Arranged Mafia Marriage

Seb

“She did what?” I tighten my fingers around the phone with such force, pain shoots up my arm. “You mean, she’s there, on her own?”

I listen as Adrian tells me my wife-to-be-my fiancee-is at a nightclub. And it’s not just any night club, but an S&M Club. One owned by the Camorra, our fiercest rivals.

“She wanted to go,” he states in a mild voice.

“You couldn’t stop her? You could have-”

“Bound her and kept her confined to the house?” he asks.

Cazzo! I drag my fingers through my hair. He has a point there. No one gets to bind her, except me. No one gets to touch her, except me. No one gets to look at her, except me. It’s why, when I’d been unable to make it to the flower shop to pick her up, I’d sent Adrian. He’s the only one of my brothers I trust with her. Well, he’s also one of the only ones available, because Michael, Christian and Axel are married and too busy with their own family dramas. As for Luca and Massimo… Nope. No way am I going to let them get near her. Not that I don’t trust them with her…

Okay, I don’t trust them not to notice just how gorgeous she is, and fuck if I don’t want either of them spending any amount of time with her when I’m not around. Which leaves Adrian. And no, it would be a mistake to think Adrian is less menacing than the others. Bastard is the most unassuming of us seven, but he’s also the one most likely to surprise you when you least expect it. In a way, it makes him more dangerous, because people tend to underestimate him, so they never see him coming. Not until he’s pulled the rug out from under their feet. All of it done in his easy-going style. Which makes him quite lethal. Exactly the kind of man I’d entrust with protecting what’s most dear to me.

“So, you’re with her?”

“I am,” replies.

“In the club?”

“Si.”

“Does she know you’re there?”

“Do you think I’m a novice?” A hard note enters his voice.

“Still, I can’t understand why you didn’t stop her.”

“I drove her home from work, left her there, then retreated to keep watch over the house. Sure enough, half an hour later, a car arrives to pick her up.”

“Porca miseria, I told her not to go anywhere without telling me.” I roll my shoulders. “I told her it was dangerous to be out on her own, that she shouldn’t be using any transportation, except for the one approved by me.”

“And you expected her to obey you?” He chuckles.

“She didn’t say she wouldn’t.” I shuffle my feet.

“You took her silence for assent?”

“Wouldn’t you?” I scowl.

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t let myself be in a situation where I’d allow a woman to shatter my peace of mind.”

“That’s why you prefer to watch Cass from afar?”

There’s silence on the other end. I sense his anger zinging through the phone and whoa, isn’t that interesting? The calm and collected Adrian, getting emotional enough to lose that air of affability he tightens around himself like a coat of armor.

“Keep stalking her without making a move, and one day, someone will come along and sweep her off her feet, from right under your nose Then, we’ll talk about peace of mind or any such naive notions you have,” I drawl.

“If I were you, I’d be very careful what I say next. Don’t forget, I’m the only one here watching out for what’s yours,” he growls.

I dig my fingers in my hair and tug. “Dio Santo, I didn’t mean to test you. I’m just stressed, is all.”

“I take it meeting with the Camorra is not exactly pleasant?”

“It’s what Nonna wanted.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Still can’t believe she’s gone. I’d grown up convinced she was immortal, that she’d outlive all of us. Funny how you take people for granted. Then they’re gone, and you realize just how much you relied on them. Losing my mother had been a blow, but I’d had Nonna to look up to. Losing my father had been a relief; it had felt like I could finally breathe. And we’d had Nonna, who’d told us it wasn’t wrong we didn’t feel any remorse about his death. But now that Nonna’s gone, who’s going to console us? Why does it feel like I’ve lost a big part of myself? A part of my past. A slice of what anchored me to this life. I never realized how emotionally dependent I was on Nonna, until she passed.

“I miss her, too. The old bat was a force of nature, and a pain in the ass, but she meant well. She looked out for us, used the old ways to guide us, while adapting quickly to the changing times. Guess we never gave her enough credit for how much guidance she gave us,” he murmurs.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “She wanted us to make amends with the Camorra.”

“Is that what she told Michael?” he asks.

Before Nonna passed away, she met with Michael and told him she wanted to see all her grandsons married within a month of her passing. She also insisted he bury our long-standing feud with the Camorra.

“With the Bratva and the Kane Company no longer at loggerheads with us, it leaves only the Camorra who pose a threat to us. She made him promise he’d patch up our differences, especially in view of the fact half of us are married, not to mention the babies on the way.”

“If she’d had her way, she’d have had the rest of us married within the month,” Adrian replies, his tone glum.

“Is that what she made you promise?” I ask.This content belongs to Nô/velDra/ma.Org .

“What do you think?” He snorts.

“So, you’re going to ask Cass too marr-”

“No way,” he growls. “Nonna may have asked. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do what she wants.”

“You made her a promise on her death bed,” I remind him.

