by Reilly, Cora
He raised dark eyebrows and lifted up a calf holster with a curved knife before he strapped it to his leg. Of course, he would take a weapon with him.
He nudged me toward the platform at the end of the yacht. I sat down on the edge and slowly glided into the water. I’d never swum so far outside and I worried that it would unnerve me not to see ground beneath my feet, but when Luca joined me, a sense of safety came over me. Luca would protect me. He was probably the most dangerous predator in these waters. I stifled a grin at the thought. The moment I put my head underwater and saw what lay below, fish and, further down, fascinating rock formations, I forgot my worries. Luca and I snorkeled for almost an hour, Luca always close to me, protective as usual.
Afterwards Luca and I had dinner before Luca took us to the beach in an inflatable. He spread out a blanket on the sand, and I sank down on it as he took the champagne from the cooler bag and settled beside me. The salty ocean air lingered in my nose.
He filled two glasses and handed me one. We clinked glasses and kissed before I raised the glass to my lips and took a sip. I’d grown used to the taste over the years and had learned to appreciate the tartness and the bubbles bursting on my tongue. Luca wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me against him, as we watched the sun set over the ocean in hues of pink and orange.
“I never imagined it would be like this,” I admitted in a whisper.
Luca turned to me. “What exactly?”
“Us, our marriage,” I said. “In the three years until our wedding I pictured how you’d treat me. I listened to Umberto’s stories about your fights, about how you crushed a man’s throat, how you killed your first man at eleven, and all I could think was that I wouldn’t survive if you were the man he and everyone described.”
I fell silent, my eyes trained on the waves. My fears were still fresh in my mind; they had still filled my nights three months ago, and now I sat beside Luca with champagne, feeling safer than I had all my life. Luca was watching me with rapt attention, but didn’t interrupt me as I continued, “Our father occasionally hit us, Gianna more than Lily and me, but I worried you’d do worse.” Luca’s hand on my waist tensed but still I pressed on. “I was sheltered, true, but women talk and what I overheard many of them say about how Made Men treat their wives terrified me—and those men weren’t even called the Vice. I know we haven’t been married long, but if you keep treating me the way you do now, I will be happier than I thought possible. I know I can count myself lucky. I know it every time other women offer me words of consolation and send me looks of compassion because I’m your wife.”
I finally met his gaze. The shadows played on his sharp features, but his eyes seemed to burn brightly with emotion. “Why aren’t you the monster they all fear when you are with me?”
He didn’t say anything, only drew in a deep breath. I waited, hoping he would answer my question. “Because I don’t want to be. I want that part of my life to be good, pure. The rest of my life will always be filled with violence and death. Cruelty runs in my veins, and I’m gladly the monster they fear whenever I’m not with you because it’s in my nature and I enjoy it, but not with you, never with you, Aria, I swear.”
I tilted my head. “Can you? Swear something like that?
He thought about it for a couple of heartbeats before he murmured, “Yes, unless you do something so unforgivable I would snap.”
“And then?” I prompted.
Luca made a low sound in his throat and brushed his lips over my temple. “It won’t ever come to that.”
I nodded, and took another sip of champagne.
“Did your father ever raise your hand against you after our engagement?” Luca whispered darkly.
I hesitated.
That was all the answer Luca needed, and he went rigid. “I warned him not to lay a hand on you.”
I touched his forearm. “That’s the past, Luca. Don’t let it ruin the present.” I could tell he was reluctant to let it go, and I decided to follow my own advice. I emptied my glass, set it down, then untangled myself from Luca’s hold and stood. I pulled my dress over my head and dropped it to the sand beside Luca, who watched me with eagerness. The only light left came from the spotlights of our yacht and the small solar lamp Luca had set up on the blanket. The breeze caught my hair and whipped it around as I smiled down at Luca. He rose to his feet and stripped out of his own clothes, and a shiver of arousal passed my back at the sight of his nudity. He stepped close and bowed down for a kiss. My hands roamed over his chest and ripped stomach as his own traveled down my back and cupped my ass. Soon my need to feel Luca inside of me drowned out all else as he worked me with strong, experienced fingers. His length dug insistently into my stomach. I stepped back, breathless, catching my breath before I said: “I want to try the position again.”
