1
Giovanna
It was February 9, 1989, and two pairs of eyes I’d never seen before inspected me. No words were spoken. Not a sound bounced off the walls. Their dark gazes assaulted me, and nobody seemed to care how I felt. And why should anyone care about me? I was a woman in a man’s world. I was to be silent, look pretty, and do whatever I was told to do.
Basically, I had no rights.
A beautiful oriental rug was under my feet and an ornate crystal chandelier hung above my head. I was surrounded by luxury. No question I wouldn’t want for another thing, and to many women, they would be fine with such arrangements. Not me, though. All I wanted was to be respected, treated as an equal and cherished and loved.
The scent of Chianti mixed with leather hung in the air, along with a hint of a masculine cologne. I tried to ignore the latter but couldn’t. I was certain it washis.
I hated myself for liking it even a little.
For many years, I knew this day would come, although I’d prayed every night that it wouldn’t. When I turned eighteen, my mamma had warned me to be prepared. I should have listened to her. But for two years, I didn’t believe her even when she told me the day was nearing.
Foolish me had thought Alessio had forgotten about me and had found someone else to marry. I’d been gravely wrong. There I stood frozen in the center of the beautiful office with mahogany paneled walls as he ogled me in front of my father.
My ears were on fire and my palms were clammy. Blood pumped into my heart like a frightened horse in a rapid gallop to get to safety. I tried to remain composed and unafraid, but it wasn’t easy.
I’d never been so terrified in all my life.
Unsure where to look, I kept my gaze glued to an oil painting framed in gold on the wall. The detailed Italian countryside made me wish I was home in Sicily, among rolling hills, citrus orchards and olive groves. Where some families made wine, mine produced the finest olive oil in all of Italy… and in all the world.
I stood tall, with my shoulders back and my chin held high as Alessio walked circles around me as if I was a marble statue and he was considering buying me.
Why was he behaving this way? Making a show of this transaction, because that was what I was, a transaction. Not a woman. Not a human. A means to the end of many wars between our families.
My father had told me it was a done deal. Had he been wrong? Had Alessio changed his mind and was reconsidering the agreement? Would he not marry me, so our feuding families might find peace?
The Italian prince gave nothing away and I feared he’d reject me. Couldn’t say I would be disappointed or surprised if he changed his mind. I wasn’t as pretty as other women. Certainly not as beautiful as my younger sister, who I was certain Alessio would prefer more, but she was much too young at only thirteen years old.
I imagined the reason I was here was because he didn’t want to wait any longer to start a family. Why should he? He was in his prime and the heir to his family’s Mafia empire. He needed to secure his position and the only way to do that was by having sons.
Why did he have to be so handsome with that tart expression on his face?
How could I let the dashing Mafia prince get to me so easily?
Was it his confident posture? Or his intoxicating sent? Perhaps it was the fact that he was simply an Italian god and every woman’s dream.
Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t let him know I was melting inside.
He cleared his throat as if preparing to speak, and I stiffened. “What are her talents?” the arrogant man asked in a raspy low voice.
I was about to reply when my father said, “Her talents?”
“Yes, is she accomplished in anything, Signor Amano? I need more than someone to breed with,” He snorted and Lord have mercy, I wanted to slap the snug expression off his stupidly gorgeous face.
Had he no shame, talking about me like I was a horse? Honestly, he could find someone else to breed with because I wasn’t going to allow him anywhere near me.
“Perhaps you should direct your questions to me, Signor Remotti. I’m not mute and I understand English.”
He stopped in front of me and glared. “What are your accomplishments?”
“I sing, play piano and speak four languages.”
“Four languages?” A spark of interest glittered in his brown depths. The whites of his eyes were blinding, turning his irises nearly black as he stared at me as if expecting me to flinch under his scrutiny. Not a chance.
“Did I stutter?” I replied, holding his gaze captive. He should have known I wouldn’t be intimidated. I grew up in a crime family as well. To survive and gain respect in my family, I had to excel at everything.
