Born in Blood Collection Volume 1: Collection of books 1-4

by Cora Reilly

  I smoothed my dress nervously.

  Gianna shook her head. “Who sent you anyway? Luca?”

  “Your mother,” Bibiana said. “She wants to make sure you know what’s expected of you.”

  “Expected of her?” Gianna hissed. “What about what Aria wants?”

  “It is what it is,” Bibiana said bitterly. “Tonight Luca will expect to claim his rights. At least he’s good-looking and young.”

  Pity for her kindled in me, but at the same time my own anxiety made it hard to console her. She was right. Luca was good-looking. I couldn’t deny it, but that didn’t change the fact that I was terrified of being intimate with him. He didn’t strike me as a man who was gentle in bed. My stomach lurched again.

  Valentina cleared her throat. “Luca will know what to do.”

  “You just lie on your back and give him what he wants,” Bibiana added. “Don’t try to fight him; that will only make it worse.”

  We all stared at her, and she looked away.

  Valentina touched my shoulder. “We’re not doing a good job of consoling you. Sorry. I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

  Gianna snorted. “Maybe Mother should have invited one of the women Luca’s fucked to the wedding. They could have told you what to expect.”

  “Grace is here,” Bibiana said, then she turned red and stammered, “I mean, that’s only a rumor. I—” She looked toward Valentina for help.

  “One of Luca’s old girlfriends is here?” I whispered.

  Bibiana cringed. “I thought you knew. And she wasn’t really his girlfriend, more like a plaything. Luca’s been with many women.” She snapped her mouth shut. I was fighting for control. I couldn’t let people see how weak I was. Why did I even care if Luca’s whore was at the wedding?

  “Okay,” Gianna said, getting up. “Who the fuck is Grace, and why the fuck is she invited to this wedding?”

  “Grace Parker. She’s the daughter of a New York senator who’s on the payroll of the mafia,” Valentina explained. “They had to invite his family.”

  Tears blurred my vision and Gianna rushed toward me. “Oh don’t cry, Aria. It’s not worth it. Luca’s an asshole. You knew that. You can’t let his actions get to you.”

  Valentina handed me a Kleenex. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”

  I blinked a few times until I had a grip on my emotions. “I’m sorry. I’m just being emotional.”

  “I think it’s best if you leave now,” Gianna said sharply, not even looking at Bibiana and Valentina. There was rustling and then the door opened and closed. Gianna wrapped her arms around me. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. I swear it. I’ll take one of those fucking guns and put a hole into his head.”

  I leaned against her. “He survived the Bratva and the Triad, and he’s the most feared fighter in the New York Famiglia, Gianna. He’d kill you first.”

  Gianna shrugged. “I’d do it for you.”

  I pulled back. “You’re still my little sister. I should protect you.”

  “We will protect each other,” she whispered. “Our bond is stronger than their stupid oaths and the Omerta and their blood vows.”

  “I don’t want to leave you. I hate that I have to move to New York.”

  Gianna swallowed. “I’ll visit often. Father will be glad to be rid of me.”

  There was a knock and Mother walked in. “It’s time.” She scanned our faces but didn’t comment. Gianna took a step back, eyes burning into me. Then she turned and walked out. Mother’s eyes zoomed in on the white lace garter on my vanity. “Do you need help putting it on?”

  I shook my head and slid it up until it came to rest on my upper thigh. Later tonight, Luca would remove it with his mouth and throw it into the group of gathered bachelors. I smoothed down my wedding dress.

  “Come,” Mother said. “Everyone’s waiting.” She handed me my bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of white roses, mother-of-pearl roses, and pink ranunculus.

  We walked in silence through the empty house, my heels clacking on the marble floors. My heart pounded in my chest as we stepped through the glass sliding door onto the veranda overlooking the backyard and the beach. The front of the garden was occupied by the huge white pavilion where the wedding ceremony would be held, but behind the pavilion dozens of tables had been set up for the following feast. Voices carried over to me from inside the pavilion, where the guests were waiting for my arrival. A path of red rose petals led from the veranda toward the entrance. I followed Mother into the small room between the outside and the main part of the pavilion. Father was waiting and straightened when we entered. Mother gave him the briefest nod before slipping into the makeshift chapel. His smile was earnest when he offered me his arm. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “Luca won’t know what hit him.”

