Savage Ruler: A Dark Italian - Irish Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Sinfully Savage)

by Kristen Luciani

  I have to figure this out. I need to come up with a way where I don’t lose everything…especially the woman I’ve grown to love.

  I just don’t know if that’s possible anymore.

  “Matteo,” a gravelly voice mumbles from behind me.

  I spin around to see Jorge Dominguez…again dressed in an expensive suit. This time, he’s wearing a blood-red tie. I’ll bet that’s not a coincidence.

  Fucker.

  “I came to wish you congratulations,” he says with a smile, his yellowed teeth flashing. He looks around. “Your bride is not here?”

  “Not yet,” I rasp.

  “Let’s hope, for your sake, that she doesn’t have, eh, cold feet, yes?” He lets out a dry chuckle.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I say in a low voice. “It’s too risky. They can pull up at any second—"

  “Just like the other night at the club, yes? When Heaven went to freshen up and I approached you?” He steps closer. “She could have come out and seen you talking to me, which would have been very bad for both of us. But she didn’t, because I am careful, Matteo. Careful, but not stupid.”

  I shake my head. “No, you aren’t.”

  “And because I am not stupid, I also know that you are having doubts about this arrangement. My trust in you is wavering.” He narrows his eyes. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “Look, I told you to give me a little time. Nothing can happen until we’re married—”

  “Yes, I understand English, Matteo. I heard what you said. I am saying I don’t like it. You are backing away from the plan, making moves that only…” He grins. “A man in love would make. That is what concerns me, why I feel that you are jeopardizing the plan. Your loyalties seem to have shifted.” He leans in close, pointing a finger at me. “Remember our agreement. Do not test me or you will find out very quickly that Conor will not be the only prize I claim from our arrangement. In fact, now is as good a time as any to tell you that I plan to take a bride, as well, although not in the same way you will,” he hisses, a smile on his face.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? This only has to do with Conor,” I growl. “Heaven wasn’t ever supposed to be part of—"

  “Oh, yes. I guess I forgot to mention that part, didn’t I? But it is only fair, yes? A daughter for a daughter,” he says, turning away from me and heading to his car. His driver pulls open the back door, and Dominguez slides into the backseat just as a white Mercedes turns down West 42nd Street. His car barrels past, my gut twisting as I make eye contact with the driver of the Mercedes. Pop will have to find his own way inside. I give the driver a quick nod to signal him to let Heaven out of the car, and then I hurry into the church before I have a chance to see her in her wedding dress.

  Because I don’t need any more fucking bad luck.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heaven

  Butterflies.

  Lots and lots of butterflies.

  They took flight as soon as I woke up this morning and have yet to stop swarming.

  A tiny smile tugs at my lips.

  A couple of weeks ago, I’d have laughed at anyone who told me that this arranged marriage wouldn’t turn out to be a total and complete sham. Yet, here I am, in my mother’s wedding dress, clutching the hand of my aunt, actually excited to see my future husband standing at the altar.

  Waiting for me.

  Waiting to start a future fraught with unknowns but somehow, that doesn’t scare me as much as it did weeks ago. He’s shown me a different side of him, one that he doesn’t display to the world. I truly believe he cares about me and my family and will do anything it takes to protect us. This all started with a debt, but it’s morphed into something else entirely.

  He has a lot of layers, ones I am excited to peel back as we begin on this crazy journey. I trust him, believe in him, and know I’m making the right choice by marrying him.

  In the beginning, I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I couldn’t walk away from my father’s order knowing that my resistance would put my family in jeopardy.

  Now I can’t walk away because I’m in love with him.

  My pulse throbs against my neck as the driver pulls open my father’s door. Dad slides out of the backseat and holds out a hand to me. I stare at it, then at him, finally grasping it and allowing him to help me out of the car. I gather the long white train in the crook of my arm and face him. His eyes look sad and drawn, and he brings a hand to the back of his neck.

  “Heaven,” he says in a heavy voice. “I’m so sorry the way things turned out. I’m sorry that you have to go through with this, but I am so grateful to you for saving our family.”

  I squeeze the side of his arm. God, I’ve thought about this moment for the past two weeks. Would my father even apologize for changing the course of my life? Would he feel any remorse at all for his decision to marry me off for his own preservation?

  And last night I finally decided that I would forgive him.

  I agreed to do this as part of my family obligations since family has always been the most important part of my life.

  I resented the fact that the burden to protect fell on me because I’m a woman.

  If given the chance to lead, I could have proven myself a protector based on smarts, skill, and strategy, not gender.

  And I fully intend to get that chance.

  So I smile at my father and grasp his hands. “I understand that this is what you think it best, and I only want what’s best for everyone.”

  His pale eyes tear up and he nods. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”

  “You won’t,” I say. “And with Matteo by my side, we will make sure the Mulligan empire flourishes.”

  “I know you will,” he says in a choked voice, his eyes dropping to the ground.

  My brows knit. Why did he just look away from me in that second? “Dad, what—?”

  “Heaven, come on! We’re a little beyond fashionably late here,” Aunt Maura calls out.

