by Sam Crescent
Color rose in her cheeks and neck. Made him wonder if maybe she was as pure as her conniving father claimed. Father Gabriel paused, but at his look, resumed the rest of the ceremony. He set her hand down and accepted the rings from his nephew Stephen. He plucked the smaller gold ring and set it on her finger. A thrill went down his spine as he watched her pick up his ring with trembling hands. The cold metal felt like a perfect fit on his ring finger.
“You may kiss the bride,” Father Gabriel said.
Finally. Roman had grown impatient. He’d been entertaining thoughts of doing away with the priest. After all, Father Gabriel kept him from claiming his prize. Using two fingers, he tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. She never flinched. Good girl.
Roman moved his hand to the back of her neck, holding her in place, although Evelina had no chance of escape. Ever. She was bound to him until death forcefully pried them apart. He was going to enjoy this ride very much. Roman brushed his lips over hers, savoring the sweetness of her. He didn’t care who was watching. He took his time enjoying her. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she’d draw away. Slap him maybe.
Evelina did none of those things. She kissed him back, tentatively at first, before opening up to him. Roman tightened his grip on her neck. The moment she parted her lips, he slipped his tongue down her throat. Evelina sucked down on it. The little she-devil.
Roman wondered if she could feel his erection pressing up against his trousers. Maybe not. The layers of her ridiculous gown got in the way. The dress didn’t even suit her, didn’t do justice to her glorious curves. Roman clutched at the gauzy fabric. He couldn’t wait to rip it off her. To expose all her creamy skin. To feast on her generously sized breasts and the honey between her legs.
Someone cleared his throat in the background. Roman released her, amused she looked confused. Evelina touched her lips momentarily, and Roman noticed they were still swollen from his earlier attention.
“Did you enjoy that, wife?” he couldn’t help but ask, but he kept his voice low.
Evelina’s mother had insisted on taking group photos. Roman endured it all. Normally, he couldn’t stand social events. He planned on spiriting his new bride right to his bedroom, but he changed his mind. Roman decided he wanted to get to know her better, to observe how she’d interact with her family and the other guests.
A click went off. Maria Russo hollered at guests to take positions.
Evelina finally snuck a look at him. “You wish,” she said under her breath.
“Rule number one, Evelina? Don’t ever lie to me,” he said against her ear. She grew as still as a statue.
Evelina recovered and whispered back, “Rule number two? Don’t assume just because I’m your wife, I’ll do everything you say.”
Roman smirked. He endured more photos before announcing, “That’s enough. The guests are hungry. We’ll head to the reception.”
He offered his hand to his new bride. Evelina twitched her lips, her expression skeptical. She must’ve remembered everyone was watching, because she conceded defeat. She allowed him to lead her out of the church to his waiting limo outside.
The afternoon sun bore down on them. Roman loosened his tie as his driver opened the door for Evelina. He soon joined her.
“It will take us half an hour to get to my, our home,” he told her. “Wine, Evelina?”
“Sure. I can drink.” She paused. “And call me Eve. Only my mother calls me Evelina.”
Pleased she offered him that little snippet of information, Roman poured them two glasses of white wine. He handed one glass to her. She seemed nervous. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the stem of the glass but that was only understandable. They were complete strangers to each other, after all.
“Eve then,” he agreed. Roman emptied half his glass. “You’re not what I expected.”
She scoffed. “I bet.”
Roman frowned.
She explained. “I’m not like my perfect sister or my mother. I’m just plain old Eve. Boring. Nothing special.”
She sounded resigned and for some reason, Roman didn’t like that. He set his glass on a cup holder and pried hers from her fingers. Roman stole another kiss from her, sharp and deep. Eve let out an exhale once he pulled away. She tasted like wine and raspberries. An enticing combination.
“Stop kissing me out of the blue. I don’t like being caught off guard.”
“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” he said simply.
She glared at him like a kitten that didn’t get her way. He chuckled. Roman knew it was inappropriate, but he couldn’t help himself. Those who worked for him couldn’t, didn’t dare meet his eyes. His own family didn’t dare cross him, and his enemies were petrified of him for a good reason.
If it meant improving the fortunes of the De Luca Family, Roman wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty time and time again. Eve, on the other hand, looked him boldly and foolishly in the eye like they were equals. They weren’t. She’d eventually learn that he liked to take control in and out of the bedroom.
“I can fight you the entire time we’re married,” she exclaimed.
“You have no idea how much that idea excites me,” Roman said. He reached for her hands, which she placed on her lap. “What happened to your fingers?”
“Burnt myself on the curling iron,” she grumbled, sounding embarrassed.
“Nervous about marrying me?”
“I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with a complete stranger, after all.” Eve bit on her lower lip. “My father might keep me out of family affairs, but I’ve heard rumors about you.”
“Do enlighten me.”
“That you always keep a souvenir, a body part of your enemies in a mini museum in your mansion. That you strangled your first wife and left her body in front of City Hall without caring about the authorities.”
