He lowers his face to mine, until his mouth is exactly on top of mine. His breath sears my lips, and his scent, like dark coffee laced with brandy, overwhelms me. He’s above me, all around me. The force of his dominance crashes into my chest and pins me in place. I can’t stop the moan that bleeds from my lips.
"Christian," I whisper.
It seems to break the spell because he releases me. I stare up at him, my breath coming in pants.
He steps back, and cool air rushes over my heated skin.
"Let’s go." He brushes past me and heads for the door.
I walk onto the terrace and take in the assembled guests. In one corner, Christian’s brother Michael, who recently took over as Don of theCosa Nostra, and his wife Karma are engaged in conversation with Michael and Christian’s grandmother. The older woman says something that makes the couple laugh. The breeze blows over us, lifting Karma’s lustrous locks and Michael’s thick dark hair. They seem so carefree, so happy.
Considering everything they’ve been through, including the recent loss of their unborn child, they look well. Like the trials that they’ve been through have brought them together. I, more than anyone, know how deceptive appearances can be.
My mother had always put on a brave front, though she hated being part of theCosa Nostra. Her father and his father before him were part of the Mafia, as was her husband. My mother and father had fought many nights when she begged him to leave, and he’d always refuse. My father was a doctor, who could have found a career outside of theCosa Nostraif he wanted. But he simply didn’t want to leave. He was steeped in the Mafia culture himself, felt beholden to the then Don—Michael and Christian’s father—who had helped him out when in need. He felt it was his duty to stay and serve them."Chi lascia la strada vecchia per la nuova, sa quel che lascia, ma non sa quel che trova,"so he loved to say.
Those who leave the old road for the new know what they leave behind, but not what they'll find.
It was another reason I couldn’t wait to leave for medical college in the UK. In fact, I tried my best to lose my Italian accent while I was there and succeeded enough that I speak English like a true Brit. It’s one of the things I’m proud of, that when someone speaks to me, they can’t place me as being from Italy. Given the choice, I wouldn’t have returned to Sicily, but my father needed help, and when he had asked, I couldn’t refuse him.
Also, I felt guilty about leaving my sister behind when I went to England to study, even though I knew it was the right thing to do. If I could break out of the Mafia and find my own way, then Elena would have a chance to do the same. I'd made sure to come as often as possible to see her. And then my father had asked me to return, and I’d agreed.
Also, it fell in with the larger plan. So, I had to come back. It also helps that I felt compelled to help my family. And now, I’m walking into another family. One much more powerful and complicated when it comes to relationships.
Cassandra, Michael’s housekeeper and someone who I have grown to know better over the past month, walks toward us with a tray of prosecco flutes. Christian takes one and offers it to me. Cass glances at me, sweeps her gaze over my outfit—a far cry from the simple pants and shirts that I normally favor—and her gaze widens.
She peers into my features. I see the question in them, but don’t allow the expression on my face to change. Instead, I toss back the prosecco, emptying the glass in one go. The cool liquid slides down my throat and hits my stomach. The alcohol sets off a low burn in my belly. Tendrils of heat vibrate through my veins. Guess they weren’t lying about alcohol helping you face anything, hmm? I place the now empty flute back on the tray that Cass is holding, then reach for a second glass. Christian grabs my wrist; I turn to him with a frown. "Let go of me," I hiss.
He jerks his chin at Cass, who glances between us. She seems like she is about to say something.
Then, his lips kick up in a smirk. "Watch what you say, Flower," he drawls, "my family is watching."
"Like I care?"
"Well, you should. Your life and your family’s life depend on it."
I feel the blood drain from my face. "You wouldn’t hurt them, would you?" I swallow.
"That’s entirely up to you now, isn’t it?"
Anger coils in my chest and pours through my veins. "I hate you," I whisper, "I really do."
Karma glances past Michael’s nonna. She spots me and her features break into a smile, then she sweeps her gaze down to where Christian holds my wrist. I try to pull away, but of course, the jerk face only tightens his grip on me. Her eyebrows furrow. She narrows her gaze on me, and I glance away. That’s when Christian moves toward them. He pulls me with him, so I have no choice but to follow him.
He pauses in front of Michael and Karma. "Don Sovrano," he declares, "meet the woman who has agreed to become my wife."
6
Aurora
"What?" Karma glances between us. "Is that true?"
I hesitate. Should I tell her the truth? More to the point, do I have the courage to say the truth in front of his family? I open my mouth, then close it. I shoot Christian a sideways glance to find him watching me with a curious expression. As if he’s almost daring me to say something that would give him the chance to hurt me or my family. Me? I don’t care so much. But my family? Damn him, but I’d never let him do anything to harm them.
"Aurora?" Karma prompts. "Are you going to marry him?"
"Yes," I say without looking away from Christian. "Yes," I clear my throat, "I’m going to be his wife."
Something blazes in the depths of his eyes, then he seems to bank it almost at once.