He wanted to marry her. To have her in his bed, once and for all.
She left the room, the door closing behind her.
“Let’s get to the finer details,” Lastra said.
“The wedding must take place by the end of this week,” Marcel said.
Lastra turned red. “You know that’s not possible.”
“I don’t care about the finer details. The only way to stop this war is by having a marriage soon. Also, I’d like my son to go and talk with Isabella now. This arrangement must suit him in every way. I’ve heard about the rumors when it comes to the daughter you’re passing off to my son. You know my son’s reputation!”
“I know what they call him.”
Mafia Monster. It was such a fucking corny name. He couldn’t stand it, but it was the name he’d been granted since he was a young man, and well, when his rage was released, a monster took his place.
“What rumors?” Klaus asked.
“My daughter has had a few … weight troubles.”
“They called her the Lastra Ton!”
“As you can see, she has been dieting and there is nothing wrong with her. A healthy eating plan, plenty of exercise, which I’m sure your son will keep in check.”
“She is faulty,” Marcel said. “You insult me.”
Klaus touched his father’s arm. “Arrange the details, Father.”
“You deserve the best. Not some fat cow. Do you have any idea what kind of reputation you’re going to get marrying her?”
“She will do.” He’d never cared about his own reputation before now and he wasn’t about to start.
Isabella and her mother joined them back in the room. What he didn’t know was how much she’d heard. From the look on Isabella’s face and the heat in her cheeks, she’d heard a great deal, and even as she tried to hide it, he saw the pain in her eyes.
“I hear we’re celebrating good news,” her mother said.
Lastra looked toward them. “Is it good news?”
He looked at his father and nodded. Another few seconds’ pause, and Marcel smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“Isabella, why don’t you show Klaus around while we negotiate other matters,” Lastra said.
She nodded, the motion jerky.
She hadn’t changed her clothes, but her cheek had been cleaned of the flour.
Klaus moved toward the door, aware of his brothers moving in his direction. He held up his hand, stopping them. He didn’t need anyone to fight his battles. He was able to take on whatever the family threw at him.
Isabella walked down the long corridor. There were no guards, but he imagined others watched.
She pointed out the dining room, another sitting room, a party room, and a movie room. They got to a door at the end of the long corridor and she stepped inside. “As you can see, this is the library. There are lots of good books to read.”
“I really don’t give a shit about what kind of house you live in.” Klaus watched her as she pushed some of her hair out of her eyes.
“What would you like to see?” she asked.
“It’s more about what I want to know.”
She took a deep breath, glancing around the room before turning to look back at him. “What exactly do you want to know?”
Isabella was a natural beauty. She really wasn’t like any other woman a mafia family would throw at him. They usually went out of their way to show how appealing they could be, almost vulgar in marrying off their daughters.
Isabella held a finesse about her, but she wasn’t using it. She folded her arms beneath her chest and glared at him.
He smiled as she kept trying to bring her poker face up, but it wasn’t working, not even a little bit.
Isabella had a well-concealed temper as well. She’d just made this future marriage somewhat exciting.
****
The Lastra Ton had been her father’s last straw. From the time she was a little girl, her father had never been happy with the way she looked. A year ago, after the humiliation when one of the men called her that, he’d put her on an extreme diet. She was basically banned from eating. Everything she put in her mouth had to be vetted by him.
For a year, she’d been starving.
The only reason she had flour on her face was because that was what she was allowed to do, prepare food with Misha, their family cook. Misha couldn’t feed her any food either. There was a guard who had no choice but to watch her constantly.
Between the starvation and the constant, grueling workout schedule, she’d lost a lot of weight, still not nearly enough to satisfy her father. Weekly weigh-ins and measurements were what she’d had to deal with the past year.
The one good thing to come out of it was that she was fitter than ever. Spending time landing punches on a bag had meant she no longer had punishable outbursts. Her father wasn’t above hitting his children, especially in anger.