“Let’s get you out of this dress, and you can sleep it off,” he says. “We can talk later.”
It’s all I can do not to get my drunk ass up and do a victory dance. Yeah, I cried in front of him and showed weakness, but hey, it’s worth it to keep this heartless asshole off me. After all, I can’t just let him lay down the law and then follow it like an obedient little sheep. I don’t want to be someone’s property. I want to be an independent woman, free to follow her dreams, like my mom was after she left the yoke of marriage and domesticity. The only way to do that is formeto lay down the law, to let him know from day one that I won’t be owned and controlled. I just did what it took to make that happen.
King peels off my dress and lays me down in the bed in my underwear, and a shiver races over my skin when he looks down at me. As I stare up at him, feeling every bit as exposed and vulnerable as I am, I notice again how fucking beautiful he is, all angular lines and dark shadows. I shiver, my skin prickling into goosebumps as his gaze moves over me. For a second, there’s nothing cold about him. His eyes are pools of molten chocolate, his gaze heated as it moves over my lace bustier and white panties.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and something swells inside me, a weird sense of pride at having a man who looks like him look at me that way, like he finds me every bit as sexy as I find him. I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to love a heartless, sadistic bastard from the Valenti family, but it doesn’t mean he’s not attractive. It doesn’t mean that when his gaze strokes across my skin, I don’t feel sexier than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I can’t delight in the sensation, though. It should be nice to be wanted, even if it’s by a man I can never allow myself to want, but it’s not. It’s terrifying.
Because one day, he’ll be done waiting, and he’ll take what he wants. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him, or to stop that day from coming. After all, every day of my life belongs to this man. He became my keeper and my owner the moment he put a ring around my finger like a brand, and he can do whatever he wants with me. I don’t even get to be my own person, to keep my own name. He erased my identity. I am no longer Eliza Pomponio. I am Mrs. King Dolce.
six
King
The morning after the wedding, I leave Eliza sleeping and join the families for brunch, ready to make excuses for my new bride and take the inevitable ribbing. I enter the Pomponio’s beach house through the back door, passing a handful of guards on my way. I’m still getting used to that part of the Life. Sure, Dad was rich, and we had a few crazies try to get to us, but we didn’t use bodyguards. He’s a businessman, not a celebrity. Now that I think about it, the mafia ties probably kept him safe. He’s not involved enough to warrant his own guards, but everyone knows what happens when you mess with Al Valenti’s most valuable associates.
“Where’s the bride?” Duke asks, slapping my shoulder as we meet in the doorway of the dining room. “Don’t tell me you wore her out already.”
“Why not?” Baron asks. “We wore out our bridesmaid.”
They crack up and shove each other like the idiots they are, too immature and sheltered for their own good. I let it slide, though, because they’re the youngest, and they’re only fifteen, and if you can’t be an idiot at that age, you’ll never get the chance. I envy them, in a way. I never had the luxury of being so carefree. It’s a good look for them.
“What’s this I hear about the lady of the hour skipping her own brunch?” Uncle Al asks, appearing at my side. I can see Dad just about popping wood at the sight of me and my great uncle, the famous mafia don, getting close. He always knew I’d work for Al, but this is even better. Now, he’s really connected. I’m in with the Valentisandthe Pomponios, and he hid none of his relish at the prospect of increasing his influence and standing when we talked before the wedding. He’s determined to turn his biggest profit yet this quarter, so he can line the pockets of the Pomponios as well as the Valentis.
“I thought I’d let her sleep in,” I say to Al.
“You keep her up all night?” Little Al asks, joining us.
“She’s just not feeling too well this morning, that’s all.”
“I bet she’s not, you dog,” Little Al crows, slapping my back. “Probably couldn’t walk if she tried.”
Little Al is next in line for the Valenti throne, the grandson of Uncle Al and my partner. More accurately, he’s the babysitter they assigned me as a new soldier, one who taught me the business of collecting payments and breaking kneecaps. He likes to give me shit about my fiancé so I’m grateful when Anthony Pomponio, who’s holding court at the head of the table, waves me over.
“I expected to see my daughter here,” he says, gripping my hand with his big, hard one. His fingers are thick and rough around mine, squeezing like a threat.
“She’s fine, sir,” I assure him, though I’m not too sure. “She just wanted to sleep in.”
“I should probably warn you,” he says with a slight smile. “Eliza’s used to getting her way. I’ll admit I was lenient with her growing up. After losing a son and a wife, I wanted to give my little girl everything. Raising a kid’s hard—you’ll know that soon enough. But raising one by yourself…”
He breaks off and shakes his head. I don’t say anything, but I’m thinking, how the hell am I going to have a baby and bring our families together when Eliza won’t even let me touch her? I didn’t expect her to love me, but what’s the point in joining the families by marriage if we can’t have a baby? And yeah, maybe I’m a dick, but I expected sex. I’m not into the whole mafia lifestyle that lets a man have a mistress on the side. When I took a vow to be faithful, I meant it. If I can’t fuck anyone else, then I damn well expect to be fucking my wife.
“A man’s not cut out for that work,” Anthony says. “Not when it’s as much work as that girl. For the sake of all of us, you’d better pray for a son.”
He laughs, and I swallow the bile that wants to rise in my throat. My veins feel cold and slow, like they’re filled with the ugly frozen slush left after snow begins to melt. How can I tell him there won’t be any sons or daughters either?
I can’t. It’s that simple. Eliza will just have to find a way to get over her hang-ups, at least until she’s pregnant. And then what? I’m supposed to live like some kind of monk while sleeping next to my beautiful, irresistible wife? I was a dumbass to think we’d treat our marriage as a business. I want sex. She probably wants love. And that’s the one thing I promised I would never do to her.
“Life’s short, you know?” Anthony says, releasing my hand and clapping me on the shoulder. “You never know when that day will be our last. I spoiled my little girl. She’s got some growing up to do, but I’m sure you kids will figure it out together. Just don’t you be afraid to show her who’s boss. A man’s gotta run his own family.”
Run my own family. How do I do that when my own wife is scared of me? Or is she just trying to avoid me because she hates me? Is she scared I’ll find out she’s been fucking that guy on the beach, or whoever it is she’s been with? If I tell her I don’t care if she’s a virgin, will she relax and give us the son we need to unite our families?
When one of Anthony’s brothers slides in at his other side, I move away with relief. I find my way to the next table and take a seat next to Little Al. “Don’t have too much fun on the honeymoon,” he says. “You’ll think that’s what’s coming for the rest of your marriage. Trust me, kid, it don’t happen that way.”
“Sure,” I say.
“Just a fair warnin’,” he says. “But guys like us don’t have to worry about that, am I right? There’s plenty of pussy out there. You don’t have to marry it to fuck it.”