“What about Matteo?”
“I trust Matteo. But Matteo is hot-headed. He’d get himself killed trying to defend me.”
It was strange talking to Luca, to my husband like this, almost like we knew each other. “Nobody will doubt me,” I said. “I’ll give them what they want to see.”
Luca sat up and my eyes were drawn to the tattoo, then took in the muscles of his chest and stomach. My cheeks heated when I met Luca’s gaze.
“You should be wearing more than this bad excuse for a nightgown when the harpies arrive. I don’t want them to see your body, especially your hips and upper thighs. It’s better when they wonder if I left marks on you,” he said. Then he smirked. “But we can’t hide your face from them.”
He bent over me and his hand came toward my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, flinching.
“This is the second time you thought I was going to hit you,” he said in a low voice.
My eyes flew open. “I thought you said…” I trailed off.
“What? That everyone expects you to have bruises on your face after a night with me? I don’t hit women.”
I remembered when he’d stopped my father from slapping me. He’d never raised his hand against me. I knew many men in the Chicago Outfit had a strange code of rules they followed. You couldn’t stab a man in the back, but you could cut his throat that way for example. I wasn’t sure what made one better than the other. Luca seemed to have his own rules as well. Crushing someone’s throat with your bare hands was acceptable, hitting your wife was not.
“How am I supposed to believe you can convince everyone we’ve consummated our marriage when you keep flinching away from my touch?”
“Believe me, the flinching will make everyone believe the lie even more because I definitely wouldn’t have stopped flinching away from your touch if you’d taken what’s yours. The more I flinch the more they will take you for the monster you want them to think you are.”
Luca chuckled. “I think you might know more about playing the game of power than I expected.”
I shrugged. “My father is Consigliere.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgement, then he brought his hand up and cupped my face. “What I meant earlier was that your face doesn’t look like you’ve been kissed.”
My eyes widened. “I’ve never…” But of course he knew that already.
His lips collided with mine and my palms came up against his chest, but I didn’t push him away. His tongue teased my lips, demanding entrance. I gave in and hesitantly touched my tongue to his. I wasn’t sure what to do and looked at Luca wide eyed, but he took lead, as his tongue and lips ravished my mouth. It was strange allowing that sort of intimacy, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I lost track of time as he kissed me, demanding and possessive, his hand warm against my cheek. His stubble rubbed against my lips and skin, but the friction made me tingle instead that it bothered me. I could feel the restrained strength as his body pressed against me. Eventually he pulled back, eyes dark with desire. I shivered, not only from fear.
Insistent knocking sounded and Luca swung his legs out of bed and stood. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the bulge in his briefs.
He smirked. “A man is supposed to have a boner when he wakes up beside his bride, don’t you think? They want a show, they’ll get a show.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Now go and grab a bathrobe.”
I quickly leaped out of bed with its stained bedsheet and hurried into the bathroom where I grabbed the long white satin bathrobe and put it over my nightgown before I picked up the remnants of my corset that I’d dropped last night.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, I watched Luca putting his gun and knife holster on over his naked chest, another knife strap with a longer hunting knife onto his forearm covering the small cut, and reposition his stiffness so it was even more obvious.
My cheeks hot, I moved further into the room and threw the corset down beside my ruined wedding dress. Luca was a magnificent sight with his tall frame, muscles and holster, not to mention the bulge in his pants. A hint of curiosity filled me. How did he look without the pants?
I leaned against the wall beside the window and wrapped an arm around myself, suddenly worried that someone would realize Luca hadn’t slept with me. These were all married women. Would they see something wasn’t right?
I braced myself when he opened the door wide, standing before the gathered women in all his half-naked glory. There were gasps, giggles and even a few muttered Italian words, which might have been prayers or curses, they were spoken too fast and quiet for me to hear. I had to stifle a snort.
“We’ve come to collect the sheets,” Luca’s stepmother said in what was barely hidden glee.
Luca stepped back, opening the door wider. At once several women stepped in, their eyes darting to the bed and the stain, then to me. I knew my face was red, even though it wasn’t my blood on the sheets. How could these women jump at the chance to see proof of my taken virginity? Didn’t they have any compassion? Maybe they thought it was only fair I went through the same as they had. I looked away, unable to bear their scrutiny. Let them make from that what they wanted. Most guests had left, especially politicians and other non-mafia folk; only the closest family was supposed to bear witness to the presentation of the sheets, but from the number of women gathered in the corridor and in the bedroom, you wouldn’t have known.
Only women of marriage age were allowed to be present when the sheets were taken down – as not to frighten the pure virgin eyes of younger girls. I could see my aunts among the spectators, as well as my mother, Valentina and Bibiana, but the women from Luca’s family were in the front since it was their tradition, not ours. Now it is yours as well, I reminded myself with a twinge. Luca met my eyes briefly from across the room. We shared a secret now. I couldn’t help but feel grateful toward my husband, even though I didn’t want to be grateful for something like that. But in our world you had to be thankful for the smallest kindness, especially from a man like Luca, especially when he didn’t have to be kind.