Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance

by Watson, Meg

  “Ready for what?”

  He smiles broadly. His teeth look fragile. “Ready for anything, of course,” he smirks. “But don't worry, this is a simple meeting and I’m sorry to miss it. I have another engagement, truth be told. You're going to meet your new wife.”

  The sweet coffee curdles in my throat.

  “Excuse me…”

  Stosh is nodding, obviously pleased with himself. “Yes, you're just the man for the job. It's all arranged.”

  “No,” I say simply.

  Stosh holds his hands, palm up. “Yes.”

  “No,” I say again.

  “And why not?” Stosh asks, though he thinks there's nothing I can say to influence him.

  “I do not want a wife.”

  “Everyone wants a wife, Roman.”

  I try to remind myself that I need to demonstrate respect for Stosh. He is my boss. And yet what he saying is absolutely ridiculous. A wife for a hitman? It's absurd. I can't afford that kind of weakness. Neither can he. What is he thinking?

  “I do not want a wife,” I say again.

  “Well, maybe you do and maybe you don't,” Stosh says reasonably. Still, the smirk curls the edges of his mouth. “But this is the job. Dimi was willing to do it, and now it falls to you. There's no one else, and it's already been arranged. I've already agreed.”

  “Ask Alek.”

  “Alek is not Dimi’s replacement.”

  “Then pick someone else,” I growl.

  “Who else is there?” he says, though he knows I can't possibly have an answer for that. “She's the Don's daughter. A regular princess. If you don't like her, that's all right. They're mostly just good for cooking and cleaning anyway. Making babies, you know.”

  I shake my head tightly.

  “If she's ugly, just give her a place to live and go about your business. All you have to do is make a house with her. Take a girlfriend. Hell, take a boyfriend if you need to. Take twenty, I give no fucks. You're the man.”

  “Dimi was a fool,” I say.

  “Ha!” Stosh exclaims, slapping his palm on the table and making the plates jump. “Yes, he was! He was a fool who got himself killed. Would he still be alive today if he had married the Don's daughter? That is the question. That is the thing you have to consider. I arranged this to provide for your safety, Roman. You should be thanking me instead of making trouble. You really should.”

  I close my eyes tightly. I don’t have a choice, and I know it. Bound to some Italian princess? No, this is not the life I wanted. I can't believe Gyorgi didn't mention this to me when he sent me here.

  But I can tell that Stosh is expecting my gratitude. Though he is still smiling, there is something else behind the smile. Something sour. I don't know him well enough to know if I can refuse his generosity without consequences. And with Dimi’s death fresh in his mind, he may simply think he's protecting me. Or he may simply be pushing the agenda to ensure better business. I can't really tell.

  In theory, it's not my place to know. I'm just a soldier. I do what they tell me.

  Taking a deep breath, I press my lips together and nod. Stosh’s eyes brighten but I don't want to hear another word. I stand up from the table and leave the bakery, trying to figure out how I’ll explain this to Alek while I can still hear Stosh chuckling behind me.

  CHAPTER 6

  MARIE

  Pulling the living room curtain back with just one finger, I can see Nuncio sitting on the corner of the stairs, looking at his phone. He’s smiling like he's watching cat videos or something. Nuncio loves his cat. I snap the curtain back into place and walk down the length of the living room to the kitchen.

  Pulling my blue silk kimono tighter around my waist, I fill a kettle and put it on the stove for tea. A nice herbal tea might soothe my stomach. Sleeping in made it bad. Missing lunch made it worse. Right now all I want to do is go back to bed but I can’t imagine I’ll be able to sleep again, just lay there and stare at the ceiling, wishing my belly would calm down.

  When I woke up this morning, my stomach was all in knots. First it was this feeling of sort of a druggie bliss. I felt so heavy in my bed, like I was weighed down by sandbags. Then little by little, different parts of me woke up. My shoulders, my back.

  Once my hips started to feel alive, there was an unfamiliar ache in the middle of me. For a moment I couldn’t remember what it was, and then everything came back, rushing in all at once.

