Reign Of Pride (Dark Reign Book 1)

by A. G. Kirkham

  A champagne toast from Don Moretti causes the entire room to rise with their glasses in the air to commemorate the evening. I glance around the room, taking in the men and women in our families. I am grateful that my father-in-law keeps it short and sweet. “May this day bring blessings of beautiful daughters and strong men to grace our family.” This means I can busy my hands by pushing the food around on my plate, taking a few bites now and again. I’m too nervous to actually taste any of it, which sucks because manicotti in a cream sauce is one of my favorites. I excuse myself from the table to gather my wits and take a moment to regroup.

  Unfortunately, I’m spotted by my cousins who are already married and have decided it’s time to give me marriage advice. They gather around me with polite gossip and then jump into a sex talk.

  “Give Nero what he wants and then eventually sex won’t hurt anymore,” my older cousin, Gianna says.

  I contain my dignified demeanor and smile through the uncomfortable sex talk, grateful for Olivia who’s listening to the conversation and comes over to rescue me. She leads me to the lounge that is setup for the bride and groom to use for the evening, just off the main dining hall. I sit on a plush white ottoman and breathe deeply several times.

  “Don’t let them scare you, Felicia,” Olivia says encouragingly.

  “I won’t,” I tell her, not really feeling that to be true in this moment.

  “They’re just jealous that you landed the most eligible bachelor in La Famiglia,” she says.

  She’s right about that. I’ve heard about my cousins’ attempts to get Nero’s attention. Not only is he the second-most powerful man in our realm, he is incredibly handsome. He would have to be in order to defend himself from all the times he’s been hit on by the women in our midst. I’ve heard all about him from the time I was ten years old. Never in my wildest dreams did I even think I’d be the one to marry the next don. It honestly was never a consideration. I was hoping that my father would choose a kind man who would grow to love me eventually, and I him. I can’t even let my mind think of what happens when we are alone. I’m nervous about what to do or say. I feel safe when I am with him but what if I am not enough for him. I haven’t been alone with him for all of five minutes since our engagement.

  Mom steps into the room. “Here you are. Your groom is waiting for you, Felicia. It’s time for the first dance,” she says excitedly. Mom is in her glory. Her daughter is married to Nero Moretti, thereby solidly ensuring our position and Emiliano’s future.

  Letting my mother lead the way, Olivia and I walk side-by-side back into the banquet. She has been my best friend through it all, never asking for information but being the pillar when I needed to just be myself.

  Nero stands in the middle of the dance floor watching me approach, his hand extended for me to take. The lights dim—except for the one to spotlight our every move. The music begins and Ed Sheeran’s song “Perfect” plays throughout the room. Nero’s arm comes around my waist and settles on my lower back. Skin to skin. I feel the warmth of his hand branding me as his. I jerk my head up to meet his eyes and he sets my hand over his heart, covering it with his own. Then he lowers his lips to my ears. “You are ravishing, my wife.” The beat of his heart is steady, whereas, I am sure he can hear mine thudding.

  I compose myself quickly and whisper back, “Thank you, husband.”

  His lips quirk in a sly smile. “I am reluctant to give you up to anyone else to dance with tonight. Perhaps I shall keep you in my arms all evening,” he says, showing me his pearly white teeth in a grin.

  “It’s tradition, Nero. I’m sure your father wouldn’t approve of changing tradition so easily,” I remind him, returning the smile.

  “Perhaps.”

  Speaking of tradition, this is when the entire room conspires against me, taking their cutlery and tapping their plates—our sign to kiss, in view of everyone.

  Without warning, Nero dips me in a graceful display of dance.

  I brace myself by clinging to his shoulders in surprise. A small, “Oh!” escapes my throat. Then his lips meet mine. The kiss is soft at first, then it intensifies, making me cling to him as the only solid thing in my mind. His insistent mouth parts mine, sending tremors down my spine, creating a heat in my belly. I kiss him back. When he lifts his lips from me and our eyes meet, I see a promise. A promise that tonight will be an evening of spinning minds and whirling thoughts.