Luca nodded, but I could tell he was apprehensive as we settled on the blanket. I turned my back to him then got down on my knees and hands. My stomach twisted with nerves. For some reason, I worried this position more than any other would make Luca compare me to his previous lovers. I had seen how he had fucked Grace, how hard she’d let him take her, how unbridled Luca had been. My body still sometimes clamped up when I didn’t want it to, and new positions sometimes brought me discomfort.
Luca stroked my back, the gesture so reverent that I relaxed under his touch. He pressed up to me but didn’t enter. Instead he reached around and began stroking me. I moaned and eased back a bit so Luca’s tip slid in. He released a low breath before he worked his way deeper and when he filled me completely, I realized why he favored the position. He was deeper than ever before, and I had to breathe slowly through the new sensation. I felt too stretched. Luca gripped my hips and withdrew slowly before he moved back in at the same pace. He found a slow, gentle rhythm, and step by step my body grew accustomed to this angle. Luca didn’t speed up, and despite the twinge it caused, I moved my hips faster to meet his thrusts and show him he didn’t need to hold back. Yet his fingers on my waist tightened, restraining me. “No, love,” he growled. “You are still tense around me.”
“I don’t care,” I got out. “You can move faster.”
Luca leaned forward, sliding even deeper, and I sucked in my breath as he pressed his chest against my back. “No, I can’t. Not without hurting you.”
“I want you to find pleasure.”
“I don’t take pleasure in causing you pain, believe me,” he said in a gravelly voice. “We have all our lives to try every position. Don’t pressure yourself because you think you need to live up to certain expectations, because you exceed them all where I am concerned.”
He pulled out of me. My huff of protest died when Luca turned me around and lifted me on his lap. “Ride me. I want to look at your face.”
Searching his eyes, I found he meant it and I smiled as I lowered myself on his length. Our gazes locked as I rocked my hips, and pleasure soared through my core, and even as the tension built up to impossible levels, I rode Luca at a slow pace. His pants deepened as he clung to my waist, and then my orgasm rippled over me, and Luca tensed under me, head falling back as he came inside of me. I pressed a kiss to his throat, feeling his pounding pulse against my lips. I bit down lightly and Luca’s cock jerked in me as he growled. I smiled against his skin. Mine.
Our days on the yacht passed too quickly and when we left the yacht in Palermo’s harbor on our last day, I felt a sense of wistfulness.
Luca seemed to pick up on it. “We will be back next spring, I promise.”
I gave him a grateful smile.
We still had to go through with a visit to Luca’s great-uncle before we could return to New York, and I could see Luca’s demeanor shift as we got into Alessandro’s car—he’d picked us up at the harbor. Luca was back to being Capo, back to being vigilant. There was nothing soft or gentle about his expression now. Sometimes when I saw the looks he gave others I was reminded of my own fears of the past, and felt immense relief that they were just that: memories.
<
br /> “Did you enjoy your honeymoon?” Alessandro asked—this time he didn’t bother with English. He was making small talk but I could tell he wasn’t into it.
“We did, thank you,” I said. Alessandro glanced at Luca in the rearview mirror as if he was surprised Luca hadn’t answered. I’d thought the question had been directed at both of us.
“Is there any reason why my great-uncle wants to talk to me except to rekindle family bonds?” Luca cut through to the topic on hand.
“He will share his thoughts with you,” Alessandro said in a clipped voice, and the look that passed between them sent a shiver down my back. The air seemed to thicken with their dominance. It was like being locked into a cage with two alpha wolves.