“I did it to keep her happy. I have no intention of allowing myself to be manipulated into a marriage I don’t want, and especially not by someone from beyond the grave.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” I confess. “But I also feel like I need to follow through with my promise to her. It’s the only time she asked something of me, and I can’t not give it to her.”

“Cazzo,” he swears softly, “don’t guilt trip me, fratello. I’m having a hard enough time keeping a handle on my emotions.”

“Speak for yourself. I am well and truly in over my head, and if you repeat this to any of the others, I’ll deny it.”

“Not that I have any interest in your messed up love-life… And speaking of your girlfriend-”

“-fiancee.”

“-was just approached by a man.”

“Che cazzo!” I growl. “What the hell is he doing?”

“Asking her something, by the looks of it.”

“And what about her? Is she scared? Is she upset? Why don’t you go and intercept him?”

“And make myself known? Not to mention, I’d lose her trust, and then she’ll end up hiding her movements from me in the future. Where would that leave us?”

“Fuck,” I swear, “what is she doing now?”

“Hmm, she’s talking back to him, gaze cast down, chin lowered. Damn, she’s a perfect submissive, isn’t she?”

“Stop talking about her.”

“Just telling you what I see, man,” he drawls.

“And now? What is she up to now?”

“He’s turned and left the room, and cazzo, she’s following him out.”

“What the-? You keep an eye on her, you get me? I’m on my way.”

Forty-five minutes later, I screech to a halt in front of The Mongoose. Yep, that’s the name of the nightclub run by the Camorra. Because the nightclub owned by us is called Venom, so… Snake. Mongoose. Get it? Very original of the Camorra. I snort to myself as I point at the valet then at my car. I grab a few notes from my wallet and thrust them at the man, who gasps at me.

“Keep the engine running. I’ll be out in ten minutes. And if I’m delayed, you still keep the engine running, you capisce?” I growl as I brush past him and walk into the nightclub.

The music hits me at the same time the scent of bodies-of lust and sex-pours over me. I glance around the high-ceilinged room, taking in the bar that stretches from end-to-end on one side. At strategic intervals around the dance floor, there are elevated platforms on which barely dressed men and women-singles, couples, same sex and opposite sex, as well as threesomes-cavort from swings and hang off of each other in various poses that could teach the Kama Sutra a thing or two. Huh.

I’ve never set foot inside of this place, which is understandable, as it belongs to our arch rivals, after all. But I have to admit, the ambience is over-the-top just enough-with its heaving bodies on the dance floor, the throbbing music that fills my blood, the strobe lights that turn the entire space into a hedonistic experience-that it has me pausing on the threshold.

I scan my gaze across the room. Where the hell is Adrian? I would have come sooner, except it had taken me ten minutes to find a gap in the negotiations which had been taking place between Michael and Salvatore, the leader of the Camorra. As it is, Michael hadn’t been happy I’d stepped out to call Adrian earlier. Then when I interrupted him to tell him I had to leave, his features hardened, his gaze growing even stonier. That is, until I whispered it was related to Elsa, at which point, he jerked his chin in the direction of the exit. I left them to their discussion of how to bury the bad blood between the two clans, and turned and raced out of there, just catching Massimo and Luca’s sniggers as I brushed past them. Stronzi! I pushed my beloved Fornasari to its maximum speed, weaving through traffic, and leaving irate drivers in my wake. This car was created for moments like this. Besides, Italians love nothing more than breaking road rules, while swearing at fellow drivers who flaunt dare-devil driving skills.

But where the devil is Adrian? And more to the point, where is my princess? I rake my gaze across the room, then spot Adrian waving at me from the far corner near the stairs. I shoulder my way through the crowd. The heat presses down on me, the press of bodies pushes me in on all sides, and by the time I reach him, a sheen of sweat covers my brow.

“Where is she?” I snarl.

He jerks his chin up the stairs. “Last door on the left.”

He’s barely completed the sentence before I’ve turned and taken the steps, two at a time. I burst onto the landing of the floor, then race down the corridor until I reach the last door on the left. I thrust my shoulder into the door, which swings open. Two spotlights cast their glow on the couple at the back of the semi-dark room.

She is tied to a St. Andrews cross which is attached to the wall. She’s spreadeagled, her arms and legs pulled apart, with her wrists and ankles tied to the cross. She’s wearing a thin blouse, through which her nipples are clearly visible. It dips at her cleavage. Her skirt is bunched around her thighs, high enough the white of her panties is visible. A man walks around her, coming to a stop at her side. He reaches out to finger a strand of her hair, and anger squeezes my gut. The blood thumps at my temples, my vision tunnels, and a red haze drops over everything. I hear a growl, then realize it’s coming from me. Both of them must hear it, too, for they glance toward the door. Even in the dim light, I can see the shock on her face, quickly followed by guilt.

I bare my teeth. She opens and shuts her mouth. I close the distance to the stronzo who glances between us. He’s shorter than me, somewhat muscular, but with a middle that’s flabby.

“Now hold on here.” He thrusts out his chest. “This is a private session; this is-”

I bury my fist in his face.