The mention of his first wife summoned icy rage from the pit of his stomach. So, Eve thought she married a monster, did she? Roman didn’t intend to disprove her of that notion. The De Luca name would’ve been dragged into the dirt if Roman hadn’t taken the reins of the family business. Roman took deep breaths. He didn’t know why he bothered explaining himself to his young bride. Twenty-two. Christ. She was so fresh-faced. So innocent, and yet Roman reminded herself she was also Franco Russo’s daughter.
The Russos and De Lucas had been enemies for over five decades. The Russos survived the war this long because Franco helmed the ship, and he was beginning to realize Eve had inherited bits of her father’s personality. His unyielding strength. His stubbornness. What other facets of her personality did Roman know nothing about? She was like a puzzle he wanted to slowly unwrap and unravel.
“Firstly, I don’t have a mini museum. The body parts I cut off, I send them off to the families of my enemies as a warning. As for my first wife, it was only fitting I leave her on the steps of City Hall. She was fucking the mayor, after all,” he told her in a conversational voice.
When Roman first made arrangements to wed Franco’s remaining daughter, he told himself he wouldn’t scare the poor girl right off the bat. However, he didn’t want any pretension between them. She was a crime lord’s wife. The daughter of his number one enemy. They were in this together, for the rest of their lives.
She deserved the hard truth.
Chapter Three
The casual way Roman said those words chilled Eve to the bone. She doubted he was lying either. The rest of the drive to his home was a quiet one. Eve shouldn’t have baited him like that, but her tongue always got the better of her, especially when she was driven into a corner.
“We’re almost there.” Roman patted her knee.
She couldn’t feel the heat of his palm through the layers of her dratted dress, but she would never forget their first kiss. Hot like fire. Would the rest of his body feel the same? Eve had never been kissed like that before. Not that she had many kisses to compare it to. Her father might allow Eve her frivolities, as he liked t
o call her paintings and the art events she attended, but Franco had kept a close eye on her. He never allowed her anywhere in the city without bodyguards. That meant she never had the opportunity to date much. Not that it mattered. Eve always knew her parents would pick her husband for her. That it was expected of her to marry a criminal because it would benefit the Russos.
As soon as the driver turned the corner, her jaw dropped. Her family lived in an old Victorian mansion in one of the older districts in town. Roman lived in one of the newer and up-and-coming neighborhoods. His property was situated at the edge of the street and it took up what must be an entire city block. Towering iron fences ringed the compound. Two suits opened the massive gate that led up a winding road to an impressive Tudor-style house. She swallowed as the driver stopped and opened the door for her.
Eve stopped out and gazed at the intimidating place. Cars started to pull up along the winding driveway, but she was barely aware of the chattering guests. Roman stood next to her.
“You live here?” she managed to croak out, hating the awe in her voice.
“Right after I agreed to this arrangement, I purchased this property,” Roman said. “It seems fitting we put down roots in a new home.”
A shiver crept down her spine at the reminder she had to bed Roman at the end of the evening. Once the guests were gone, it’d be him, her, some of his men, and the staff in this haunting place. Once she was squirreled away in their bedroom, it would just be the two of them. Eve had never been with a man intimately before. Sex always seemed like a duty to her. She’d seen it firsthand with her mother and the rare times Lucille visited their old family home, she always complained about her bedroom duties to her husband.
It might not be so bad for her. Eve touched her lips again, remembering the heated and not so chaste kiss they’d shared in that church.
“Come on, wife. We have guests to entertain. It’s a pain, but the sooner they’re gone, the better,” Roman said.
Once again, he offered her his hand. Roman didn’t grasp her arm or tug her along, the way she sometimes saw Lucille’s husband do to her at social events. Apart from Roman’s blunt words claiming that she was his, he’d acted like a complete gentleman with her. When she told him she’d fight him every step of the way, he only seemed amused. Eve expected him to yell at her, to threaten her. He did none of those things, and that frightened her a little.
Her father and the men in her family always possessed explosive tempers. Roman seemed different. Subdued. He burned cold instead of hot, and Eve had to admit that intrigued her slightly.
The reception was held in Roman’s massive backyard. The sprawling and wild English garden surprised her. Eve let out a gasp.
“I never expected to see something like this here,” she admitted.
“The garden came with the house. I didn’t have time to hire gardeners to tame it. The wedding planner made do,” he said.
She didn’t complain when Roman placed a proprietary hand on her bare upper back. He led her to the long table that looked over the rest of the other round tables where the guests sat. Everything about her new husband confused her. Roman De Luca was nothing like she expected. She told herself she wasn’t hungry, but the soup, then the appetizers smelled amazing.
Eve took a bite, then another. She loved and enjoyed food and she wasn’t conscious of her figure like her mother and Lucille were. Eve was proud to flaunt her curves, and the crash diet her mother had forced her to go through the past few weeks only made her feel starved.
“I’m glad you like the food,” Roman commented, breaking off from his conversation with Eve’s father. He regarded her with those intense blue-gray eyes. Roman looked at her a little differently than when she was walking down the aisle, Eve noticed. She wondered if his attention was a good or bad thing.
