3. Vincenzo

3

VINCENZO

T he restaurant is bustling with activity. I can see every waiter and diner from my fan-back booth in the far corner. Everyone but my hopeful future wife.

Melina claims she finally found the perfect woman for me. After waiting three months—thirty days longer than the anticipated time frame, she called today to tell me that she found someone. It's about time, too. The last six candidates left much to be desired. Seriously, each one was worse than the last.

The first one had a unibrow and her voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Candidate two chewed so loudly that I contemplated strangling her to end the torturous sound of her lips smacking together. The only thing worse was being able to see macerated food move around in her mouth.

The third and fourth were boring—both were breathing blowup dolls with IQs that rivaled the rabbit salads they ate. Neither had a sense of humor, and I wanted to scream at how one dimensional they were.

If I have to deal with my future wife every day, she has to be able to carry a conversation and keep up with my appetite. It's awkward to eat a burger when the woman across from you is drooling over it, cranky as fuck because she won't allow herself to have one. For fuck's sake, just order a burger. It's protein!

The fifth one took one look at me with wide, fearful eyes and promptly left the restaurant. I probably dodged a bullet with her anyway.

And the sixth prattled on and on about horses. Horse manes. Horse saddles. How to correctly shoe a horse. Why horses make great companions. The merits of dressage versus show jumping. She told me horses are actually more intelligent than toddlers. I put both of us out of our misery and gave her $1K in bills to shut up and pay for her dinner before I left. Maybe she'll use the change to buy herself some cool accessories for her horses, Majesty and Prudence. I deserve a medal for sitting through the endless photos she insisted on showing me.

Lucky woman number seven is Dana Santino. A twenty-five year old vampire-banshee hybrid that works a desk job for her family's waste management business. Red hair, red eyes. About 5'7. Melina emailed me her file this morning, and although it's sparse, it'll do.

I'll marry a cardboard cutout at this point—anything it takes to inherit my family's legacy. Becoming the Don of the Conti mafia has been my fate since the day I was born. My uncle Mario took over after my dad was killed by vampire hunters, but he's kept the seat warm for me long enough. It's my time now.

All that stands between the old order and the Vincenzo Conti era is one stipulation—I have to be married before my thirty-fifth birthday. In one month. And despite what you may think, it's difficult to find a woman who wants to be tied to me. I may be handsome, rich beyond anyone's wildest dream, and charming as fuck, but I'm a workaholic. Every day since I was five was spent busting my ass to prepare for this moment. There was no time for dating meaningless women I'd inevitably get bored with after a few fucks.

I also come with a vicious albatross around my neck—the Conti namesake. All the television, movies, and books my mom and sister read when I was growing up made me think women would throw themselves at me.

Romance books make love look so…easy. Everyone gets their happy ending. The billionaire bad boy always gets the woman. The crazy stalker actually has a heart of gold and would do anything to protect the woman he obsessed over. The mafia king takes his woman, because he knows they belong together, even if she's fighting the insane attraction between them.

Yes, I read some of the books, sue me.

But it's all bullshit, because supernatural women in the twenty-first century have options, and they don't want to be tied to a criminal who'll lead the most ruthless, blood thirsty vampire mafia on the east coast.

So even if this woman is a complete dud, I'll take her. I can't let some stupid stipulation my father made to ensure our legacy keep me from everything I worked for the past three and a half decades. From what I was fated to become. I have to make my father proud. He's looking up at me right now, shouting the same mantra he's always said.

"There's always a way. Make it happen, Vinny!"

The whole room heats like a sauna, and a prickling sensation creeps up the back of my neck. I snap out of my musings to see the most beautiful woman walking toward me. Her porcelain skin has a faint glimmer in the restaurant's low lighting that highlights every step she takes. It also draws attention to her little waist, grabbable hips, and a rack that can stop the entire world.

She wears a little black dress that's modest enough to fit the dress code, but tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. When I see a tendril of red hair cascading from her bun, I swallow the drool collecting in my mouth.

The draw I feel toward this woman is undeniable. Like nothing I've ever felt before. For the love of all things unholy, please be Dana. She has to be.

She stops at my table and lifts her shades to reveal mesmerizing glowing red eyes.

