Truthfully. All he wants is an honest answer. Or so he says. Though men often say that, then dish out punishment when the answer is not what they wanted to hear.
“No,” I say, swallowing down my fear.
“Then why’d you do it?”
“I had no other choice.” It’s the truth.
His lips firm and he grimaces. “Those are the answers I expected. Thank you for your honesty.”
He’s thanking me? Instead of using it as a trick to lure me into telling him the truth only to punish me for it? For one fleeting, insane moment I wonder how honest I can be with him. Can I tell him that my father’s a monster? Or the things my brother said to me?
I crush the temptation as soon as it rises. Men like him delight in patting each other on the backs, they don’t want to hear about the uglier side most of them reserve for their home life. Daughters are nothing but property and pawns to be passed on to the next generation ofmade men. They’re all ruthless killers.
I’ll find no sympathy from my new husband. It’s best to keep my secrets buried. Just like my true identity.
CHAPTER 2
Cian
Ignoring my new bride, we ride in silence to my waiting jet that will take us to Florida for our honeymoon, escaping the cold New York winter for a while. Don Lorenzo Pontrelli wouldn’t budge on this point in our negotiations. I have to take his daughter on a honeymoon, he even paid for it. I can only assume he thinks that if I spend enough time with her, I’ll be pussy whipped, and more malleable when I return.
Fuck that. No cunt is sweet enough that I’ll lose my wits. Never again. Been there, done that, and have the scars to prove it.
Worse, maybe she’s a spy. Not that she’ll get any important information to take back to her daddy. If I catch her trying, or snooping around my house, I’ll kill her. I don’t make idle threats.
I sneak a glance at her, at my wife—Jesus, Mary and Joseph.Fuck, I’mmarried. Never thought that would happen. I’m not the marrying type.
It’s really too bad that she’s so pretty. Beautiful, in fact. I hate that. Her beauty taunts me. I’d have preferred a plain wife, one that doesn’t draw my eye. I knew I should have demanded to see the girl before marrying her, but Pontrelli wouldn’t allow that. He assured me I’d be pleased with her looks. Since I didn’t carehow ugly she might be, I never pressed the matter. Now I regret it.
Avoiding this siren is out of the question until this stupid honeymoon is over, and unfortunately, until we produce an heir. Then we’ll have separate wings of the house and I’ll never have to lay eyes on her again. I can always fuck her in the dark until she’s pregnant. One heir is good, two is even better.
My gaze rakes down her body. The white wedding dress hugs her curves enough to show off her assets. Everything about her is meant to seduce. She looks good, smells good, hell she probably even tastes good.
A real-life temptress. A complication that I don’t need.
I shake away that thought, and adjust in my seat, scowling at my body’s reaction to this woman.
Temptress she may be, but this time, I’m in charge. I won’t be blinded by a woman's charms ever again. Our marriage will play out the way I want.
If I want to fuck her, but never hear her voice, I have every right to shove a gag in that pretty mouth. I can ignore her and still demand she spreads her legs for me when I’m in the mood. She’s a mafia princess, she was raised with these kinds of expectations. She’ll be obedient. I don’t need to worry about that. Don Pontrelli promised me she’d do as she’s told.
The limo pulls onto the tarmac, where my jet awaits. Reaching over, I grab the girl’s arm and haul her out of the vehicle. She comes willingly, quietly, and a sense of relief settles in my gut. I’m not sure why I half expected her to resist. Out of fear of coming with me, perhaps? Though so far, she doesn’t appear frightened of me, just annoyed. Which is not usually an emotion I evoke in females.
Fear and disgust? Yes. Annoyance? No.
She walks in front of me up the stairs and enters the jet, where the flight attendant shows her to a seat, then turns to face me.
The uniformed woman stares, gaping as she takes in my harsh, scarred features. She’s obviously a new hire if she hasn’t seen my face before and learned to control her reaction. The horror in her eyes makes my stomach churn. Shame pierces my chest. I grit my teeth.
“It’s rude to stare,” snaps a feminine voice. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my new wife just chastised the flight attendant. My curious gaze bores a hole in the side of her veiled head, but she remains facing forward, ignoring me.
“I-I’m so sorry.” The attendant quickly gets back to work, gaze downcast, an embarrassed pink on her cheeks.
With a confused frown, I drop into the seat across the aisle from my bride. Why would this woman—Elena, that’s her name—defend me? She didn’t have to say anything. I’m used to the way people, and especially women, stare at me like I’m the most hideous thing they’ve ever seen.
Even though some of them, on occasion, like to fuck this monster. I really don’t understand the female psyche, nor do I care to try.
The jet taxis along the runway, gaining first speed, then altitude as it lifts from the ground. The air in the cabin grows thick with silent tension. I should say something, anything, to break this strained silence. But I’m not especially good with words.