Eve set her fork down.
“Don’t stop on my account. I’m glad someone else is enjoying herself.”
That didn’t seem like a jab at her weight or anything like that. Eve had been teased by her sister and cousins all her life about her size, so sometimes she was a little sensitive. She focused on his words.
“You’re not enjoying yourself?” she asked, looking around the tables. Everyone was having a good time. Both family members and friends were laughing, on their way to getting roaring drunk.
“Social events are a necessity, but I find them a waste of time,” he answered.
Roman then leaned in close. She thought he’d kiss her again. Eve wouldn’t mind that at all. Kisses from Roman made her feel all tingly and wide awake. Instead, his breath was warm against her ear.
“I can’t wait to send everyone home so I can just have you all to myself, my sweet bride.”
She shuddered, not in revulsion but in anticipation. His heated gaze made her nipples pebble, forced her to close her thighs together, which were sticky with her need. The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. The next thing Eve knew, she shook hands and traded farewells to the last of the guests. Her mom was the last to leave. Her father had already left the party an hour ago, saying he had more important business to attend to.
Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “Just close your eyes and it’ll all be over soon.”
Unexpected tears welled in her eyes. Eve didn’t know whether she wanted to weep or laugh at her mother’s bad advice. Maria Russo pulled out a clean white handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. The fact her mother didn’t reprimand her or tell her to look sharp surprised her. The tight lines around her mother’s eyes made her look older than her years. She seemed exhausted.
“There, there. You’ll do fine. The women in our family are strong,” were her mother’s parting words.
“Can I see you to your ride, Mrs. Russo?” Roman politely asked. Her husband stood by her side. He placed one hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Thank God, she’d stopped crying. She didn’t want him to see her distressed, to expose any weakness he could exploit. Men like Roman and her father were like sharks. Once they scented blood in the water, they went for the kill.
“Maria,” her mother corrected. “I’d like that.”
Roman left her alone in the nearly empty backyard. Few guests lingered. A sharp-eyed, hawk-faced man in his early thirties stared at her. The hungry and desperate look in his eyes sent a jolt of fear through her system. She had no idea who he was. Not a straggler, because he blended in perfectly with the other guests in his sharp designer suit. Not Italian, though. She should know. Her mother had always dragged her to the high-end custom tailors in the city when she was a child and when her father needed a new suit.
She scanned the garden, desperately searching for her husband. Eve only met the blank-eyed and professional stare of Roman’s household staff. Where was she? Better she cling to the monster she was legally bound to, rather than anyone else. Her father and her family could no longer offer her the comfortable protection she’d been used to her entire life.
When she sought the stranger again, he was gone. Eve breathed a sigh of relief.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we head upstairs?” Roman reappeared, that unsettling smile back on his lips.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Never show him fear. That had been a promise she made to herself earlier, but somehow, Roman was slowly but surely weakening all the defenses she erected.
“By the end of tonight, you’ll be begging me for more,” he said, running one callused finger against her cheek.
She jerked away. Such a small and silly defiant gesture. Why had she done that? Roman would have her naked in his bed in a few minutes. Nothing she did would matter. What use was fighting when her body was telling her it would be easy, better to give in to her new husband?
“So confident?” she asked, biting her tongue.
“My beautiful, spirited virgin. Once you have a taste of my cock, you’ll want no other’s man dick in you.”
His coarse words should’ve disgusted her, no
t make her even hornier. Her skin felt fever hot. Her nipples ached. Moisture lingered between her legs. Eve hated her dress and wanted to take it off as soon as possible.
Excitement replaced the momentary fear she experienced earlier. When he placed a hand on her back, she went where he led. They walked past empty tables piled with dirty plates and cutlery. Eve crushed bright crimson and white rose petals that had fallen from the elaborate flower arrangements under her heel. Her left foot nearly got caught in a rock. Eve would’ve toppled over if not for Roman catching her with his deft fingers. He smelled like scotch, sandalwood soap, and cigars.
She pried herself from him and kicked off her heels. There. So much better. She wiggled her toes in the cool, clean grass. For a second, Eve debated escape. Without those painful heels, she could run, but Eve had no illusions she would be able to get far. If Roman’s men didn’t find her, her father’s men would.
Would it be so bad if she stayed, if she tried her hand at being his wife?
His laughter made her glare at him. Was he able to read the conflicting emotions on her face? Did he find her odd?
“What’s so funny?” she demanded.
“I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”
“Try wearing heels. They’re modern torture devices,” she said. “Besides, all the guests are gone. I don’t need to pretend to be your perfect bride.”
“Eve, you can be who you want to be when you’re with me,” he said, twirling his fingers into her unbound hair.
He gave her hair a tug, making her look up at him. Roman crashed his mouth to hers, pulling her into a kiss that made her forget everything. Her surroundings, the fact her family sold her to a complete stranger for a profitable alliance, her sister’s death. Her old life being reduced to a fleeting dream, replaced by this new reality.