"Vincenzo? Dana Santino. Nice to meet you."

Yes. The universe is on my side tonight.

She holds her hand out, and I catch sight of a glimmering diamond bracelet on her wrist. Who the fuck bought her a diamond bracelet and where do I find him so I can drive a silver stake through one of his eye sockets?

Fuck, where did that come from? I gotta get my shit together.

"Dana, it's nice to meet you," I take her hand, kissing her knuckles before pulling her chair out and helping her settle into it. Right away, I feel how warm her skin is. It's…different than what I'm used to.

She gives me an unreadable tilt of her lips. Not a smile. Not a frown. An expression that would give the Mona Lisa a run for her money.

What is she thinking?

"So I hear you're looking for a wife?" she asks in a husky, feminine voice that goes straight to my dick. The glow in her eyes subsides, but it's still so easy to get lost in them.

The blood rush from my head makes me take a little longer to respond. "Yes. Melina said nothing but positive things about you."

"Thank you," her lips tilt up more, into a genuine smile showcasing her sharp, white canines. Combined with her blood red talon nails and impeccable taste, she seems like the perfect woman to have on my arm. A woman every woman wants to be and every man wishes he had.

"Do you know who I am?" I directly ask. It's better to get this out of the way now, so I don't waste time.

"I know how to use a search engine," she laughs, a genuine smile spreading across her heart shaped face. "I can't imagine it's easy to find someone when you're in the mafia."

Her reply is somewhat sarcastic, but weirdly empathetic. Most women would have at least frowned–it's not every day you sit at a dining table across from a real life criminal. But her posture is relaxed, like we're discussing the weather or some innocuous topic.

She already seems so perfect for me, but I don't want to get my hopes up.

Before I can question her further, the waiter comes to take our orders. She orders first.

"I'll have a medium filet mignon, with roasted garlic mashed potatoes and balsamic asparagus. I'll pair that with whatever Syrah you recommend."

I'm impressed. She eats actual food and knows enough about wine that she pairs red with steak. She's already better than the last six candidates, and we've only been together for a few minutes.

I order the same thing, but get the cauliflower au gratin instead of mashed potatoes. When the waiter leaves, we spend a moment eyeing each other, getting the true measure of the person in front of us. She smiles at me, like she doesn't have a care in the world. It's relaxing, refreshing.

"You seem extremely calm, considering what I do," I say as I take a piece of bread and dip it in the spiced oil on the table.

"Again, I did my research. Knowledge is power, after all," she quips.

"True, but the file on you wasn't generous. Tell me about yourself, so I can get to know you better."

I have a deep, insatiable need to know everything about this woman. What's her favorite food? Where did she grow up? What does she do for fun?

"My family owns a waste management company, and I work for them. I take jiu jitsu, read, and cook in my spare time. I love watching thrillers on TV and my favorite color is red."

Her surface level response leaves more to be desired, but it's a start. There's this…pull inside me to know who she truly is inside.

"I'm going to cut to the chase," I say, leaning forward and crossing my arms on the table. "You're a gorgeous girl who could have any man—paranormal or mortal—in this place. You have a good personality and seem normal. Why do you want to be with someone like me?"

She laughs loudly, and some of the other patrons glance our way.

"Sorry. My father is trying to arrange my marriage to a man old enough to be a second father to me, and we made a deal that if I could find a better option, I could choose my own husband. The man he wants to marry me off to isn't taking my finding a new option well. You're a man who can keep me safe..."

Oh so she needs protection? The fact that she feels unsafe enough to hitch herself to someone like me enrages me. The thought of someone hurting her makes me want to stab someone.

"Oh, so I'm the practical choice?" I quip, waggling my brows at her to keep things light. My emotions are out of control tonight, somehow springing from the box I keep them locked in.

If anything this should make me happy. We can both benefit from this arrangement, which will make it a more successful union.

"Maybe, but you're also a better choice. You're still older than me, but you're handsome, seem nice, and you're not some creep who'll ruin my life."

"There are things I'll expect of you, safety precautions you'll have to follow and events and dinners you'll need to attend with me. Eventually I'll want children. But I won't try to ruin your life. I see this marriage as a partnership, not a prison sentence for us."