  The men in the bar. Hurrying to the elevators. Crashing against them in their hotel room, in the dark, where they just undid me. Disassembled me and put me back together again in a different order. Like a new woman…

  And then, those tattoos.

  My stomach twists again urgently. I feel like I’m going to throw up. If anybody finds out about this, I'm dead. This is not an exaggeration, I will literally be dead. Even though Daddy has been trying to come to some sort of agreement with the Russians, this sort of thing would be a mortal insult.

  Just giving away my virginity would take years for him to get over, but hopefully there's no way he would have found out. But a Russian, that's a whole other matter. This has got to go away.

  Hopefully, he's just passing through. Maybe visiting family? Surely, they have families. He said he was from Atlanta, after all. I hope that means he's flying out today. Maybe he can have lunch with his grandma or something and then take it on the road.

  Yes, that's what I'm going to go ahead and believe. That guy… Roman? He just came to visit his grandma. Alek will pick her up some nice babushkas at the Russian grandma store or whatever. That seems reasonable. Totally.

  The kettle begins to whistle, and I pour the water into a large mug with a peppermint tea bag inside. I'll let it steep for a couple of minutes before I grab an ice cube to cool it back down. I really want something in my belly besides regret right now.

  I hear the front door open and my heart jumps. I'm totally not ready for this. Who's coming over? For that matter, where is my phone? Dammit. I'm all mixed up.

  I come out of the kitchen with the mug between my hands, leaning slightly to peer around the corner. I catch a glimpse of Gianna's wavy hair as she strolls into the front room.

  She looks at me and then her mouth opens to say something, but she stops. Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What's up with you?”

  I shrug dismissively. “Nothing. What's up with you?”

  She puts her hand on her hip and sways her weight toward one leg. Her eyebrows go up at the outside edges and she looks me up and down. “You look different,” she says accusingly.

  “I look hung over,” I mumble, shuffling over to the floral sofa and sitting down on it. I really hope she doesn't look too closely at me. I don't know why, but I don't want to tell her. If I could tell anybody, it would be Gianna, but right here in my living room? I don't think so.

  When Daddy gave me the house, I got the feeling it was thoroughly wired for sound. Maybe video too. The 24-hour guards stationed at the front and back entrances were pretty good clues.

  Daddy said that it was for my protection, but I get the feeling that it's more than that. He seems to always know where I am and what I'm doing. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve got a GPS tracker implanted in my body or something, but of course, that would be nuts. He’s probably just got some crazy intuition about me that’s dialled up to maximum at all times.

  “Did you go out after you closed the club?” Gianna says shrewdly, her voice showing a little bit of hurt. I don't want her to think I'm going out partying without her, but I also don't want her to ask too many questions about what I did last night.

  “Daddy and I had a… conversation. Then I needed a drink.”

  She comes over and sits on the sofa next to me, leaning her elbow against the fluffy back cushions. I would not have picked out the sofa myself, but I guess it's okay. It's a little bit senior citizen for my taste, but I guess that's how Daddy either sees me, or wants me to be.

  “What kind of conversation, hm? You okay?”

/>   I cut my eyes toward her and nod confidentially. She knows that there's a risk in saying anything out loud with Nuncio always just around every corner. I know that she won't push me too hard until we're in a safer place.

  “Well… I think I left my textbooks here,” she explains, changing the subject effortlessly. “I’ve got a finance midterm coming up, and I swear I haven't studied more than twenty minutes for that class.”

  I nod, though we both know that's not true. Gianna doesn't do much besides study if she's not working. She's the most dedicated student I think I have ever met.

  In high school, I would never have graduated without her help. It just comes so easily to her, while I was bored and restless most of the time. If I could have spent the whole four years of high school in music classes, that would've been fine with me. Music and drama, those got me excited. A little history too, since it's basically a series of one-act plays. But chemistry and composition? I never would have passed those without Gianna's help.