  I ducked my head. “Thanks, Father.”

  “Be a good wife, Aria. Luca is powerful and once he takes his father’s place, his word will be law. Make me proud, make the Outfit proud.”

  I nodded, my throat too tight for words. The music started to play: a string quartet and a piano. Father lowered my veil. I was glad for the extra layer of protection, no matter how thin. Maybe it would hide my expression from afar.

  Father led me toward the entrance and gave a low command. The fabric was pulled apart, revealing the long aisle and the many hundred guests to either side of it. My eyes were drawn to the end of the aisle where Luca stood. Tall and imposing in his charcoal suit and vest with the silver tie and the white shirt. His groomsmen were dressed in vests and dress pants of a lighter gray, and wore no jackets and bowties instead of ties. Fabiano was one of them, only eight and much shorter than the men.

  My father tugged me along, and my legs seemed to carry me of their own accord as my body shook with nerves. I tried not to look at Luca and instead watched Gianna and Liliana from the corner of my eye. They were the first two bridesmaids, and seeing them gave me the strength to hold my head high and not bolt outside.

  White rose petals covered my path and were squashed under my shoes. Kind of symbolic in itself, though I was sure it wasn’t meant to be.

  The walk down the aisle took forever, and yet it was over too soon. Luca extended his hand, palm upwards. My father gripped the corners of my veil and lifted it, then he handed my hand over to Luca, whose gray eyes seemed to burn up with an emotion I couldn’t place. Could he feel me shaking? I didn’t meet his gaze.

  The priest in his white frock greeted us, then the guests, before he began his opening prayer. I tried not to pass out. Luca’s grip was the one thing keeping me focused. I had to be strong. When the priest finally came to the closing lines of the Gospel, my legs could barely hold me up. He announced the rite of marriage and the guests all rose from their chairs.

  “Luca and Aria,” the priest addressed us. “Have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage? Will you love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”

  Lying was a sin, but so was killing. This room breathed sin. “Yes,” Luca said in his deep voice, and a moment later my own “yes” followed. It came out strong and firm.

  “Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.” Luca clasped my hands. His were hot against my cold skin. We faced each other, and I had no choice but to look up into his eyes. Luca spoke first: “I, Luca Vitiello, take you, Aria Scuderi, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” How sweet the lies sounded coming from his mouth.

  I recited the words expected of me, and the priest blessed our rings.

  Luca picked up my ring off the red cushion. My fingers shook like leaves in the breeze as I raised them, my heartbeat hummingbird quick. Luca’s strong hand was firm and steady as he took mine. “Aria, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Spirit.”

  He slipped the ring onto my finger. White gold with twenty small diamonds. What was meant as a sign of love and devotion for other couples was nothing but a testament of his ownership of me. A daily reminder of the golden cage I’d be trapped in for the rest of my life. Until death do us part wasn’t an empty promise, as with so many other couples that entered the holy bond of marriage. There was no way out of this union for me. I was Luca’s until the bitter end. The last few words of the oath men swore when they were inducted into the mafia could just as well have been the closing of my wedding vow:

  “I enter alive and I will leave dead.”

  It was my turn to say the words and slip the ring onto Luca’s finger. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I could manage it. The tremor rocking my body was so strong that Luca had to steady my hand and help me. I hoped nobody had noticed, but as usual Matteo’s keen eyes rested on my fingers. He and Luca were close; they’d probably laugh about my fear for a long time.

  I should have run when I still had the chance. Now, as hundreds of faces from the Chicago and New York Famiglias stared back at us, flight was no longer an option. Nor was divorce. Death was the only acceptable end to a marriage in our world. Even if I still managed to escape Luca’s watchful eyes and those of his henchmen, my breach of our agreement would mean war. Nothing my father could say would prevent Luca’s Famiglia from exercising vengeance for making them lose face.