  The room is filled with applause. My mind is still reeling from our dance, shaking my resolve. Nero straightens and tags me along with him, a casual arm around my waist, leading me to my father for our traditional father-daughter dance. Dad chose “Butterfly Kisses,” which is perfect for our relationship. Nero nods to my father and I snuggle in for our dance. Safe and warm, cocooned in his arms, even if it is only for a short time, giving me the reprieve needed to affix my bridal mask.

  Our tradition holds that I dance with my father-in-law next. Don Moretti is known for his strict and cruel methods of getting what he wants. Although he has been perfectly kind to me, I do not drop my guard. I have heard that men have had their tongue cut out for insulting him. I have grown quite attached to my tongue, thank you and want to keep it right where it’s at.

  “Felicia.” Don Moretti holds out his hand.

  I gather my courage to look up at him. “Yes, sir.” My heart skips a beat.

  “I know you’ve heard stories, Felicia. I understand your apprehension,” he says.

  I want to reassure him when he continues.

  “Do not lie to me, not now, not ever.”

  I gulp down my response and wait for more.

  “You are very young, and, for this, I will show patience. You have pleasantly surprised me so far. I expect to be pleasantly surprised in the future as well. I have given you one of my greatest assets, my son. Your role, Felicia, is to make him happy. He has enough enemies; he does not need one in his home. Do you understand?”

  By this time, I’m having trouble breathing. This was a warning. Make his son happy or else. My stomach knots and I ignore the panicked thought of running. I decide that honesty is best in this moment.

  “Don Moretti, my intention is to make Nero’s home a safe and happy place. But, as you say, I am new to all of this and I am sure that I will make mistakes. I would appreciate being told and guided to becoming better at what Nero needs and this family requires. I am grateful for your patience.” I breathe these words out, and, as I am stating them, I see that Don Moretti is placated. A grin forms and the corner of his lips curl into a smile, this is a good sign; he never smiles—at least, never that I have seen.

  My parents have two siblings each and, once again, protocol decrees I dance with each of them. Not a hardship on my part. My zii have always been very kind to me. I grew up with weekly family visits and Sunday dinners, especially when my nonna was still alive. Those get-togethers have been less frequent since most of my cousins have all married. We still try to gather but not all of us can make it at the same time with the families growing.

  Throughout the evening, I spend time with each of Nero’s male family members for a dance. I am doing quite well making small talk and getting the congratulatory hugs, although my feet are killing me, until Zio Amate, Don Moretti’s brother-in-law, requests my time for his dance. From the moment his arm encircles my waist, I am uncomfortable. It’s nothing he says, because he barely utters a word except the obligatory congratulations. Yet, his fingers press too hard against my skin, his few words are cold, distant even, and he never meets my eyes. Perhaps, I am just tired or reading too much into the solid grip on my waist. My nerves are shattered by the end of the dance.

  The rest of the evening progresses more smoothly. Nero and I do the traditional walk through the room, stopping at each table to thank them for attending. It isn’t long before we are called over to the sweet table that had an array of desserts to choose from with the wedding cake in the centre. A beautiful cream white cake filled with raspberry cream, decorated with
blush pink roses. Nero stands behind me with one arm resting on my hip intimately, the other hand covering mine, gripping the knife for the official cutting of the wedding cake. I feel the heat of his body against mine and find my eyes tilting to side, watching him smile for the camera. He’s beautifully handsome. It’s a sin to be so handsome, I’m sure. He squeezes my hand, forcing my gaze back to the task at hand, and his lips land on my cheek. I feel the heat rise through my chest. When a piece is cut, I take a forkful and lift it to his full lips and watch in awe of how his lips wrap around the fork and sensuously bite down and finally swallow the bite. I was so entranced that I barely hear his voice.

  “Your turn to take a bite.” His voice is raspy and low.

  I open my mouth and never tear my eyes from his. I am lost in his gaze, and suddenly wish that there is no one present to see our moment.

  We are quickly interrupted by the photographer and videographer giving direction for more photos. The bouquet toss lures all the single women to the dance floor. I toy with the girls faking the toss several times before releasing it into the air. It lands in Anna’s hands, the daughter of a noted underboss. She looks at it ominously, like it just isn’t meant to be there before plastering a shy smile on her face.