  The front door opens and closes again just as Gianna is standing up from the sofa. She glances at me to see if I'm concerned, but I'm really not. Nuncio would not let anybody in the front door who wasn't already on Daddy's approved list of visitors anyway.

  I know who it is by Gianna's posture before I even see him. She stands up straight and assumes a helpful, peaceful expression. It's Daddy, I can tell. Gianna has automatically gone into unobtrusive-girl-mode, just like we're supposed to.

  “Good morning, Daddy,” I call out. My voice is tired and sick-sounding.

  He walks into the room and scowls at me. His eyes flicker toward Gianna and she starts for the doorway. I hear her footsteps going up the stairs.

  Daddy squints at me, waiting until her footsteps sound on the floorboards above our heads.

  “You were out late last night,” he says.

  I just nod. I don't want to say too much here, for fear he's going to read my mind or smell it on me, or whatever. I feel different. It must be completely obvious to every other human being in the world.

  “You don't look so good. You feel okay?”

  Shrugging, I take a deep breath and a long sip of my tea. The peppermint really does seem to be helping.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Don't you know?” I say before I think it through. Instantly I want to suck those words back in, but there they are, hanging in the air between us.

  He runs his tongue over his teeth, sucking loudly. “I don't need your attitude this morning, Marie. I asked you a question.”

  “I just went out,” I say, my courage crumbling into powder. “I just needed some time to think.”

  His sigh fills the room. His disappointment is like a sort of air, settling into everything. Automatically, I want to please him. I don't want him to be upset with me. But I'm so upset, I don't know what else to do. I also just want to scream and stomp my feet like a little kid until he gives me what I want. But what do I want, exactly? I don't know. It's like I never ever get the chance to figure that out for myself.

  “Dinner tonight, 8:30.”

  My breath stalls in my lungs. Tonight, already?

  “Did you hear me?”

  He's rocking back and forth on his feet, his arms crossed over his chest. I can see this red flush creeping up over his neck as he gets more frustrated with my attitude.

  “Answer me, Marie!”

  Though I know what I'm going to say, I make him wait. Even waiting a few seconds is fairly outrageous in his book. But at this point, what else am I going to do?

  At least I know I did something on my own last night. And he didn't find me or anything. And he doesn't seem to know right now. At least I’ve got that, which isn't everything, but it's definitely something. I just hope it's enough to last me the rest of my life.

  I stand up, nodding. I don't even look at him as I leave the room, but I say loud enough so he can hear me, “I'll see you at 8:30.”

  Gianna is standing at the top of the stairs when I come into the front hallway. I glare at her meaningfully and she backs up, walking silently on her heels back to my room. She clutches the finance textbook to her chest as I come in the room, barely daring to breathe.

  “What was that?” she says in a frightened whisper. It's like we have to whisper to each other like prisoners of war or something.

  “Can you stay?”

  She doesn't look convinced, but she nods her head. “Of course I can stay, honey. What you need?”

  “An outfit.”

  She tips her head to one side slightly. Her eyes flicker over to my open closet, which holds maybe five hundred outfits in every color and style. Most of those I didn't even pick out by myself, they just sort of appeared there or Daddy gave them to me. I haven't even worn most of them.

  “Okay…” she says slowly. She drops the book on my dressing table and pushes a line of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “An outfit for what?”

  I take a deep breath, trying the words out a few times in my mind before I'm able to actually say them out loud. “For tonight. So I can go meet my new husband.”

  ***

  Jimmy Two-Fist opens the door for me and his eyebrows go up, way up. I step into Daddy's huge marble foyer, smoothing the dress over my hips. Jimmy is one of Daddy's oldest associates. He's about twice the size that he used to be, and he pats up his giant belly as he nods and smile-frowns at my outfit.

  “You sure clean up nice, kid,” he says, smacking his lips over some piece of candy he's got in his mouth.

  “Thanks, Jimmy,” I say automatically.

  He steps back as he closes the front door and the sound of it latching behind me is like one of those important sounds in a movie. The click, it echoes through the marble hallway.

