine, and twisted one of my cousin’s arms behind him. Raffaele struggled and cursed, but Luca held him fast. One of his hands gripped Raffaele’s wrist while he reached under his vest with the other, pulling out a knife.
My l
egs turned weak. “Leave now,” I told Gianna in a whisper. She didn’t listen.
Look away, Aria.
But I couldn’t. Father would surely stop Luca. But Father’s expression was disgusted as he stared down at Raffaele. Luca’s eyes sought Father’s gaze—Raffaele wasn’t his soldier. This wasn’t even his territory. Honor demanded he got permission from the Consigliere—and when my father gave a nod, Luca brought the knife down and cut Raffaele’s pinky off. The screams rang in my ears as my vision turned black. I bit down on my fist to stifle a sound. Gianna didn’t. She let out a screech that could have woken the dead before she threw up. At least she’d turned and aimed away from me. Her vomit spilled down the steps.
Behind the doors, silence reigned. They had heard us. I gripped Gianna’s upper arms when the secret door was ripped open, revealing Father’s furious face. Behind him stood Cesare and Romero, both with their weapons drawn. When they saw Gianna and me, they returned them to the holsters under their jackets.
Gianna didn’t cry. She seldom did, but her face was pale and she leaned heavily against me. If I didn’t have to hold her up, my own legs would have crumpled. But I had to be strong for her.
“Of course,” Father hissed, scowling at Gianna. “I should have known it was you causing trouble again.” He wrenched her away from me and into the lounge, raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face.
I took a step in his direction to protect her, and Father lifted his arm again. I braced myself for the slap, but Luca caught my father’s wrist with his left hand. His right hand was still grasping the knife he’d used to cut off Raffaele’s finger. Both the knife and Luca’s hand were coated with blood. My eyes widened. Father was the master of the house, the master over us. Luca’s intervention was an insult against my father’s honor.
Umberto drew his knife and Father had his hand on his gun. Matteo, Romero and Cesare had drawn their own guns. Raffaele was huddled on the floor, bent over his hand, his whimpers the only sound in the room. Had there ever been a red engagement?
“I didn’t mean disrespect,” Luca said calmly, as if war between New York and Chicago wasn’t on the verge of breaking out. “But Aria is no longer your responsibility. You lost your right to punish her when you made her my fiancée. She’s mine to deal with now.”
Father glanced down at the ring on my finger, then inclined his head. Luca let go of his wrist, and the other men in the room relaxed slightly, but didn’t put their weapons back. “That’s true.” He stepped back and gestured at me. “Then would you like the honor of beating some sense into her?”
Luca’s hard gaze settled on me, and I stopped breathing. “She didn’t disobey me.”
Father’s lips thinned. “You are right. But as I see it, Aria will be living under my roof until the wedding, and since honor forbids me to raise my hand against her, I’ll have to find another way to make her obey me.” He glowered at Gianna and hit her a second time. “For every one of your wrongdoings, Aria, your sister will accept the punishment in your stead.”
I pressed my lips together, tears prickling in my eyes. I wouldn’t look at either man again, until I could find a way to hide my hatred from them.
“Umberto, take Gianna and Aria to their rooms and make sure they stay there.” Umberto sheathed his knife and gestured at us to follow him. I stepped past my father, dragging Gianna with me, her head bowed. She stiffened as we stepped over the blood on the hardwood floor and the cut-off finger lying abandoned in it. My eyes darted to Raffaele, who was clutching his wound to still the bleeding. His hands, shirt and pants were covered with blood. Gianna retched as if she was going to throw up again.
“No,” I said firmly. “Look at me.”
She drew her eyes away from the blood and met my gaze. There were tears in her eyes, and a cut on her lower lip was dripping blood on her chin and her nightgown. My hand on hers tightened. I’m here for you. Our locked eyes seemed her only anchor as Umberto led us out of the room.
“Women,” my father said in a scoffing tone. “They can’t even bear the sight of a bit of blood.” I could practically feel Luca’s eyes boring into my back before the door closed. Gianna wiped her bleeding lip as we hurried after Umberto through the corridor and up the stairs. “I hate him,” she muttered. “I hate them all.”
“Shh.” I didn’t want her to talk like that in front of Umberto. He cared for us, but he was my father’s soldier through and through.
He stopped me when I wanted to follow Gianna into her room. I didn’t want her to be alone tonight. And I didn’t want to be alone either. “You heard what your father said.”
