Chapter Seven

Elena

“He takes me for a fucking fool,” I spit out as I stand in front of the floor-length antique mirror of my Sicilian manor, staring back at the wedded bride I’m about to be. Dappled light shines in through the arched window, the serene sound of birds chirping in the background as direct contrast. The light catches the ripe lemons, and soon our workers will be hauling them off in their trucks to pick and transfer to the picking and sorting warehouse. Ironically, the fruit we’ve borne is one of the reasons I’m trapped in this mess. There are olive trees on the sprawling Mancini estate grounds, but that’s not our main business.

It’s a shame it’s an arranged marriage. This is not how I want to show up as a bride. Hell, I’m twenty-two and marriage is the furthest thing from my mind. Avenging the deaths of those slain before my father is at the forefront, but I’m going to have to bide my time on such things. I flip my chocolate barrel curled locks over my shoulder; they’re yet to be pinned, but I could care less, because inside I’m silently fuming, and don’t exactly want to look as if I’m happy about the day.

If I didn’t hate the Orlovs so much, I might even call Nikkita handsome, but he’s the ruthless type of hot, and I can’t bring myself to consider him anything other than an enemy. I’m not sure I’ll be able to fake a sincere look of love with this Russian barbarian, but I’ll do my best. For the famiglia.

My wedding dress is simplistic, yet classy and elegant with its intricate embroidered and beaded details embellishing its heart-shaped bustier. The bottom half of the dress is slimline and in the color cream. Personally, I adore the way the folds descend into a waterfall of waves with a small train sticking out behind. If I had it my way, I would walk down the aisle dressed in jet black or a clown costume because this charade is more like a funeral, or horrible prank, not a marriage.

Matteo is seated nearby on a plush stool with a face full of worry, but as I turn side on, I’m more concerned about spilling out of my dress. There is cleavage, and the dress is strapless. It’s good I have enough tape to keep the girls in place.

“He does,” Matteo interjects, his forehead rippled in concern, “but we both know you’re not. The thing is—”

“Matt, does my dress look okay?” I ask, turning around to look at the back, which is half zipped. I’m waiting for the ladies of the estate to come back so they can finish my hair, but in the meantime it’s Matt and I.

“Elena, I’m not worried about your damn dress.” His terseness somehow is amusing to me, because whilst Nikk might take me for a fool, I’m in it for my own reasons.

I shift my hair fall out of my face, wide-eyed. “Why? What’s up?”

Matt sighs heavily. “What’s up is I don’t think this is a good idea . At fucking all. What if he tries to kill you? Do you not think he will, Donna?” Of course he could, but the Mancinis are bringing too much to the table for him to execute, even if he wants to.

Smirking, I nod at Matt in the mirror. “Quit being dramatic. He’s not going to kill me. There’s too much at stake, and he wants something that only I can give him,” I remind him, pressing my lips together. I’ve kept the lip color nude, glossy and natural, but I do have to admit, I’m every part the illuminated bride today.

“I bet there are many things he may want from you. How can I protect you if I’m not with you?” Matt expresses his fears out loud as I dip slightly, patting his hand.

“Nothing changes. I’m not about to be some traditional Brat bride. He can fuck off, plus that’s not what’s in the agreement. You’re still going to be with me, so you can stop worrying about that.”

“I am worried. I need to see what I can do about extra security detail for you. I want the Orlovs tailed,” he counters, his jaw tense. I do understand his concern, but for whatever reason, I’m not as filled with fear as I should be.

“It’s only for a year, Matt. I’m going to take back what’s ours. The Orlovs pushed us out of New York, and now it’s time for the Mancinis to make a comeback. His connections into the nightclub sector will be of great benefit and will make the transition easier. We can reign again!” I ball up my fist, understanding the risks, but more than willing to take them. Dad would be proud.

Matt rises to his seat upon my impassioned speech, his polka dot kerchief lopsided. He’s debonair in his navy-blue suit, slicked parted hair, olive-tanned skin, and polished shoes. “Elena….” He pauses for a beat, his mouth forming a grim line. “Yes, we may want to take back New York, but I don’t want it to cost you your life.”

I peer closer into the mirror, touching up my eyebrows, swiping a little more blush across my cheeks. “Yes?”

“We both know the Russians cannot be trusted. They are loyal to none but their kin. And we—the Mancinis—are not kin. I don’t think this is the best move for the Sicilian Mafia,” Matt remarks, his warm eyes centering on mine.

I grin broadly back at him, taking a moment to fix up his red and white kerchief, patting his chest when I’m done. “There, that’s better. I know how particular you are.”

“Elena! Take me seriously. This isn’t a good idea.”

“Listen, I will take New York back. I’m going to kick the Orlovs out one by one by the scruff of their necks, just like they kicked us out. Since when are Russians the kingpins of New York anyway? It doesn’t work!” I scoff, Matt unimpressed with my Mancini bravado. I’ll have to blame that character trait on my father.

A knock on the wooden door interrupts our conversation, and in reflex action, I whip up the length of my gown, my gun held tight in a holster and strapped strategically to my thigh. As our heads swivel in the direction of the door, my aunt Mary sticks her head around the door. She’s the one doing my hair. She holds up her comb.

“Bella! Are you ready?” Hastily, I drop my dress, relieved it’s her. It’s too early for a wedding shoot-out.

“No, Mary, not yet. I will call you. Almost done,” I tell her cheerily as she backs away from the door.

“Okay. You look beautiful.” As she retreats, Matt studies me, finally regarding my dress.

“Your zip is down at the back,” Matt murmurs, scanning me from head to toe as I feel his warmth when he zips me up. Our eyes lock in the mirror as I take a beat to appreciate him. If he hadn’t been in the famiglia for so long, maybe I would look at him in a different light. I smile sweetly at him, but quickly dissolve it.

“If Nikk, tries to touch you without your consent you should tell me,” Matt adds, his hot breath hitting my bare shoulder, sending a slight spiral of shivers down my back.

I smooth down the front of my dress, a hint of nervousness arising. I’m a Donna now and I don’t want the famiglia looking at me as if I’ve failed them by making this decision, but my head’s in the long-term game, not the short term. “He wouldn’t dare. I added the clause in our contract that he wouldn’t touch me.”

The warmth of Matt’s hand seeps through my back as I hold his solemn gaze once more. This time there’s a smile hugging the edges of his mouth. “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t. You’re so young, Elena, and you’re all a man in this game could ask for. You’ve blossomed beautifully, Donna.” Matt steps to the side, adjusting his tie, our eyes meeting in the mirror.

“Thank you,” I tell him quietly as we both stand side by side. Matt’s always been my rock, and I know he’s going to be with me to ride it out through it all.