Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals)
Page 18
I know a man like Lance would never be interested in me but that fleeting bit of attention makes me think…
Maybe one day, I will get that happily ever after.
And maybe, just maybe, that day will be soon.
The End
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Russo Royals Book 3
Cecily
I miss Esme. When I visit the castle, it’s just not the same without her. It’s quieter.
Boring.
Esme was always baking, laughing, carrying on. We’d get tired of listening to grown up talk and she’d come up with some crazy scheme to pass the time. Filling water balloons to toss at the guards, or trying to come up with some elaborate new recipe.
But now, she’s gone.
Married to a Romano, living at their estate.
My father drags me to my uncle Vincent’s castle every Friday night, like clockwork. I have to sit in the kitchen with my mother and the women. They chat and laugh, nibbling at chocolates, sipping wine and playing cards while the old men drink bourbon and discuss business.
Forgive me, but I’m only a few days shy of twenty—I’m not interested in playing spades, discussing health issues, and uncovering the best way to get a red wine stain out of a silk blouse.
My brothers are in the next room, playing poker and smoking cigars. With six of them, they can pretty much form a party amongst themselves anywhere they go. I can hear their laughter.
My mother begins a story about a bunion on her left foot that’s been troubling her.
I excuse myself, going to see my brothers.
I hover by the door, biting at my nails, watching the smoke rise from their cigars. The room is filled with testosterone, laughter, and the scent of bourbon. Aldo notices my presence.
My oldest brother holds his tattooed arm out toward me. “Come here, pupino. Come and hang with your brothers.”
I heave a sigh. “I hate when you call me that, Aldo. I’m no little baby anymore.”
I go to him, standing by his side. He’s so tall and I’m so short, even while he’s sitting, he’s able to reach up and throw his arm over my shoulder. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare down at his forearm that’s hanging over my shoulder, mesmerized by the colorful sleeve of tattoos that cover his skin.
As I always do when he slings his arm over my shoulder like this, I pick the swirling letters of my name, Cecily, from a branch of the tree-of-life tattoo he had done last year. One with all the names of all of our family members on it.
“Pupino, want to play poker?”
I hiss in his ear. “Stop calling me that!”
He gives a laugh. “I know. Leaving nineteen behind and all grown up.”
The boys banter, teasing me about still being the baby of the family. Ignoring them, I leave them to their laughter, picking out my family member’s names in order from the limbs of Aldo’s tattoo.
Demetri, Flora, Aldo, Santo, Enzo, Leo, Po, Cleo, Cecily.
I hear Aldo give a deep laugh to something Po says. Then he grabs my attention, pinching my arm.
He whispers in my ear. “I want you to meet someone.”
I hadn’t paid them much mind—I thought it was just my brothers around this table. “Who?”
My gaze moves around the table, realizing there is a seventh man amongst their midst.
Lance Romano.
The broad-shouldered man with the dark eyes and thick, dark hair, one rogue lock always seeming to hang over his eye. We flirted at Esme’s 18th birthday party. My brothers were out of town, affording me the rare opportunity to flirt. So many beautiful women vied for Lance’s attention, I couldn’t believe he’d chosen me out of the crowd to talk to.
Esme’d put a stop to our chatting, dragging me away from him, telling me he was dangerous.
I saw him briefly at her wedding, and on my front stoop once, but haven’t seen him since. He’s grown a bit of a beard since then. It looks good. I like it.
Now, he sits shoulder to shoulder between two of my brothers: Santo and Enzo. Lance’s long legs are spread wide as he lounges back in his chair like a panther. He flashes me that smile, the one that dinged me down in my core the night of the party.
“Sissy,” Aldo waves his hand in Lance’s direction. “This is Lance.”
One dimple shows on his left cheek. Lance’s dark eyes trail from my eyes to my breasts. “We’ve met before. Once or twice.”
Heat rushes over my face.
Surely Aldo will rebuke him for the open way he stares at me.
Aldo only grins. He slides his arm from my shoulder. “Come, sit with us. Play a round of cards.”
I look for an empty seat. There isn’t one. But I don’t want to leave.
I shake my head at Aldo. “You know I can’t play poker.”
“Come. Sit with me.” Lance pats his thigh. His gaze holds mine. Challenging. Daring me to comply. “I’ll teach you.”
My shoulders tense at his request. All hell is about to break loose. My brothers will not stand for this. I look to my brothers’ faces, waiting for them to declare war. But they just continue smoking their cigars, sipping their bourbon, laughing and jibing one another. No one takes note of this man ten years my senior, asking me to sit on his lap.
