That’s exactly how it was, but most crime families are like that. It’s how I’d be if I ever had a family. I’d keep them out of business. At the first sign of shit, your enemies come for you through your weaknesses. Women and children. In that order.
“You seem keen,” I note, looking her over.
“Relax…” She smiles. “I’m here solely to know if we’ll still be fucking around after your nuptials, or maybe before.” She giggles and tilts her head to the side.
“Gabriella. We won’t be playing that game anymore,” I answer. The smile recedes from her face.
“Oh please, don’t tell me you’ve suddenly turned into the doting husband.” She laughs. “How can you with that sort of shit show for a wedding? Arranged. It’s so obvious. I just don’t know what for.”
I lean in closer, and she laughs.
“You know a lot. Did Riccardo send you to check on his princess?” I ask, boring my gaze into her.
It would be a clever idea since anybody else would have been shot dead before they could get to the door.
“What if he did?”
“Did he?” I demand. My blood heats.
“No. I know what you mafia men are like. It’s always about pussy in the end. I’m just offering it up to you.”
I’m usually good at guessing when people are lying, but thanks to the last few days, my emotions are screwed. From worrying over my brothers and what they think of my leadership to the sexually-charged encounters with Emelia.
“You weren’t offering it well before the news,” I answer, probably showing more emotion than I intend.
I thought about her. I thought about being serious, and she knew I was just before she hopped in bed with Senator Braxton. I’ve never been serious about anybody, but she made me consider it.
That’s probably why Tristan can’t stand her. He knew how I felt. I didn’t have to say it.
The smile that lifts the corners of her mouth is shaky. She raises her hand and touches my cheek, lightly running her finger along the graze Emelia left there.
“Such a beautiful man you are, even when you’re scarred. Makes you look better. I wasn’t into serious then, Massimo. I am now.” She drops her hand and runs it down the length of my chest and down to tug on the waistband of my pants.
I catch it just before she grabs my dick and smile down at her.
When her eyes shift from mine and she stares off in the distance, over my shoulder, my nerves prickle. It’s then I feel it. Eyes on me, on us.
I’m so used to being alone and walking around on this side of the beach by myself that I forgot. How sloppy of me. We’re standing about forty feet away from Emelia’s bedroom.
I turn around knowing it could only be her watching, and it is. She’s standing by the window I was smoking at earlier. Wrapped in the bedsheet with her raven hair wild and tousled, she looks like we spent the night together. Even from here I can see the dewiness in her skin and those whisky-colored eyes. Striking against the darkness of her hair.
Pretty isn’t the word I’d use to describe her. She’s beautiful. She is beauty. And the most beautiful thing about her is that she doesn’t know.
We’re in her direct line of sight. I don’t know what to be more impressed by—the way she stares me down or the fact that she hasn’t moved. She’s been caught watching me with a woman on the beach she doesn’t know, and she’s still standing her ground. Clearly pissed as fuck at me.
Jealous. Good.
I can see it. The same way she sparked jealousy in me when she asked if she could call her friend.
My cock hardens when my gaze drops to her breasts hidden away from my sight with the sheet. I remember how her nipples pebbled with arousal against my chest and how she tasted the other night when I got my first suck on her tits and her pussy.
She’s going to let me do that again. Next time, I’ll get a good suck and make sure I get my fill of her pussy before we start to fight.
I look back to Gabriella and note the hard line of her jaw.
She’s never been a woman to like competition, and never a woman you tell no. It’s different with me though. I call the shots. When she thought she was using me, she couldn’t have ben more wrong.
“She’s pretty,” she states.
“I know,” I answer. Fury flashes in her eyes.
“I can already tell you’ll be bored quickly too. Call me when you want to fuck a real woman who knows how to please you in the bedroom.”
She walks away, and I allow her to.
My gaze returns to the princess watching me from the window in her bedroom. My cock hard, ready to fuck her as I think of what she is.
A woman who is mine. A woman I doubt I’ll get bored of because I’ll be too busy teaching her how to please me.
A girl I can’t wait to turn into a woman.
I gaze back at her now and realize I want more than her obedience.
The spark of attraction that’s rippling between this space between us tells me she wants more too.
This is going to be very interesting.
I turn away from her and continue down the beach, planning for later.
Chapter Nine
Emilia
Is this what it will be like?
He’ll have his women, while I’ll be stuck looking in from the outside. Or rather the inside of this room. I’ll be stuck watching my husband with some woman running her hands all over him.
I continue watching Massimo walking down the beach. I watch him until he disappears from my view. I blink against tears.
It’s not jealousy… Okay… maybe it is. But not in the conventional sense of being jealous. What’s grating me is being forced to feel this way because I’m in this situation.
I wouldn’t feel this way if there were any part of this whole fiasco that was normal because I wouldn’t choose to be with a man who cheats on me.
The way she touched him, although brief, spoke in abundance of them being together. She looked like his type. Like the kind of woman who knows what to do in the bedroom, or wherever. Not a virgin.
