Her eyes locked on me, and she arched her brow, the expression haughty and defiant. "Have you decided that there'sno way out for you?" I leaned back on the seat and stuck my feet out in front of me and crossed them. Limousines were cliché in this life, but I appreciated the legroom in them. "Emilia, if you do decide to run, please be aware that your entire family will die together at the bottom of Lake Michigan before you've even gotten out of Chicago." Letting my head fall back against the seat, I sighed contentedly, like I was discussing the weather rather than mass murder.
I wasn't really a bastard, but I didn't mind letting people think it. The reputation served me well in this world. Killing an entire family wasn't above me; it was just something I'd rather not have to do. Too messy, too many loose ends. That's not to say I wouldn't mind disposing of Vincent Carminatti, but his innocent daughters shouldn't be consigned to a watery grave just because of who their father is. They were pawns, nothing more.
Emilia Carminatti wasn't one of the innocent daughters, though; she had blood on her hands, and I was much happier having her on the Venosa side of the line than her father's. She would come in handy. Her strategic mind, her ruthlessness, her ability to operate in shadows while maintaining a pristine public image, all of it would serve my purposes perfectly.
Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at the house, the SUV pulling through the iron gates and up the long, curved driveway. She avoided looking at me, staring out the window at the sprawling estate, and I couldn't blame her. The door opened, and I stepped out of the car and reached in for her hand. Emilia avoided taking it and walked ahead of me to the door, head held high, and I couldn't help but smile. This was going to be an interesting marriage. Most women would be crying by now, begging. Not her.
I'd been single for much longer than anyone in the Cosa Nostra liked. There'd been constant rumors about me seeing any number of women, and sometimes more than one at a time:models, socialites, the occasional actress. I couldn't deny any of this, but I didn't want a princess. They annoyed me with their obedience and parties. There was much more to this life than most women knew. My mother stood alongside my father, and when I decided to take a wife, I wanted one who would be as strong. A partner, not a decoration.
Emilia Carminatti was that person.
Her steps faltered as she walked into the foyer of my house, the marble floors gleaming under the chandelier light. I knew where she grew up, and her home paled in comparison. The Carminatti estate was respectable but modest, nothing like this. "My great-grandfather built this home for his wife. She was used to the castles in Europe, and he wanted her to feel like she was there." Gently pressing my hand to her back, we walked into the great room. It didn't take my breath away like it did when guests walked in, and Emilia was no exception. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening.
I watched her expression change from awe to amazement as she looked from the oversized stone fireplace, easily twelve feet tall with intricate carvings, to the ceiling-to-floor windows and the high-vaulted ceilings. The room was designed to intimidate, and it worked. It was easy to see why people were intimidated when they came to my home.
"Come, you'll have your entire life to look around; we have things to discuss." I hadn't removed my hand from her back, and I felt her stiffen as I guided her to the stairs. The grand staircase curved upward, the banister polished to a high shine. "Don't worry, Emilia, I won't do anything to you that you don't beg me for." She narrowed her eyes, shoving my hand away from her with surprising force.
"Good, then you won't be touching me anymore," she spat, venom dripping from every word.
Getting right up in her face, our bodies touching, I stare into her beautiful brown eyes when I speak. "Oh, no, Emilia, I'll be touching you whenever I damn well please." Her eyes changed, and I saw fear flash across them for the first time tonight. "What? Sweet, poised Emilia takes pleasure bathing in another man's blood, but can't handle the touch of her soon-to-be husband?" I run my finger from her cheek, down her throat, and between her breasts. Her skin was warm, her pulse fluttering under my touch. Sliding my palm across her breast, around her body, I pulled her to me.
"Maybe not tonight, but soon, you'll be begging me to do dastardly things to that pretty little body and more. Mark my words." Lowering my head as I stop talking, her breath comes out in a huff, but she didn’t back down. The woman had courage, I'd give her that. Her lips part and I wondered what kissing her would be like. Soft? Demanding? Would she bite? Moving ever so slightly, our lips were only a hair’s breadth apart, and I could feel her breasts rising and falling against my chest rapidly. Neither of us moved, so I took her hand, once again, and led her up the stairs.
We stopped at the door to the room where she would be staying, and I pushed it open. The suite was luxurious, decorated in cream and gold, with a four-poster bed that could sleep four. "This will be your prison until the moment you walk down the aisle." She entered, and I followed, closing the door softly behind me.
