14. Gigi

14

GIGI

Angel . The last man who called me that didn't spike my blood with fear. No, he shook me up in a cocktail of lust I couldn't swallow down fast enough.

I'm not your fucking angel! I want to hiss at Franco, but it won't play in my favor. "Please don't call me angel," I whisper instead, demure and obedient.

"Hmmm," Franco hums. "Been called that by someone else, have you?"

"It was a long time ago," I lie.

The memories of my one night with Stephano Scalera come out of my mind's filing system daily, multiple times, still as fresh as if it happened last night.

"Good," he says, seeming to lose interest already.

I need to keep my cool here. I had years to prepare for this. Carla had none. I'll play this game, gain points and time so I can get her out of here.

"I'll make it easy for you, Franco. Leave my sister out of it. She's too young for marriage, and she's going to need molding to meet the criteria for a mafioso wife. When she is ready and the time is right, you can use her to strengthen your position and make a worthy alliance with someone else. I'm sure there'll be ample opportunities."

I don't want to say the next words, but I have to.

"Take me." I swallow and make sure I look him in the eye. "Take me. I'm ready, and I promise to be a good wife."

Please, I beg you, just take me and leave Carla alone.

With those damaged hands, I know what I'm up against. A man who uses his fists. On everything. Indiscriminately. A marriage will never come to pass, but I'm not subjecting Carla to a minute more of this tortuous situation. "In fact, I think it's time she leaves the room so we can talk about the details."

Franco rocks on his heels where he's standing within arm's reach, those fists stuffed into his pockets. He's measuring me up. Maybe I've sounded too eager, but I don't look away. I stare back as if in a dare.

He's handsome if you look beyond the broken nose that healed slightly askew and thick over the bridge. His dark eyes are small, and it makes him look a bit piggish, but he's tall and looks fit. Fighting fit. And probably not a day older than forty-five. Later in life to take a wife unless he's already had one and she's dead.

I clench my hands, hiding them in the folds of my dress. So much to look forward to.

Franco drops his gaze to my cleavage, perfectly cupped in this summer dress. Men . Not for the first time in my life do I thank the Lord for giving me a decent pair of tits. If this is all it's going to take to sway him, I can work with the rest.

After another minute of inspection, as he probably assesses how well I'm going to fuck and breed, he inhales and sighs with resignation.

"Let the girl go to her room," he says. "My future wife talks common sense, which makes for a refreshing change." He glances around the room. "Vincenzo, see to your father. You," he says as he nods towards another man I don't know. "Get it going so we can wrap up here."

"Go," I whisper to Carla. "I'll see you later."

"You're going to be okay?" she whispers back, her voice pitched, silent tears streaming down her face. "Gigi?"

"Sure, stay calm. This is how it is, cara . I've always known this is where I was going. Why do you think I've been waiting to settle with someone?" I can't afford to have her more riled up. It's lie upon lie now. "I'm going to be fine."

She's bug-eyed at the bullshit I just spewed, but I squeeze her hand in warning one last time. She nods and then shakes her head but stands and rushes out. Vincenzo is helping Papa out of his seat, and I bite down on my lip, a cry wanting to tear out of my chest. He's limping. I want to rush over, but he raises a hand to stop me. What did they do to him…and Vincenzo? He didn't stop anything from happening.

Once they're gone, Franco turns to me. "A drink, to celebrate? This seems to come as a surprise."

"I'm fine." But inside, I'm cowering.

"Have one in any case, amorina . You might need it."

"I think I'll call it a night." I stand, putting some action behind my words. "I've come all the way from London, and it's late."

"But we're not done. We hardly know each other."

And I plan to keep it this way.

Franco takes the whiskey another man holds out to him. I give him a quick once-over. A three-in-one bodyguard, torture device, and executioner. Dressed all in black, he gives all those vibes just by standing there, glaring at me under hooded lids.

"Some things are best left for after the wedding, don't you think?" I tease, keeping my tone light.

I won't be raped tonight. Over my dead body. Already, my gaze has homed in on the poker sticks by the fireplace as potential weapons.

"Maybe, but some things I'd like to sort out before we get married."

"Such as?"

I sweep my gaze around the room. Four men are on standby to protect Franco, all clones of each other, camouflaged in the corners of the library with their all-black attire.

"We'll talk about it." He takes my hand and leads me to the sofa. His touch is warm and scratchy against my cold fingers. He waits for me to sit, then circles the ice in his glass while he towers over me. He's intimidating, and I can't help but recall the way Stephano looked at me that night as he stood over me just like this. There was nothing sinister in his look, not like Franco, who stares at me like he's about to dissect a frog for fun. "I am going to rebuild Randazzo's empire, only this time, it will be stronger. He was a remarkable man, but he left his legacy in shambles, ready for the taking. Think about it, amorina , you'll be the wife of the most revered and powerful Don in the whole of Europe."

I swallow and watch how his gaze dips to my throat. If only I can stop giving my fear away. "I'm used to all that."

"Maybe." Franco sighs. "From what I understand, you've been allowed to run wild. What with your own business, your constant travels and art auctions."

His words are a noose around my neck, tightening.

"I won't allow you—surely, you must understand the danger, amorina —to continue in this way." He still hasn't sat down, but cups my face, and I force myself not to flinch. "You'll be home, with our children, like a good wife. I might take on Randazzo's operations as my own, but I won't allow my hard work to go to anybody but my sons."

And by ‘take', he means war. The signs are all there: the man in front of me is a maniac. So calm as he sips his whiskey.

He nods at one of the men who stands behind me, and I freeze as a hand clasps over my mouth and a fist burrows in my hair to hold my head in place. The other two men are on me, each one gripping an arm as Franco steps in between my flailing legs.

"Calm down, Gigi," he croons softly. "This can take hours, or minutes. Depends totally on how much fuss you make."