  My feelings didn’t matter, never had. I’d grown up in a world where no choices were given, especially to women.

  This wedding wasn’t about love or trust or choice. It was about duty and honor, about doing what was expected. A bond to ensure peace.

  I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what else this was about: money and power. Both were dwindling since the Bratva had been trying to expand their influence into our territories. The Italian Famiglias across the US needed to lay their feuds to rest and work together to beat down their enemies. I should be honored to marry the oldest son of the New York Famiglia. That’s what my father and every other male relative had tried to tell me since my betrothal to Luca. I knew that, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t had time to prepare for this exact moment, and yet fear corseted my body in a relentless grip.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.

  I raised my head. Every pair of eyes in the pavilion scrutinized me, waiting for a flicker of weakness. Father would be furious if I let my terror show, and Luca’s Famiglia would use it against us. But I had grown up in a world where a perfect mask was the only protection afforded to women and had no trouble forcing my face into a placid expression. Nobody would know how much I wanted to escape. Nobody but Luca. I couldn’t hide from him, no matter how much I tried. My body wouldn’t stop shaking and his grip on my hands tightened. As my gaze met Luca’s cold gray eyes, I could tell that he knew. How often had he instilled fear in others? Recognizing it was probably second nature to him.

  He bent down to bridge the ten inches he towered over me. There was no sign of hesitation, fear or doubt on his face. My lips trembled against his mouth. My first kiss, if it could even be called that. His eyes bored into me, even as he pulled back. Their message was clear: You are mine.

  Not quite. But I would be tonight. A shudder passed through me, and Luca’s eyes narrowed briefly before his face broke into a tight smile as we faced the applauding guests. He could change his expression in a heartbeat. I had to learn to do so as well, if I wanted to stand any chance in this marriage.

  Luca and I walked down the aisle past the standing and clapping guests, and left the pavilion. Outside, dozens of waiters offered glasses of champagne and small plates with canapés. It was now our turn to accept the blessings and congratulations of every guest before we could move on to the tables and sit down for dinner. Luca took two glasses of champagne and handed one to me. Then he grabbed my hand again, and it didn’t appear as if he had any intention of letting go anytime soon. He bent down, lips brushing my ear, and whispered, “Smile. You are the happy bride, remember?”

  I stiffened, but I forced my brightest smile onto my face as the first guests piled out of the pavilion and lined up to talk to us.

  My legs began to hurt as we’d made it through half of our guests. The words directed at us were always the same. Praise for me on my beauty and congrats to Luca for having such a beautiful wife—as if that was an achievement—always followed by not-so-hidden hints about the wedding night. I wasn’t sure if my face remained as bright through all of them. Luca kept glancing at me as if to make sure I kept up the charade.

  Bibiana and her husband were next. He was small, fat and bald. When he kissed my hand I had to stop myself from shuddering. After a few mandatory words of congratulations, Bibiana gripped my arms and pulled me toward her body to whisper into my ear. “Make him be good to you. Make him love you if you can. It’s the only way to get through this.”

  She let go of me and her husband wrapped his arm around her waist, meaty hand on her hip, and then they were gone.

  “What did she say?” Luca asked.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, glad for the next well-wishers who prevented Luca from asking more questions. I nodded and smiled, but my mind whirred around what Bibiana had said. I wasn’t sure if anyone could make Luca do anything he didn’t want to do. Could I make him want to be good to me? Could I make him want to love me? Was he even capable of such an emotion?

  I risked a glance up at him as he talked to a soldier of the New York mob. He was smiling. Feeling my eyes on him, he turned, and for a moment our gazes locked. There was darkness and a burning possessiveness in his eyes that sent a shiver of fear down my back. I doubted there was a flicker of gentleness or love in his black heart.

  “Congrats, Luca,” a high female voice said. Luca and I turned toward it, and something in his demeanor shifted ever so slightly.

  “Grace,” Luca said with a nod.