  It feels like this night is never-ending, but I know the evening is coming to an end when the garter toss is announced. A chair is brought out to the middle of the dancefloor and Nero leads me to take my place. The music is keyed, that raunchy stripper song, and the eligible men surround the dance floor. Nero places his hands behind his back and drops to his knees before me. A flame in his eyes tells me that he is enjoying this moment.

  “I can sink below your dress if you like,” he says with an amused tone.

  Oh hell no. I lift my skirt to my knees, thinking I should have lowered the garter earlier in the evening. It rests on my mid thigh, however there is no way I am going to raise my skirt that high. I see Nero’s head disappear under my skirt and feel his teeth gaze my skin. It takes all my control to keep the bridal smile in place as he places a kiss where he nips. He finally takes hold of the garter with his teeth and tugs it slowly down my leg. His eyes meet mine as he inches it slowly, until it hits the base of my foot. Where he lifts my ankle and untethers the garter. His smirk is meant for me. A promise what is yet to come. He takes my hand and I breath a deep breath as I am able to leave the floor and watch, like the others, as he taunts the men with the garter.

  A fury of hands wave through the air in an attempt to win the prize. Luciano is the lucky man to grab is as it is released through the air.

  I am relieved when Nero returns to my side and leads me to the doorway. It is past midnight when we make our way to Nero’s home. And a new set of nerves claws at me.

  His home is a condominium. After parking in the lower garage area, Nero assists me from the car, seeing my struggle in exiting the vehicle in my wedding gown. He leads us to the private elevator and hits the button for the top floor. We are accompanied by four of his men, all huge and heavily armed. His men stand guard outside the door, two on each side. The elevator then shuts, and a private code is entered with his men and us entering. Nero sees my curiosity and answers my unasked question.

  “I keep a firm lock-down in my home. This is just one of the security measures. The windows are bulletproof as well. You will be safe here,” Nero states. We leave the guards outside the apartment, Nero giving instructions to them, then shutting the door.

  I nod hesitantly and feel like a complete goof. I don’t know what to do, what to say, or how to behave. I clench my small purse. I suddenly remember the contents and open it just as quickly. His grasp on my wrist makes me wince in surprise, shocked at his actions, forcing me to drop my bag. “Ouch!”

  “What are you reaching for, Felicia?” he growls, still clasping my hand.

  I jerk my head up and realize that he thinks I’m carrying a weapon.

  “I brought you something. I was just taking it out of my purse. It’s just a small gift,” I whisper.

  Nero tilts his head and stares at me, unbelievingly. His questioning quirk of the brow tells me he is trying to surmise if I am telling him the truth.

  “You can see for yourself. I have my lipstick and a small box. I don’t think you’ll want the lipstick, though.” What possesses me to become cheeky is beyond me. Maybe it’s that I was made to marry a man I barely know. A man who is twice my size and has killed too many to count yet he is worried about a little box?

  He releases my wrist immediately then picks up my bag. “An occupational hazard, Felicia. A man in my position is trained to react quickly,” he explains.

  Not an apology but as good as it gets, I guess. He hands me my purse and I open it in front of him, taking out the gift and holding it out to him.

  He looks at the small white box with a blue ribbon with a creased brow.

  “It’s just a little something I saw that reminded me of you,” I tell him. The silence is killing me. I pull my hand back. “I’ll take it back. I’m sorry.”

  Nero stops me, tilting my chin, having my eyes meet his. “May I have my gift back?”

  “You don’t--”

  “I would like my gift back, Felicia. May I see it?” he says, while his fingers caress my cheek.

  I raise my hand and he carefully takes it from my palm, taking his time to open the box.

  He looks at the bracelet a long while.

  “You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want to.” I’m not sure if he likes it or not.

  He takes it out of the box.

  “It’s leather and titanium. It’s the strongest metal around, like you. If you look here.” I point to the titanium link, then turn it over. “I had them engrave our insignia and the family motto.

  “Put it on for me, dolce,” Nero says hoarsely.