"You intend to keep me locked up? Why?" She spun on her heel and narrowed her eyes as she looked at me, her dress swirling around her legs. "Surely you've got enough guards to keep little old me inside the stone walls of this property. Hmm, exactly like a prison, for a moment I thought you were waxing poetic." She smirked. The temptress smirked, and I was immediately fighting my cock wanting to rise at her challenge.The defiance in her eyes, the curve of her lips, everything about her screamed danger and desire in equal measure.
"I don't trust you, Emilia. Your phone has been confiscated, and you won't have any privileges beyond these doors unless I accompany you or deem otherwise. I encourage you to get accustomed to your own thoughts." I saw a flash of hatred in her eyes, but I'd seen anger like that my entire life, and it didn't affect me. Men had looked at me with murder in their eyes before pulling the trigger. This was nothing new. Reaching for the door, I left the room without another word.
Standing outside her door, I could still smell her light floral perfume. Was it lilacs? Jasmine? Something delicate and feminine that sharply contrasted with the killer I knew she was. The scent lingering on me, the feeling of her delicate hand in mine, and how it felt to be pressed against her caused my blood to rush through me, straight down to my already straining cock. The memory of her body against mine, warm, curved, and perfect.
Five days, five days, and she would be mine. All I needed to do was make sure she didn't disappear into the wind. Keep her contained and controlled until the vows were spoken and the deal was sealed.
I also had to make sure we didn't kill each other.
CHAPTER 5
EMILIA
"Oh, that fucking mobster,"I seethed. For the last half hour, I'd been searching the room he'd locked me in. Every corner, every potential exit, every possible weakness in my gilded cage. I checked all the windows and doors, and nothing; they were all locked tight. Heavy deadbolts, reinforced frames, and probably bulletproof glass. I'd kill him. I'd slit his throat and slice him up like the pig he was, giggling as his guts fell out onto the floor. The fantasy played out in vivid detail behind my eyes, satisfying in its violence.
Who did he think he was, ruining my entire life? Not only did he out me to my father, but he also stole my entire operation as well. Two years of work, two years of careful planning and strategic maneuvering, gone in a single evening. Now, he had me trapped in this room, claiming it was my prison.
"I'll have you begging me to do dastardly things to your pretty little body and more. Mark my words," I mocked, pitching my voice lower in a ridiculous imitation of his growl. No man had ever touched me that way, and I definitely wasn't going to beg him to be the first. I'd die first. I'd put a bullet in my own head before I gave him that satisfaction.
I flopped down on the bed, anger coursing through my entire body. My muscles were tense, coiled like springs ready to snap. I was tired, so tired. The adrenaline from the warehouse, the confrontation at the symphony, and the car ride here, it was all draining away and leaving me hollow.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling as the day rushed back. Niccolò arrives at the symphony. My family discovered what I was doing. Having to get married. Being locked up here. Not to mention, my arm was screaming in pain. The bandage felt too tight, the wound throbbing in sync with my heartbeat. Gently, I rubbed my hand over it, taking deep breaths and trying to endure the agony.
Sitting up on the bed, I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. Making myself small, like I used to do as a child when my father's rage filled the house. This might be a nightmare having to be here until my wedding, but at least I'd be safe. If I'd gone home, I would have been beaten to within an inch of my life. My father's fists wouldn’t discriminate between his men and a daughter when his authority was challenged.
I could see the anger in my father's eyes at the symphony, and his clenched fist, white-knuckled and trembling, as he was itching to lash out at me. It was all he could do to keep himself under control. The vein in his temple had been throbbing, his jaw so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
Part of me wondered what would have happened if he'd dared to hit me in front of Niccolò. Would the man who was somewhere in this massive home have protected me, or just stood there and watched, taking notes? Would he have seen me as damaged goods, or would he have killed my father on the spot for touching his property?
Crawling up to the pillows, I pulled the blankets around me, cocooning myself in the expensive fabric. They were softer thananything I'd had wrapped around me in my life. Like sleeping in a cloud, if clouds were made of Egyptian cotton and down feathers. For tonight, the door was locked, and I was safe from the terror that would have awaited me at home.
Tomorrow I'd figure out if I'd need to run.