  My eyes froze on the woman, even though her father, Senator Parker, had started talking to me. She was beautiful in an artificial way with a too narrow nose, full lips and cleavage that made my moderate chest look like child’s play. I didn’t think any of it was natural. Or maybe my jealousy was talking. I dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.

  With a look in my direction, she leaned up and said something to Luca. His face remained a passive mask. Finally, she turned to me and actually pulled me into a hug. I had to force myself not to stiffen. “I should warn you. Luca’s a beast in the bedroom and hung like one too. It’ll hurt when he takes you and he won’t care. He doesn’t care about you or your silly emotions. He will fuck you like an animal. He will fuck you bloody,” she murmured, then she stepped back and followed after her parents.

  I could feel the color drain from my face. Luca reached for my hand and I flinched, but he clasped it anyway. I steeled myself and ignored him. I couldn’t face him now, not after what that woman had just said. I didn’t care that it was required to invite her and her parents. Luca should have kept them away.

  I could tell Luca grew frustrated with my continued refusal to meet his gaze as we spoke to the last few guests. When we walked toward the tables that had been set up under a roof of garlands attached to wooden beams, he said, “You can’t ignore me forever, Aria. We are married now.”

  I ignored that as well. I was hanging on to my composure with desperate abandon, and still I could feel it slipping through my fingers like sand. I could not, I would not break into tears at my own wedding, especially since nobody would mistake them for tears of happiness.

  Before we could take our seats, a chorus of “Bacio, Bacio” broke out among our guests. I’d forgotten about that tradition. Whenever the guests shouted the words, we’d have to kiss until they were satisfied. Luca pulled me against his rock-hard chest and pressed another kiss to my lips. I tried in vain not to be as stiff as a porcelain doll, to no avail. Luca released me, and finally we were allowed to sit down.

  Gianna took a seat beside me, then
leaned over to whisper in my ear. “I’m glad he didn’t shove his tongue down your throat. I don’t think I could get any food down if I had to witness that.” I was glad too. I was already tense enough. If Luca actually tried to deepen a kiss in front of hundreds of guests, I might lose it altogether.

  Matteo sat beside Luca and said something to him that made both of them laugh. I didn’t even want to know what kind of lewd joke that might have been. The rest of the seats at our table belonged to my parents, Fabiano and Lily, and Luca’s father and stepmother, as well as Fiore Cavallaro, his wife and their son Dante. I knew I should be starving. The only thing I’d eaten all day was the few pieces of banana in the morning, but my stomach seemed content to live on fear alone.

  Matteo rose from his chair after everyone had settled down and clinked his knife against the champagne glass to silence the crowd. With a nod toward Luca and me, he began his toast. “Ladies and gentlemen, old and new friends, we’ve come here today to celebrate the wedding of my brother Luca and his stunningly beautiful wife Aria…”

  Gianna reached for my hand under the table. I hated having the attention of everyone on me, but I mustered up a bright smile. Matteo soon made several inappropriate jokes that had almost everyone roaring and even Luca leaned back in his chair with a smirk, which seemed to be the only form of smile he allowed himself most of the time. After Matteo, it was my father’s turn; he praised the great collaboration of the New York mob and the Chicago Outfit, making it sound as if this was a business merger and not a wedding feast. Of course he also dropped a few hints that it was a wife’s duty to obey and please her husband.

  Gianna clutched my hand so tightly by then that I was worried it would fall off. At last, it was Luca’s father’s turn to toast us. Salvatore Vitiello wasn’t quite as impressive but whenever his eyes settled on me, I had to stifle a shiver. The only good thing about listening to the toast was that nobody could call “Bacio, Bacio,” and that Luca’s attention was focused elsewhere. That reprieve was short-lived, however.

  The servers began piling the tables with antipasti: everything from Veal Carpaccio, Vitello Tonnato, and Mozzarella di Bufala, to an entire leg of Parma ham, over a selection of Italian cheeses, octopus salad, and marinated calamari as well as green salads and ciabatta. Gianna grabbed a piece of bread and tore into it, then said, “I wanted to make a toast as your bridesmaid, but Father forbade it. He seemed worried I would say something to embarrass our family.”