Although they were far away, I noticed the way he was around her too. She is blond and pretty, has an enviable body. Definitely his type. Probably the kind of woman too he wouldn’t treat the way he treated me.
So, maybe this is it. We’ll get married, and he’ll have her and maybe others like her. I shouldn’t feel anything close to jealousy, but I guess it was wrong for me to hope that whenever the day came for me to get married, I’d marry someone who loved me.
I can’t believe the way he treated me earlier. He spanked me and ripped off my clothes, then he said he didn’t want my love. How stupid of me to say such a thing, though, when he had whatever meetup he had with a woman who looked like a Barbie doll.
I move from the window and wipe away a tear with the heel of my hand. I almost trip over the fucking sheet I’ve had to wrap myself in.
I walk to the bed and sit on the edge, looking around the room. It’s going to be another day of nothingness. Another day of shit.
The only difference between yesterday and today is that I have more shit on my mind.
The woman on the beach with Massimo pissed me off, but what I’ve been thinking about since he left was what he said about Dad.
Massimo spoke like he knew my father very well. He spoke with confidence in his words.
I want to know what Dad did to him. To them. The D’Agostinos. In his office were both Massimo and his father. His father would not have been there if he didn’t have some vendetta against my father too.
So, what was it?
What happened?
When did it happen?
Massimo called my father a liar and a thief. What did he lie about? What did he steal?
And is Dad broke if he owes so much money? He must be. I know this whole thing with me would never have happened if he weren’t broke. His behavior back home was that of a desperate man. That’s what I remember. The way he gripped my hand screamed desperati
on.
He’s done his best to keep me out of business, so I don’t really know much of anything. I know what I’m supposed to know because it’s most often what I’m told in terms of safety and what Jacob told me, but that’s all.
To my knowledge, Dad’s supposed to be a multi billionaire. I must have been wrong and truly living in the dark because there was also what Massimo said about my life.
He said that my life wouldn’t have turned out the way I wanted. That Dad would have sold me to someone else. I don’t believe that. I’m stuck on that part because my father has always been so protective over me. He loved me. You would only protect someone the way he protected me if you loved them.
He even got worked up over guys I might have been interested in dating. Behold, that’s why I’ve never been kissed. And shit, my life was probably comparable to living in a convent. Minus the nuns. I had Jacob, but there was always a constant supply of people watching and making sure I was safe.
Massimo must have been lying. There’s no way I’m going to believe a monster over what I know my father to be. He was just telling me bullshit to piss me off.
But if it was all bullshit, then why do I feel deep down that there’s some element of truth to it? The keyhole rattles. I tense up. My poor body has now been conditioned to become anxious when I hear that sound.
The door opens. I relax a little when Priscilla comes in with a tray of food. Before she can say good morning, my stomach rumbles loudly. She smiles.
I’m not surprised to hear my stomach griping. I haven’t eaten anything since that pizza and the double chocolate shake I had with Jacob. That was two days ago. I’ve had sips of water. That’s all. I’m so hungry now I could eat a cow.
Priscilla smiles wider when I offer her a kind one.
“Good morning, signora,” she says.
“Good morning.”
She looks me over wrapped in the sheet. I wonder what she must think. If I were her, I’d probably assume correctly that I’m naked under it, but then my mind would race over why I might not have clothes on. Maybe she thinks I spent the night with Massimo.
“Yesterday, I was easy on you. I don’t plan to be anything of the sort today,” she states, and her accent becomes more pronounced. “You need to eat something.”
“Okay… I will.”
Pricilla sets the tray of food down on the little table by the dresser. I see she’s prepared some treats. There are sandwiches, just like yesterday, but also cookies and little macaroons.
“I hope you do. It’s never wise to stop eating. It makes things worse,” she points out. “I thought you might like something sugary. My specialty here is pastries. Do you like pastries? I don’t know anyone who doesn’t.”
I can see she’s trying to be friendly and make me feel comfortable. I decide I won’t be the bitch I was yesterday. Truthfully, I need someone to talk to, and the worst thing I could do in my situation is make enemies with the house staff.
“I like pastries,” I reply. “Those look great. Thanks for making them for me.”
She looks pleased and relieved at my answer. “You’re welcome. I think you’ll like the macaroons. They’re actually an old recipe from Mrs. D’Agostino, Massimo’s mother. She loved adding cinnamon.”
His mother… What must she be like?
“When do I get to meet her?” I ask. Better to ask questions like that to someone like Priscilla, because talking to Massimo is like talking to a wall.
The crestfallen look on Priscilla’s face, however, suggests I’ve asked a question I shouldn’t have.
“I’m sorry, dear. You won’t. She died many years ago. But we keep her spirit alive in our memories and all the things she loved.”
I press my lips together as a pang of guilt sweeps through me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know much about the D’Agostino family,” I confess.
“That’s okay. I’ve… worked for the family for a long time. I knew Massimo and his brothers when they were little.”
“He has brothers?”