What the hell is going on here?
I’m always curious, wanting to see what will happen next. Now, I want to know how my overprotective guard of brothers will react if I do as Lance asks.
He pats his thigh again.
Fine. I’ll play this game.
It’s his funeral.
I walk around the table. He slides his seat back further, spreading those muscular thighs wide. I walk between them, hovering for just a moment as our gazes meet. He looks up at me, heat emanating from his eyes. He moves his hand from the top of his thigh to the side of his seat. “Sit.”
It’s not a request. It’s a command.
Suddenly, this Friday night is the least boring I’ve had.
A thrill of danger, a promise of sensuality run through me as I perch my ass on his massive thigh.
His arm goes round my lower back, brushing against the thin line of bare skin where the back of my shirt’s ridden up. “Comfortable?”
“I’m…okay.” I feel the heat from his body traveling through my jeans, the hard muscles of his thighs rolling beneath my soft curves as he moves. His scent reaches me.
Woodsy. Manly. Sexy.
Too sexy.
The whole thing…sitting here on his lap, having his arm around me like this…it’s all so sexy, so new, so grown up.
But my brothers never even let men talk to me, much less have me sit on their lap.
Surely one of them will react to this?
I look around the table at my brothers.
Nothing.
They act as if this is what we do every Friday night. We play cards, and I sit my ass a hand’s length from a strange man’s cock while he wraps his arm around my lower back. Loooooow on my lower back, like brushing up against my ass, low. His hand rests on his thigh, his thumb pressing against the outside of mine.
Why isn’t Aldo breaking this guy’s arm?
I look to my older brother. He’s staring at me, openly, no sign of anger or danger, a satisfied smile on his face. “Pupino, you ready to play?”
“Yes, if you stop calling me that stupid name, I am.”
Behind me, Lance gives a deep chuckle. When he laughs, his chest vibrates and the feeling runs al
ong my back and my ass. Aldo flings the cards around the table, dealing me and Lance in as one.
When we have our five cards, Lance wraps his arms around me, leaning forward and picking up the stack. His short beard brushes against the top of my bare shoulder. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
His breath tickles my skin. He pulls the cards closer.
He’s holding a seven, a three, a ten, and the king and queen of hearts.
He moves the cards to his right hand. His left hand goes under the table.
To the top of my thigh.
His lips find my ear, brushing over my skin as he whispers. “We’ll go for the flush.”
Heat covers my skin.
I think we’re already there.
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Dark Crown; A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance
Russo Royals Book 1
Felicity
I’ve dreamed of my wedding day since I was a little girl. I knew I would wear a white dress with longs sleeves and a full skirt. I would dance with my father to his favorite song, Figlia Mia: My Daughter, and I would carry a bouquet of deep red roses.
And my groom—my prince charming, my knight in shining armor—I didn’t know who he would be, but I knew what he would be. A warm, funny man with a crooked smile and an easy laugh. One that would hold me tight, kiss my forehead, shower me with his love.
A kind man. A gentle man.
Now, as strangers surround me, preparing me for what should be the happiest day of my life, I find myself swallowing back bitter tears. I watch them in the mirror as they curl my dark hair, blush my cheeks, and pin my veil into place, smiling and laughing with one another as they work.
After all, a wedding in the family is a joyous occasion.
I take in my reflection. Other than the flashing terror behind my hazel eyes, I’m the picture perfect bride. They’ve thought of everything, no detail has been overlooked.
He’s thought of everything.
My keeper, my dark king. And by the end of this day, my husband.
I will be his.
His will be done.
The youngest member of his staff, seventeen year old Esme, hovers at my side. She’s eight years my junior, impulsive and flighty, but there’s a deep wisdom that resides within her. With her light hair and contrasting dark eyes, they call her perla neara, the black pearl. She longs to please, to prove her place in the ranks. She can read this unhappiness in my face and she fears she’s the one who’s put it there.
Placing a birdlike, fluttering hand on my shoulder, she says, “Miss Felicity? Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Catching her worried eyes in the mirror, I try to reassure her with a smile. It comes out forced and tight. My voice breaks as I speak. “No, my darling. You’ve done everything perfectly. Thank you.”
Her face etched with concern, she gives me a timid nod. I’ve noticed she can be a bit distracted and seems somewhat boy crazy, but now, sensing my need to be alone, she gathers the other women, shooing them out the door. For someone so young, she’s extremely perceptive and helpful.
I tuck the thought in the back of my mind. Perhaps Esme will be of assistance when I plan my inevitable escape. Because though I may be legally bound to this man in a few short hours, there’s no way in hell I’m staying here.
