“As long as they don’t get us in trouble with the landlord,” I say with a nod, “I’m good with a security detail.”
Dante’s face brightens and he sends Giulio a self-satisfied smirk. “Well, then, sounds like you’ll have to take the lady home, G, and wait to introduce her to the marital bed later.”Gulp.“I’ll have two of our men follow and remain behind to keep an eye on her.”
My fingers contract around my purse, the scratchy denim fabric rough on my palms. “Stronzo,” Giulio mutters, his voice a grumble that makes it clear the word isnota term of endearment. When he speaks in Italian, his tone lilts in a way that sounds less like his normal accent, as if the word was learned from a native speaker, and yet he sounds American when he speaks English. A result of being in the foster system, I wonder? Like me? Constantin had said he was an adoptive son, after all.
Dante merely laughs at Giulio’s attitude and straightens away from the town car before clapping a hand on the roof of the vehicle. Giulio sits back and rolls up the window as the carpulls away, and I close my eyes and settle back in my seat before I realize Giulio probably doesn’t know where I live.
“My address,” I say, sitting up as my eyes pop back open. “I live in—”
Giulio waves a hand. “Alonzo already has your address,” he cuts me off, nodding to the driver. “He’ll get us there soon. Rest for now.”
“Oh.” I deflate like a popped balloon. My muscles are throbbing from how tense I’ve been for the past several hours. And unlike the discomforting jolting movements of the train that I’m used to riding on my way to and from work throughout the city, the smooth car ride lulls me into a false sense of security as the lights of signs and other cars fly by.
Just before I close my eyes and sink into sleep, inhaling the clean scent of the leather seats, I think maybe my luck isn’t all that bad. I might be dead tired right now but at least I’m not deaddead.
GIULIO
Irony: [noun] Being dreadfully handsome and still having to pay or threaten a woman to marry you.
The girl—Daisy Marie Turner according to her New York driver’s license—falls asleep fifteen minutes into the ride to her apartment. The soft waves of her sable-brown hair flutter over one side of her face. The balloon of a gown that she’d worn downthe aisle practically dwarfs her frame. She’s not a petite woman, but she’s not overly large, either. If anything, I’d say that Daisy Turner is exactly what comes mind when people think of the average American woman.
Barely five-four to my six-one, she feels incredibly small as she slumps next to me, her head resting on my shoulder. I take a moment to look her over again. Without the stress and strain on her face, she appears younger. Sheisyoung, I remind myself, still in her early twenties. Unlike Isa, the woman is pretty rather than a bombshell type of knockout. Soft, rounded cheeks and a slender waist that curves out. As her slow breaths cause her chest to rise and fall, the rounded globes of her breasts push pleasingly against the restrictive bodice of her gown. My cock perks up in interest.
I shake my head, trying to ward off the thoughts. It doesn’t matter if my bride is pretty; Daisy Turner is simply a means to an end.
“A man without a family does not know the true meaning of life, son. If I were to promote you now without that tie, you would lose yourself in this world, and I doubt you’d ever find a mate with whom to share your life.”Don Luciani’s words reverberate through my mind. It’d been one of our last conversations before he’d left for Italy. I owe the man everything. My life. My career. My honor, respect, and loyalty. He’d seen a broken, unwanted kid and invited him into his home. If having a wife and starting a family is what he wants from me to prove myself, then that’s what he will have.
“Signore? We’re here.” I glance out the window and frown at the neighborhood as Alonzo parks the car.
“Thisis where she lives?” I stare up at the faded brick building with multiple windows coated in a layer of grime so thick that it’s difficult to see inside.
“This was the address on the girl’s license,” Alonzo replies, “and from the records we researched during the reception, she’s already been here for a year.”
I grimace. This building isn’t fit for a damn rat, much less a woman I intend to keep as my wife. Scowling, I gently ease the woman off my shoulder as I open my door and step outside.
When I round the vehicle on her side and pop open the door, her head falls into my waiting hand. Even with all the jostling and movements, she doesn’t wake. A muffled sound of amusement comes from the driver’s seat. I glare at the back of Alonzo’s head.
“If you find this so funny, then you can get out and help me,” I order.
Alonzo doesn’t argue; he simply pops open his own door and gets out. Together, the two of us manage to get the girl out of the car and into my arms—big, ridiculous dress and all—in a matter of minutes. He shuts both car doors and jogs ahead of me to open the door into the lobby of the apartment building. He doesn’t even have to scan any sort of identification.
“Dear God,” I mutter, “it’s a wonder this place hasn’t been robbed yet.”
“According to police records,” Alonzo offers helpfully as he leads me toward the elevator doors at the back of the lobby, “there are regular calls to this building for robbery, theft, and domestic disputes.”
I close my eyes and draw in a careful and annoyed breath.Why did I ever let Dante talk me into letting the girl go back to her home? Did he know she lives in a place like this?
The light overhead flickers and then goes dead a second later. I glare at the closed doors of the elevator. “Press the damn button,” I mutter.
Alonzo frowns at me and then at the elevator. “I did, Signore.” He reaches forward and presses the button to the side of the elevator doors. It lights up a dull yellow before going out just like the overhead light. No sounds echo down from the elevator shaft. “I think it’s broken.”
Of course it is.I turn toward the stairs. “Which floor is she on?” I demand.
Alonzo follows a step behind. “The top floor,” he tells me.
I pause at the base of the stairs and release a quiet snarl that has the woman in my arms grumbling in her sleep and cuddling closer as if I’m her favorite pillow. Dark lashes throw shadows against pale, freckled cheeks.
“Would you like me to carry her?” Alonzo offers, moving forward with his arms outstretched. I step back before he can touch her.