“Three. I’m certain you’ll meet them very soon.”
She speaks fondly of them. Very fondly. If she’s been with the family for such a long time, she must know the ins and outs of what they get up to. As I look at her, I try to think of what Massimo told her in relation to me.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I ask in a small voice.
She nods uneasily. “Yes. I do know. News has travelled that you will be marrying Massimo in a few weeks, but I was informed on the day of your arrival.”
My breath catches when I think of that type of news going out to everyone. Family. And Jacob.
He never got to tell me how he felt about me. I know that was what he wanted to talk about that night, and now he’s heard I’m getting married. What must he think?
She walks up to me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Eat. Just eat and take it from there. I’ll be back in a little while with some shampoos and accessories you can use in your hair. It will help you to… get used to the place.”
I nod my thanks. I don’t ask anything else because I know there’s no point.
No point in asking if I can go outside. No point in asking when my things will get here. No point in asking if I can call Jacob.
When she leaves, I walk to the food, and the minute I take one bite of a chicken salad sandwich, my taste buds open and I find myself scarfing down the food. One sandwich after the other disappears down my throat, and the pastries too.
The tray probably held food enough for three people, but I eat it all. When I’m done, there’s nothing but crumbs left on the plates. I’m so full I have to lie down.
Priscilla returns a little later with a basket of nail polishes, shampoos, and all sorts of things I would normally indulge in on the regular from Bath and Body Works.
I spend the day distracting myself with the contents of the basket. I wash my hair and spend hours in the bathtub, soaking my wounds from Massimo’s ruthless hand.
When night falls, I lie in the bed for the first time and find myself thinking about him as my head hits the pillows. I wonder where he is. It must be well into the night now because the days are longer during the summer months. In LA, we can have daylight right up until eight o’clock.
Is he with that woman?
Is this how I’ll spend my nights? Alone and wondering whoae bed he’s sleeping in?
Maybe he’s here and in his bedroom. I don’t know. I don’t even know where his room is.
Is she in there with him?
Will she be at the wedding? I saw the way she looked at me. I was too far away to see her face properly, but I saw enough to note the scowl and vindictive expression that wrinkled her pretty face. She saw me watching before he did, which was when she started to touch him, like she was marking her territory.
Bitch… she wouldn’t know that I couldn’t care less.
The hours pass. I can’t will myself to sleep. I keep thinking he’s with her. Or someone else. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s gorgeous. The kind of man to melt you with his arresting good looks and a face that Hollywood would pay millions for.
I don’t know what woman could resist him, or who wouldn’t react to him the way I do. Every girl I know would die if a man like that even spoke to them. And they’d be completely envious of me.
My mind tracks back to my first night here, how he touched me. My skin heats at the memory, and my pussy clenches with need.
I’m an idiot for thinking of this shit. I’m an idiot for not being strong enough to resist. Gorgeous as he is, the man is a monster. I shouldn’t feel anything for him.
What I should be thinking of is how I’m going to leave this place.
The door opens. I jump, startled. I was so lost in my thoughts that I never heard the key rattle.
I have the light turned down to an amber glow. It bathes over him as he walks into the room and locks the door behind him.
His eyes meet mine, and I straighten up on the bed.
&nbs
p; He’s shirtless again, just like this morning. Except he has a black towel slinked over his shoulder and his hair looks damp. Damp like he just took a shower, or like he was working out.
My gaze drifts down to his boxers and those long athletic legs, each muscular and, like his abs, covered with tattoos. I realize that the only parts of his body that I have seen that haven’t been inked are his face and neck. He doesn’t have any on his forearms either. It’s enough to carry the illusion that he has none when he’s wearing a dress shirt. Was that done on purpose?
My previous worries over him being with that woman are replaced by the icy fear that’s crawled right back inside me.
What does he want now? Is he ready to have his way with me? Jesus, I’m going crazy here not knowing what will happen next. I’m on edge from one minute to the next.
“What do you want?” I ask.
He tilts his head to the side and regards me with those piercing eyes. “Is it wrong for a man to want to spend the night with his bride-to-be?”
My breath hitches, and warmth flushes over my body. Tonight. It could be tonight. It could be now that he comes to claim me.
I’m not ready.
He sets the towel on the chair by the bed before he comes closer. The scent of musk and soap tickles my nose, confirming he just showered.
“Nice to see you in the bed,” he states, pressing one knee on the mattress, which sinks in from his weight.
“What do you want?” I ask again.
“Relax, I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” he answers. I feel silly that I must visibly look relieved at his words. “I’m sleeping in here tonight. We don’t see enough of each other.”
“I thought you might be occupied with someone else.” I want to ask about that woman and who she is to him, but I think better of it.
The corner of his mouth lifts, and a smile slides across his lips. “Don’t spy on me, Emelia. You might not always like what you see.”
My blood heats. “I wasn’t spying. I simply stared through the window, and there you were. With her.”
“I guess that’s true.”
Ruthless Prince : A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Dark Syndicate Book 1) Page 8