  Dad flashes a quick smile and takes my hand, leading me toward the church before I can ask the question that just made my stomach knot.

  I let Dad lead me into the church vestibule where all of my brothers are gathered. Since we went small, they pretty much make up the whole bridal party. Matteo’s brother Roman is his best man, and Aunt Maura is my matron of honor.

  Small. Just the way I wanted it.

  Patrick lets out a low whistle as he walks over, pulling me in for a tight bear hug. “You look gorgeous, Heaven. That guinea bastard is a lucky guy.”

  Liam, Niall, and Quinn circle me, heckling me. Niall holds out a flask of whiskey and I grab it, taking a quick chug, watching Conor out of the corner of my eye. He stands a few feet away from everyone, his arms folded and his face twisted into his signature scowl.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” I mutter to Patrick.

  “You are his sister,” he says with a chuckle. “I know he’s a dick, but not so much that he’d miss your sham wedding.”

  I bite back a smile. For as tight as Patrick and I are, I haven’t let him in on too many of the details of late.

  Like how I fell for the enemy.

  Or how Conor tried to kill me.

  We’re going to need a bottle of whiskey and a few hours to cover all the highlights, so I just nod. I’m not going to give that shit show air time today, of all days. “I guess so.” My hand instinctively grazes my bandaged wound. It’s covered by the sleeve of my dress, so nobody will ask questions, but the harsh sting still remains…a reminder of who and what my dear brother is to me and the rest of the family.

  A total self-serving asshole who is more focused on dipping his wick in diseased pussy than on what’s most important.

  And even though I know all of that, I am going to ignore all of the voices telling me to steer clear of my toxic brother.

  I don’t want to walk down that aisle harboring resentment.

  I’ll kick his ass tomorrow, but today? Nothing wil
l ruin my happiness.

  It’s my wedding day, for fuck’s sake, and it’s here in large part because of him.

  Joke’s on you, Conor!

  I watch my father bend his head close to Conor’s ear, murmuring something that makes my brother’s eyes take on a murderous glaze. He pulls away from Dad, muttering something in a low growl that I can’t quite make out. I’m damn curious to know what the hell has his boxers in a twist.

  I know it isn’t the fact that I ratted him out for his almost-lethal tantrum the other day, since I listened to Matteo and kept my mouth shut. I don’t want to get anything by default. I want my father to realize how much good I can actually do, and promote me because I deserve it, not because Conor is a fucking psychopath.

  But still, I smile, because he looks hella pissed, and that makes me even happier.

  And to be honest, I’m glad he’s giving my father shit over whatever they’re arguing about. Maybe Dad will finally start to see what his empire will look like with Conor at the helm.

  And how different it can be with me in the top seat.

  Me, the one who doesn’t embezzle from the family.

  Me, who hasn’t tried to cut the jugular of any siblings.

  Me, the one who will have the power of the Sicilian mafia on her side as of an hour from now.

  In fact…

  I walk over to them, forcing a bright smile as I reach for my father. “Dad, it’s time.”

  He looks at me, a guilty expression on his face. He quickly clears his throat. “Oh, certainly, a leanbh. Yes, let’s go.”

  He turns away from Conor, and before I follow him, I flash my smile at my brother for a split second. He narrows his eyes in response.

  “You look like the cat who just swallowed the canary,” he grumbles, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

  “Maybe that’s because I just did,” I say in a voice that matches the false sweetness of my smile. “At least, that’s what it looks like to me.”

  “I hope you’re ready for the aftermath,” he says. “Because that canary is gonna run right through you like a goddamn freight train.”

  “Is that what you think?” I say in a low voice, lifting an eyebrow.

  “It’s what I know,” he snips. I recoil, the stench of stale beer on his breath strong enough to make my stomach roll “This whole thing…all of it…it’s bullshit. You’re taking the pipe because you’ve got a pussy. That’s it. Dad doesn’t give a shit about the Italians. Villani was hired to marry you, to get you out of his hair. And that’s the truth, Heaven.” He pushes away from the wall and stumbles toward the group of my brothers who are in position to walk down the aisle.

  My heart hammers as I take my place next to my father. I tell myself to calm down, that Conor is only lashing out because he’s a fucking viper who knows his ass is backed against a wall. He knows what he stands to lose by me taking over, so he’s trying to get inside of my head.

  I take a few steadying breaths, telling myself to calm down.

  He knows that this is all about him fucking up…I know it’s about him fucking up! He’s just trying to incite me.

  I smooth my veil down, my breath hitching.

  But then why is Dad acting so weird? What was he going to say to me outside of the church?

  I nibble at my cuticle, shifting in my heels. Aunt Maura smacks my hand away from my mouth. “Your nails look beautiful. Let’s keep them that way.”

  I manage a smile. “Okay.”

  The sounds of the organ music echo in the space as she settles on the opposite side of my father. She pulls my veil over my face and steps back, smiling from ear to ear. “Heaven, your life can be anything you want it to be. Always remember that you aren’t defined by whom you marry. You’re defined by who you are and what you decide to do with your gifts. And there are plenty of gifts, a stór.” She kisses me lightly on the cheek, her eyes teary and her smile quivering.

