Elise opens the door completely, and I stifle a scream. It isn't just Romeo waiting at the foot of the stairs, but my future husband.
Earlier today, I thought he looked hot. Now he just looks terrifying. Tall, muscled, but it's that danger in his eyes that gets me every time. That knowledge that he’s someone who has seen terrible things. Who has done terrible things. He’s a man who fears no one and expects obedience.
And now he's going to be my husband.
"Maybe our babies will have those eyes,” I mutter under my breath, trying to break the tension. “Small consolation, eh?” It works. Rosa breaks into a watery grin, and Elise smiles.
"I was terrified when I was engaged to Tavi,” she says. "You girls might think he's a good guy, but I didn't know him. And he wasn't very nice to me at first. He was very hard on me, actually. But we got through. We made our way. We fell in love.” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “It wasn't easy, I won't lie. We've had our share of struggles like anybody else, and some of them were things that I didn't even know how we would overcome. But here we are." She shakes her head. "I don't know that your brothers are different. I really don’t. But that doesn't mean we can't hope.”
Romeo glares, warning us silently not to try Capo’s patience.
I don't wanna talk anymore. They mean well, but with every second that passes I feel more nauseated.
"Let's go," I say. My family will have a much better time of this if I don’t kick and scream the whole way. I won't do that to them. I can't.
So I hold my head up high. I hold one of the bags that my sister has packed for me, and I walk down the stairs to meet my future husband.
“Can I have time to say goodbye?” I direct my question to Salvatore and not Romeo. I wonder if I imagine Romeo flinching when I defer to my future husband’s authority instead of his.
He shakes his head. “No. I’ll allow you to come back and visit under my supervision. It’s a short flight and I have frequent work that calls me here.” My heart blooms with hope, just a little. “But tonight, I have to get back for a meeting. Say goodbye to Romeo, then we leave.”
He glances at his watch as if to underscore the whole “we’re on a timeline” thing.
“The cars are waiting out front,” Romeo says hoarsely. I don’t see any of my other brothers. I imagine them restraining and consoling my heartsick mother. Sometimes, it’s good not to know.
Romeo leans in to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear, “Do your best, sweetheart. Be the amazing person you are, and he can’t help but fall for you. But if he hurts you… If anyone hurts you…”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” I say, though it brings me so little consolation.
I can only call him if I can get to a phone. If I’m still alive.
* * *
CHAPTERFIVE
Salvatore
Italian women like a dramatic entrance and they like a dramatic exit. Italian men are a breed all their own. I ought to know. We have our own love affair with drama. But the point is, I know how these things go. I know how quickly this could become a drama fest. So I stop it before it starts.
Her goodbyes are brief. I place my hand on her forearm to secure her. It’s the first time I’ve touched her. I note the softness of her skin, the way she doesn’t resist but allows me to lead her.
And when she holds her head up gracefully, I fight a wild desire to kiss her beautiful, haughty face. To teach her who she belongs to now. To make a hard and fast claim right here and now declaring exactly who the fuck she belongs to.
But I won’t claim her until we’re married. That much I can honor.
I get a phone call as we approach the car and quickly answer it. I’ve wasted enough time as it is, and I’ve got shit to do. I spent more time at the Rossi house than I had planned, but I'm walking away with the spoils of war I came for, so it was worth it.
As I take the phone call, I watch her. I don't miss the way her chin trembles. The way she swallows hard when she gives one last backward glance at The Castle, or the way her knees knock against each other. I have my men take all of the luggage that she has and put it in the back of the car. It isn’t much. I wonder if we’ll arrive home one day to a shipment of all the shit she’s ever owned sitting on the doorstep.
On instinct, I open the door for her. I gesture for her to take a seat, then slide in the back beside her. I have work to do, so my men will drive us to the airport where we’ll catch our private jet home.
I finish the call quickly. We ride in silence for long minutes before she gives me a haughty little lift of her chin—is that a sneer? I hope it is. I can’t fucking wait to make her behave herself. She tosses her pretty head and asks, "I want to know if I'm allowed to have a cell phone."
“Depends,” I say to her. “Nearly everything that you're allowed or disallowed will depend on your behavior.” It’s the truth. "If you follow my rules and expectations, you'll have free rein of the house we’ll live in together. You'll have access to the internet and your cell phone. You will go nowhere without a large guard on you, a minimum of three men on property and six off and none of those bullshit clowns your brother hired.” Her shoulders tense, lips thinning. My Italian princess doesn’t like it when I criticize her brother. “You’ll be allowed to socialize and to shop, and in some cases, I'll even expect you to. You’ll attend any function with me at my request, and during holidays and when I travel, you'll be my companion."
She has a very specific role to fill, and I'll train her immediately in the ways I expect. It doesn’t have to be all rules and drudgery.
"How I behave…" she says, as if mulling this all over. “So I’m your companion. Your little trophy wife. What exactly does that mean?"