I glared at Umberto. “I need to help Gianna with her lip.”
Umberto shook his head. “It’s nothing. You two in a room together always bodes trouble. Do you think it’s wise to irk your father any more tonight?” Umberto closed Gianna’s door and gently pushed me in the direction of my room next to hers.
I stepped in, then turned to him. “A room full of grown men watches a man beat a helpless girl—that’s the famous courage of Made Men?”
“Your future husband stopped your father.”
“From hitting me, not Gianna.”
Umberto smiled like I was a stupid child. “Luca might rule over New York, but this is Chicago and your father is Consigliere.”
“You admire Luca,” I said incredulously. “You watched him cut off Raffaele’s finger and you admire him.”
“Your cousin is lucky The Vice didn’t cut off something else. Luca did what every man would have done.”
Maybe every man in our world.
Umberto patted my head like I was an adorable kitten. “Go to sleep.”
“Will you be guarding my door all night to make sure I don’t sneak out again?” I challenged him.
“Better get used to it. Now that Luca’s put a ring on your finger, he’ll make sure you’re always guarded.”
I slammed the door shut. Guarded. Even from afar Luca would be controlling me. I’d thought my life would go on as it used to until the wedding, but how could it when everyone knew what the ring on my finger meant? Raffaele’s pinky was a signal, a warning. Luca had made his claim on me and would enforce it in cold blood.
I didn’t extinguish the lights that night, worried the darkness would bring back images of blood and cut-off limbs. They came anyway.
CHAPTER THREE
My breath clouded as it left my lips. Even my thick coat couldn’t protect me from Chicago’s winter. Snow crunched under my boots as I followed Mother along the pavement toward the brick building, which harbored the most luxurious wedding store in the Midwest. Umberto trailed closely behind, my constant shadow. Another of my father’s soldiers made up the rear, behind my sisters.
Revolving brass doors let us into the brightly lit store and the owner and her two assistants immediately greeted us. “Happy birthday, Ms. Scuderi,” she said in her lilting voice.
I forced a smile. My eighteenth birthday was supposed to be a day for celebration. Instead it only meant I was another step closer to marrying Luca. I hadn’t seen him since that night he’d cut off Raffaele’s finger. He’d sent me expensive jewelry for my birthdays, Christmas holidays, Valentine’s days and the anniversary of our engagement, but that was the extent of our contact in the last thirty months. I’d seen photos of him with other women on the Internet, but even that would stop today when our engagement would be leaked to the press. At least in public he wouldn’t flaunt his whores anymore.
I didn’t kid myself into thinking he wasn’t still sleeping with them. And I didn’t care. As long as he had other women to screw, he’d hopefully not think about me in that way.
“Only six months until your wedding, if I’m correctly informed?” the shop owner piped. She was the only person who looked excited. No surprise really—she would make a lot of money today. The wedding that marked the final union of the Chicago and the New York mafia was supposed to be a splendid affair. Money was irrelevant.
I inclined my
head. One hundred sixty-six days until I had to exchange one golden cage for another. Gianna gave me a look that made it clear what she thought of the matter, but she kept her mouth shut. At sixteen and a half, Gianna had finally learned to rein in her outbursts, mostly.
The shop owner led us into the fitting room. Umberto and the other man stayed outside the drawn curtains. Lily and Gianna plopped down on the plush white couch while Mother began browsing the wedding gowns on display. I stood in the middle of the room. The sight of all the white tulle, silk, gossamer, and brocade, and my knowledge of what it stood for, corded up my throat. I’d be a married woman soon. Quotes about love decorated the walls of the fitting room; they felt like a taunt considering the harsh reality that was my life. What was love but a silly dream?
I could feel the eyes of the shop owner and her assistants on me, and squared my shoulders before I joined my mother. Nobody could know that I wasn’t the happy bride-to-be, but a pawn in a game of power. Eventually, the shop owner approached us and showed us her most expensive gowns.
“What kind of gown would your future husband prefer?” she asked pleasantly.
“The naked kind,” Gianna said, and my mother shot her a glare. I flushed, but the shop owner laughed as if it was all too delightful.
“There’s time for that on the wedding night, don’t you think?” She winked.
I reached for the most expensive dress in the collection, a dream of brocade; the bustier was embroidered with pearls and silvery threads forming a delicate flower pattern. “Those are platinum threads,” the shop owner said. That explained the price. “I think your groom will be pleased with your choice.”