Thirty minutes later, we arrived at a sprawling estate. It reminded me of the villas I’d seen in Tuscany with its cream façade and columns. Luca’s family had set up a long table in the courtyard before the front entrance. I was greeted by a wave of females with kisses and hugs, and astonished glances at my hair. They all had black hair like Luca’s. I stood out as usual. Luca immediately approached a tall, elderly man with a mustache. His great-uncle, and after a moment, I went over to them as well to greet the Capo of the Sicilian Famiglia. His dark eyes appraised me, as usual lingering on my hair, then he smiled. “You must be the pride of the Outfit.”
“I’m part of the Famiglia now, but thank you,” I said, flashing him my winning smile to soften my objection. He laughed, a raspy sound, then reached for a cigar. He held one out to Luca as well, who accepted it. I suppressed a shudder. I hated the smell of it. “Call me Adalberto, if I may call you Aria?” Adalberto looked at Luca for approval. Luca inclined his head.
Of course, my opinion wasn’t their concern.
“Why don’t you help my daughters and granddaughters prepare our meal for us?” Adalberto said.
Luca’s mouth twitched but I doubted anyone but me noticed. “Yes, Aria, why don’t you?”
The snappy comment didn’t leave my lips. I would make Luca pay later when we were alone.
I followed the women into the huge kitchen, and hoped they’d give me a task I could handle. Several pots were set up on the stove, and a whole lamb hung from a hook at the ceiling, already skinned, its dead eyes staring at me. Soon I found myself surrounded by chattering Italian women, who spoke so fast even I had trouble understanding every word they said, and set up with the task of preparing artichokes. I had never seen anyone prepare them, and had absolutely no clue what to do. When my cluelessness became obvious, Livia, Alessandro’s youngest sister who was only twelve, took the knife from me and showed me how to do it, and soon took over completely when my incompetence ruined two of the vegetables. Eventually I was given the task of stirring the soup in one of the pots. The women were kind despite my uselessness, but I could tell they were surprised that I couldn’t cook.
“I suppose men in America don’t expect their wives to cook?” one of Adalberto’s daughters, a round woman in her forties, said. I doubted most Italian men expected their wives to be perfect cooks, but these were mafia women, and the mafia was stuck in the past.
“Look at her hair, who cares if she can cook?” Livia said, her cheeks tingeing red when I smiled at her. Her comment was greeted by a wave of nods. The role of stupid blonde didn’t sit well with me, but I knew they weren’t trying to be mean. Everyone knew Luca hadn’t married me because of my wit. Neither he nor I had been given a choice in the matter.
When we served the prepared food to the men later, and Adalberto asked how I’d done, the women praised my abilities. Only Luca knew it was a blatant lie. I’d never be a decent cook, or anything close to it. I could tell by the tightness around his eyes that his conversation with Adalberto and Alessandro, who sat with them but avoided Luca’s eyes, must have worried him.
Later when we were finally alone in our airplane, I got the chance to ask him about it.
“Things are getting difficult for the Famiglia around here. My great-uncle asked if I would take Alessandro and his sisters in if things got out of hand.”
“And will you?”
“Of course. We are family. Honor dictates that I do, but Alessandro is destined to become Capo. He won’t bow down to my rule easily. I hope it doesn’t come to that.” His expression shifted from worry to something more relaxed. “So I hear you turned into a chef all of a sudden. Can I expect elaborate dinners in the future?”
“Of course,” I said sweetly. “You know how much Marianna enjoys going all out.”
Luca chuckled. Our housekeeper was a lifesaver when it came to food. She often prepared several meals in advance and put them in plastic boxes in our fridge so we wouldn’t starve. “You are a horrible housewife.”
I huffed. “I wasn’t raised to be a housewife. I was raised to be a trophy wife.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, but it was the truth and I needed to own up to it.
Luca shook his head, his eyes reverent as they trailed over me. “You were born to be a queen.”
chapter 4
LUCA
The days passed quickly after our return to New York, and soon November rolled around and with it Matteo and Gianna’s fucking engagement party. The girl didn’t even try to hide that she didn’t want to marry Matteo.
If it had been up to me, I’d have let Scuderi marry her off to whatever old creep he’d chosen for her before Matteo played the fucking hero and asked for her hand.