Where will I go?
I’ve no idea.
And to complicate matters, I must save my father as well, even though he was the one who put me in this hell. After borrowing money from the Russo family that he couldn’t pay back he sold the only thing he had left of value.
Me.
His only child. His precious daughter.
There’s only one thing I take solace in on this day. Marrying this man means my father will live out his days in safety. And thanks to my husband gifting my father a monthly stipend, he won’t be living in the streets.
My groom is generous with his wealth to those who are tied to him. For that, I cannot fault him.
Vincenzo Russo.
I’ve heard his name plenty of times, but never seen the man in person. Everyone calls him Vincent. Sophia, the matronly woman who’s been employed by his family all her life tells me his name means to win, to conquer.
And he does. In every avenue of his life. He always gets what he wants.
And he wanted me.
Apparently, a few months ago, he visited my father’s shop before we had to close it down due to money troubles from Dad’s gambling addictions. I must have made an impression because he took me for his own, plucking me from the store, like a can of dry goods from the shelf.
I’ve racked my brain, wondering what possessed him to choose me. Surely there were other girls whose fathers were indebted to him? Girls more beautiful, or interesting. Girls who longed to be the queen of the mafia, to live the lavish lifestyle he offers.
Why choose me?
As a shy bookworm, I often kept my nose stuck in the pages of a fairytale as I worked the counter at my father’s shop on the main street in the village. I’d often spent lonely afternoons gazing upon, watching the members of the Russo family as they made their way home from the village to their chateau in little clusters. Talking. Laughing. Happy. I’d envied them their lives.
The irony grows bitter in my mouth.
Sophia briskly enters the room, shuffling over to my side, her generous, floral-covered hips pressing against my arm. “Get up, il mio amore, my love. It’s time.”
It’s time.
I find myself frozen to the chair, unable to move.
She grabs my shoulder, gently tugging at me to stand. “Come, come. You mustn’t keep him waiting. He’s not fond of delays.”
“I’m not fond of being forced to marry.”
My words make her face fall and I instantly regret them. I soften my tone, putting a hand over hers where it rests on my shoulders. “It’s not your fault, I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
She sniffs as if I’ve complained of my hairpins being too tight. “I understand. But my dear, things could be worse. In my day, our parents had the say in who we married. And it was difficult to move up in this world other than through marriage. At least in Vincent, you will never want for anything.”
Anything, other than love.
Though her demeanor is tough, in her gaze I can read her apologies. She’s not the one at fault. I give her the same tight smile I braved for Esme.
Patting her hand, I say, “I know. He’s been more than generous.”
She gives a grateful sigh, as if I’ve taken the weight of guilt from her shoulders. “I understand this isn’t the way you envisioned your life heading, but you will grow to love him. I have a sixth sense about these things and I’ve not been wrong yet.”
There’s a first time for everything, Sophia.
I will never love him.
As soon as I can break out of the castle walls safely, I’m going to flee. Grab my father, and get us out of the country. Maybe we can go back to New York, where we lived before coming to Italy.
But first, I must play the part of the bride.
Standing, I smooth my shaking hands over my dress, a slinky white silk slip gown, the seaming hugging my curves, the back rising into baguette-encrusted halter straps that lead to a black grosgrain bow-topped T-back. It’s nothing I would have chosen for myself, but as I gaze in the mirror, I find it suits me.
“How do I look?” I offer Sophia a smile I hope is kind. She hemmed this dress for me, painstakingly making every stitch by hand when I arrived the other morning, telling me if she left it up to the castle’s tailor, he’d snag the silk with his rough hands.
Tears brush up in her eyes as she gazes at me through her wire-framed glasses. “Dear, you look lovely. Vincent is a very lucky man.”
Taking my arm in hers, she leads me from the room. We make our way through the castle.
It’s a truly beautiful building, a structure built for fairytales. I’ve r
ead so many books, and in every one pictured myself walking along the halls of the castles on the pages. But now, it’s real.
Deep red rugs line the halls. Paintings of the Italian countryside, and the regal ancestors of the family hang from the walls below black iron sconces that holding burning candles. Servants flutter behind me, ready and willing to meet any need I may have.
I’ve dreamed of castles like this.
And now, my dream feels like a nightmare.
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Shanna Handel is an Internationally Bestselling author of romance. She is living her dream as a full time writer married to the love of her life.
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DON’T miss any of the RUSSO ROYALS
Book ONE
DARK CROWN
Book TWO
DARK THRONE
Book THREE
DARK KINGDOM
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