  I set the clasp and admire it on his firm wrist. He called me dolce. He thinks I’m sweet. I smile shyly.

  “Thank you, Felicia.” I see a softness in his eyes as I have never seen before.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He takes a step closer so we’re almost touching, and he takes my face with his big, strong hands as his lips descend upon mine. So soft, his lips. He licks the seam of mine; I part them, allowing the kiss to deepen. I wrap my hands around his wrists as heat rises throughout my body and I lean into his kiss. He kisses me thoroughly until I am breathless. My eyes flicker open and Nero’s gruff voice resonates in my ears.

  “I am taking you to bed now, dolce.” He swings me into his arms and carries me through to the bedroom. My heart flutters with a mix of nerves and excitement.

  He sets me down beside the bed. I look at him and see the hunger in his eyes. I don’t know what to do or where to begin. I am so nervous, I’m shaking. The girls in school talked about sex all the time. I know where all the parts go but Nero is not a boy. He a virile, strong mature man. How can I be alluring with my inexperience? I should have paid more attention when Mom spoke about this.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confess quietly.

  “Turn around.” He gently places his hands on my hips to turn me how he wants me. He lifts my hair and sweeps it over one shoulder.

  I breathe deep as his fingers trace a pattern down my spine until they hit the first crystal button.

  As he releases it, he kisses behind my ear. “Exhale, dolce mio.”

  Immediately, I exhale—I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it in. Both his lips and fingers leave heat wherever they touch. My body has a will of its own and I lean back, bracing myself against him. When the final button is released, he trails his fingertips up my forearms to my shoulders, then link them under the small straps of lace which he sensually draws down my arms, caressing me softly. I am holding my bodice against my chest, suddenly aware that I am wearing nothing but a scrap of lace for panties. I tingle with excitement as a tremor passes through my body. My body comes alive at his touch.

  For a moment, his fingers disappear, then I hear the rust
le of clothes behind me. I glance back to

  see Nero tossing his jacket onto the armchair, followed by his shirt. He comes back to me and

  covers my hands clutching my gown with his. His warm skin heats my back, his mouth creates

  havoc with my senses as he kisses my shoulder. My head is now tilted back, allowing his lips

  greater access, his hands tugging gently at mine as my gown falls away from my body. I’ve

  never imagined that a man’s hands could feel like this, could make me want them on my skin.

  Nero helps me out of my gown, feeling it drop to pool on the floor at my feet. He caresses my breasts and I gasp. Shyness grips me and I move to cover myself.

  “Shh, cara,” he murmurs against the back of my neck. Those fingers are magical as he caresses my breasts lightly, then brush over my nipples. Oh my God, I never knew it could feel like this, as if I’d just been jolted by a huge current of electricity. A mewl-like cry escapes my lips and I’m embarrassed by my reaction to his touch. I try to wriggle out of his hold, but one strong arm pulls me tighter to his chest and I can feel the hardness of his body. I can feel his lower body poking my back.

  He wants me.

  “Do you feel what you do to me, dolce mio?” He strokes my breast then goes lower.

  I suck in a deep breath as his hand slips just under my panties. One finger dips further inside and caresses me where no one has ever touched me. I’ve been told this would happen, but it seemed at the time so… decadent. So invasive. And, yes, it is. But it is also wonderful. I squirm in his arms in response; I am on fire. I grip his arm on my waist to steady me, as I lose myself in his kisses.

  Nero turns me around, moving me backward until my knees hit the mattress and then sets about making my head spin with dizzying kisses. Hot, wet, long, and sultry. I taste him and it’s glorious. Soft lips making me tingle from head to toe. I never want it to stop.

  Lowering me onto the bed, he continues his sensual assault on my body. He combs through my hair, spreading it out on the pillow behind me as he cradles my hips between his thighs, never once breaking the kiss. I need him to stop, so I can breathe, but I don’t want to breathe now; I don’t want to do anything that will interrupt this amazing thing he’s doing to my body. He stands and yanks his belt open. When he lowers his zipper, I turn my head. I can’t look. Not yet. I’m not ready.