She would bring trouble to New York, and I was glad that the wedding was still more than half a year away because additional trouble was the last thing I needed at the moment.
Dante entered my mansion with Scuderi and nine-year-old Fabiano, who trailed after them like a lost puppy. Gianna and Liliana had arrived earlier with their mother and immediately gone upstairs to prepare for the festivities. Neither of the women felt comfortable around me.
Dante and Scuderi wouldn’t be spending the night under my roof. They preferred a close-by hotel, and I was fucking relieved. Maybe our fathers had agreed on a truce, but Dante and I didn’t trust each other. I didn’t want him under the same roof as Aria. Not that he had any interest in her. He hadn’t officially taken over as Boss from his father Fiore Cavallaro yet, but everyone knew he was already running the show in Chicago.
“I still can’t stand their fucking faces,” Matteo muttered. “Especially Scuderi makes me want to optimize his face with my knife.”
One day maybe, but not today.
I walked toward them and held out my hand to Dante as tradition dictated. “Dante,” I said neutrally, which was the friendliest tone I could muster. “I hear you got engaged only recently. Congratulations.”
Dante inclined his head. “The wedding won’t be a big affair like yours with Aria.”
“We’re honored to attend anyway.” Of course, we had gotten an invitation and were required to go, even if I couldn’t have cared less if Dante married or not.
Dante inclined his head, his eyes cold and wary. I shook Scuderi’s hand after that, and squeezed a bit tighter than was called for, remembering what Aria had told me in Sicily—that he had hit her even after our engagement, even after I told him she was mine.
His brows drew together. “Luca.”
I released his hand. “Rocco.”
“Where is Aria?”
“She is talking to the caterer about some last-minute changes, but she will be here any moment.”
“Is Romero still her bodyguard? I never understood how you let an attractive man close to her age guard her. I wouldn’t allow my wife an opportunity like that.”
The moment this truce was over, I’d hunt him down and show him what it felt like to drown in his own blood. I smiled coldly, my voice steel. “My men know she is mine. No one would dare look at her the wrong way. Men like your nephew Raffaele would have been skinned in New York, their skin left to dry so it could make a nice carpet for my office.”
Scuderi’s face turned red.
Dante only met my gaze with th
e same cold appraisal as always. “We’ve come to celebrate an engagement, not skin anyone, I assume.” His eyes said he would have preferred the latter.
I inclined my head. “Of course. We want to further our bonds, right?”
“Right,” Dante clipped, and silence followed.
Beside me, Matteo looked like he was only waiting for a sign from me to pull his knives and carve a smile into their throats.
My eyes went to the small figure behind Scuderi who watched us with huge blue eyes, Aria’s eyes.
“Fabiano,” I said, trying to soften my voice but succeeding only marginally. He peered up at his father, who gave a jerky nod before Fabiano stepped forward and held out his hand. I took it and shook it, and then the kid narrowed his eyes. “Where are Gianna and Lily?”
Protectiveness rang in his young voice, and I had to stifle a smile.
“He’s buried them in the backyard,” Matteo said with a grin.
Fabiano jerked, and I sent Matteo a scowl. “They are upstairs,” I told Fabiano and tightened my grip slightly, sending him a warning look. He was still a kid, but I wouldn’t tolerate his insolence in my own territory.
He lowered his eyes and I released him.
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but you will have to beat Gianna into shape. She needs a hard hand,” Scuderi said, and Matteo’s answering grin sent me into high alert.
Dante straightened. Three years of truce. How much longer?
The door swung open and Romero stepped inside, checking if the air was clear before he allowed Aria to step through. His brows drew together when he noticed the tension between us, and he stretched out his arm to bar Aria’s way. Of course, she wouldn’t have it, her eyes zeroing in on her brother.
She ducked under Romero’s arm. “Fabi!” she called, her face breaking into a smile as she rushed toward us. She flung herself at her brother and hugged him tightly. The unbridled happiness on her face banished any violent thoughts I’d harbored. She pulled back, her eyes scanning her brother. “You have grown again. When will you ever stop?”