  “I love you,” I mouth to her.

  “I love you, too,” she mouths back. Patrick holds out his arm for her and they move forward toward the entrance of the church.

  With a throbbing pulse, I glance at my father, who keeps his gaze forward the whole time. It’s like he doesn’t want to catch my eye out of fear for what I may ask.

  Though the question is on my lips, I don’t ask it, partly because I really don’t want to hear the answer. If what Conor said was true, then Dad has been lying to me this whole time.

  I don’t want to know that the one man who is required to love me more than anything would do something that horrible to me.

  I don’t want my love and respect for him to shatter like a pane of splintered glass.

  And I can’t bear to hear any more lies.

  The start of The Wedding March signals us to move to the doorway leading into the church. The sounds reverberate between the stone walls of the small church. Dad clutches my arm tight as we walk toward the altar.

  I peer through the tulle hanging over my eyes, trying to make out Matteo’s face. I see him standing at the end of the aisle with Roman and his other brothers to his right. They only flew in last night, so I haven’t officially met them yet. My eyes travel over their faces, unable to really see much because of the netting obscuring my view.

  But it’s really Matteo I want to see.

  I want to look into his eyes and feel the same comfort and security I did after I woke up in a fit of crying the other night. I never needed those things before and I don’t really believe I do now.

  It’s just nice to know it’s there.

  And that this most unlikely of unions may actually bring me more peace than anyone else ever has.

  When Dad and I reach the end of the aisle, he turns to me and lifts the veil. My pulse rockets, and I can’t stop the smile from stretching across my face. My gaze immediately searches for Matteo, and a tiny pang makes my grin waver the slightest bit.

  I’ve only seen his real smile a couple of times. It’s bright, white, and so wide that it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  I’m much more familiar with the forced one. I’ve seen that plenty since we got ‘engaged’. It’s tight, forced, and not in any way etched in happiness.

  Today, I wanted to see the former.

  Instead, the latter is what greets me.

  A sudden chill slithers down my spine. I’d have chalked it up to the open back of my dress and the fact that we’re standing in a cold stone church in the winter time, but my twisted gut warns me otherwise.

  Suddenly, Dad’s odd behavior and Conor’s sinister words make me think that there is much more to my wedding day than I know.

  Dad shakes Matteo’s hand and ushers me toward him.

  He doesn’t tell me I look beautiful.

  He doesn’t whisper that he loves me.

  He just stares at Father O’Malley, going through the motions, not showing a damn shred of affection for his bride.

  Just as anyone would expect from a man who was paid to marry said bride.

  I have no choice but to go through with this.

  My course has been set, and as much as I hate the destination, I love the people it will protect.

  Well, most of them.

  I swallow hard as I repeat the vows that Father O’Malley speaks. Matteo’s hands feel cold in mine, limp, not at all the strong ones I felt the last time he touched me.

  What in the hell happened?

  And why, as usual, am I the last one to know?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matteo

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  A smattering of applause from our very limited audience temporarily halts the inner battle waging in my mind.

  The one where my past indiscretions always try to overtake my future.

  Wrong place, wrong time.

  Yet again.

  Dominguez made it damn clear outside that it will always be the wrong place and the wrong time for me and anyone I care about.

  I thought I’d gotten my life under contr
ol, thought I’d established the right alliances and found the right allies after stepping into this role for my family.

  But I didn’t. Again, I made choices, the wrong ones, and now everyone in this church — Heaven, my brothers, my father — is at risk to pay the consequences of my actions.

  Or non-actions, as the case may be.

  Dominguez and I had an agreement, and I didn’t deliver.

  Now he is going to take everything from me.

  How can I look Heaven in the eye and marry her, knowing her life is about to be shattered because of me?

  How everything I promised is bullshit?

  How can I pretend for another fucking second that I’m not about to ruin her life?

  The receiving line flashes past in a blur, and all I can think about is getting her into our own private car, the one Gio will be driving, and away from anything that can hurt her. When we’re finally clear of our families and guests, I grab her hand and pull her toward the car. Gio nods at me and opens the door. I help her gather her dress into the car and then climb in after her.

  She stabs the partition separating us from Gio and turns to me, her blue eyes spitting fire. “What the fuck is wrong?” she hisses. “You looked like you wanted to be anywhere other than where you were. Are you completely full of shit, Matteo? Was this always just about money to you?”

  I furrow my brow. “What are you talking about? What money?”

  “The money my father paid you to marry me because he has no intention of promoting me to become head of the family?” she shrieks.

  I give my head a hard shake. “Your father didn’t pay me to marry you for that. You know why we’re here!”

  “Well, that’s not what Conor told me. And you heard him the other day! How am I supposed to trust you when there are so many fucking stories being circulated? I don’t know who or what to believe anymore!”

  “Heaven,” I say, grabbing her hands before she smacks me with one of them. Or both, actually. She sure ‘talks’ like an Italian girl already with all the hand waving. “This has everything to do with Conor, and nothing to do with your role.”