  I can feel the air over my bare shoulders. For about the thousandth time, I'm regretting this dress. It's strapless with a low, plunging back. The fabric is a deep, blood red with a cinched waist and ruched hips. It's too much.

  But Gianna said it was perfect. I don't know. I know she never would have worn something like this; it's way too revealing. She likes to keep it on the conservative side, which is why I think she likes dressing me up like such a slut. A little vicarious action, you might say.

  But tonight, I didn't want to look like this at all. I wanted to look like I was going for first communion or something. Instead, I look like the sort of person Daddy has tried to make sure I never was.

  Balancing my weight forward on my toes, I walk as quietly as I can to the dining room door. The huge, carved panels are almost shut, with just a few inches opening in the middle. I can hear voices coming from inside. There's Daddy, and another man. Maybe a third man too.

  Willing my heart to quiet down, I press my palms to the door and wait, listening. I just want a moment to catch my breath, to try to get my head around what's about to happen.

  “So you've never been to the city before?” I hear Daddy saying.

  “It's a beautiful city,” another man says. “Boris has been showing us around.”

  “It is, it is,” Daddy says. I know that he prefers New York, but Chicago is his home. He has that sort of pride in his voice. “I assume you’ll be making use of the club too. My house is your house now. Please, make yourself at home.”

  “That's very kind of you, Don Lauro,” the voice says. “What kind of club is it?”

  “Ah,” Daddy says, and I can almost picture him in my mind, sitting back and folding his hands over his belly. He loves to talk about the club. “Just a small place, really. A place for my friends to come, gather, enjoy a few cigars, a drink or two. Nothing too special.”

  “If your home is any indication, I'm sure it's a beautiful club,” the stranger says politely. I nod, knowing Daddy is probably extremely pleased at this point. Good manners and a little flattery go along way with him. He's accustomed to being treated like a king.

  “It is, it is… But I'm sure that you are both eager to hear more about the arrangement. Do you have any
questions for me?”

  “Don Lauro, I am honored to be welcomed into your home,” another voice says. The tone is different from the first speaker, more formal, less ingratiating.

  Oh, geez. This lovefest is making me sick. What kind of toe-licker has Daddy married me off to?

  “That you would consider allowing me to care for your daughter is a greater honor than I deserve. I only hope that I can prove worthy of the trust that you've placed in me.”

  Daddy sighs out a long groan of reluctance. “She's truly my pride and joy. She is a gift, the light in my world.”

  “She must truly be an angel.”

  “You have no idea. My daughter is a rare, precious gift. It breaks my heart to see her off, and yet I know… You will take care of her, won't you.”

  “He is a man of honor, Don Lauro. I assure you,” says the first man smoothly.

  “As am I, as am I,” I hear Daddy say.

  I can tell by his voice that he feels satisfied with this arrangement. Just like that. Whatever they’ve been talking about, I just got passed across the table like a tray of food to the stranger.

  “To the continued peace between our families,” I hear the first stranger say.

  “To peace,” says the second stranger.

  “Yes,” Daddy says, and their glasses clink together.

  Well, I suppose I might as well get this over with. Now that they've basically shaken hands on the deal, I might as well go in.

  I push the doors apart and step into the dining room, my eyes automatically going to the floor. All three men stand up as I enter and I can feel their stares as they look me over.

  My eyes find Daddy first. His cheeks are flushed with wine, and he smiles at me broadly, nodding. With some effort, I smile back politely, just like I'm supposed to.

  I finally get the courage to urge my eyes toward the next man. He raises his glass toward me, then pauses. I look at his thick, muscled arms, his broad shoulders, trying to force myself to look at his face. It seems to take a long time to raise my eyes to his, and what I'm seeing doesn't make any sense.

  Charcoal grey eyes glare at me from beneath heavy brows. His face is handsome, I think, and then not as much. His dark, wavy hair is closely shorn over his head, curling slightly at his hairline.