She blushes, and the red tint to her cheeks is beautiful. A guy can get used to seeing that on the daily.

"So what now? Do you want to go on more dates and get to know each other?"

How do I tell her we should get married as soon as possible without sounding like a lunatic and scaring her off? I can't lie to her. It feels wrong to do on every level. If anything, I have the urge to open myself up to her, despite just meeting her.

She's throwing me off kilter and for the first time in my life, I don't know what to do about it.

"Honestly, the sooner we get married the better. Having a wife is a sign of stability and strength, and the Conti famiglia needs that now."

"I hope I don't eventually regret this, but I wouldn't mind a quick engagement," she muses. She takes another sip of water.

"I wouldn't mind getting married tomorrow. I'm undeadly serious." She laughs at my pun, her cute little canines peeking out from her lips, and I know I'll enjoy making her laugh regularly.

Unfortunately, her laughter is cut short when a bullet whizzes past my head and lodges into the wall. I lunge across the table, throwing myself on top of Dana to block her from any bullets. Before my guard can cross the room from his vantage point near the door, I identify the threat, a man sitting a few tables away from us. I take my gun from its holster under my suit coat and shoot him square in the hand.

It's enough to disarm him and keep him alive for questioning later. He's taken away, to the cell he's earned in my warehouse.

I look down at Dana, who lays on her back beneath me. Her breasts are pressed into my chest as she breathes heavily. The glowing eyes that captured me from the first second we met glow an intense neon red, her hazel irises completely eclipsed. She runs her hands over my shoulders, cupping my face in her hands.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah…thanks to you. You saved me," she says before smiling up at me.

We met less than a half hour ago, yet this strange, mysterious woman has taken my life by storm. I would have gladly taken a bullet for her. Traded my life for hers. Just to make sure she's safe.

I breathe in her air, and we stare into each other's eyes. Leaning down, I brush our lips together, the featherlight touch sending sparks of electricity throughout my entire body. Something inside me shifts, and it's as if the entire black and white world I existed in exploded into technicolor.

She deepens the kiss, pressing her lips to mine as she weaves her slender fingers through my hair and tugs lightly. Her passion spurs me on, and I explore her sweet mouth with my tongue, taking my time as I revel in her perfection.

When she coughs from a lack of air, I pull back. I forgot that she's only half vampire…she still needs to breathe.

"Marry me," I blurt.

This is the worst possible time to propose. We were just shot at, and she probably wants nothing to do with me—but I can't deny the cosmic pull I have toward this woman. I need to make her mine, right now. If she says no, I'd go complete psycho and lock her in my basement. She makes me feel that crazy.

To my surprise she doesn't even hesitate. She peers up at me, with a huge smile on her face. "Yes."

My fangs drop, and the urge to mark her right now, so everyone knows who she belongs to, thrums in my veins.

She's mine. My wife. Forever .

"Um, Vincenzo, you're crushing me," she says around a giggle. It's different from her earlier rich, husky laughter, but no less alluring.

I don't want to get off her. Some inner psychotic part of me wants to lay on top of her for the rest of my life and meld our bodies together for eternity. But we are in a public place, and this restaurant has been compromised. I can't have my future wife stay here and risk her safety. My job is to protect her at all costs.

Prying myself off her is almost painful. What in the stars is wrong with me?

"I'm sorry," I reply, easing myself off her despite how wrong it feels.

"Mr. Conti, you both need to go to a safe location until we can neutralize this threat. We have a car waiting in the back," another one of my guards says.

I help Dana off the floor and walk her through the kitchen to the back of the restaurant. She seems calm and collected, despite what happened minutes ago.

Just another sign she's the perfect woman for me.

The car meets us at the back entrance, and I open the car door for her, ushering her into the back seat before climbing in after her. I buckle her belt, making sure it's tight and secured. As we take off to one of the mafia's many safehouses, I can't help but stare at her perfect face. Her plump lips are relaxed, and her eyes have dimmed a bit, appearing more hazel than red now.

The more I stare, the clearer things become for me. All the puzzle pieces fit together, revealing a truth that hits me like a brick to the face.

The reason I'm obsessed with this woman I met less than an hour ago and want to tie myself to her for life is because she's my fated mate.

I met my fated mate.

Does she know? Does she even believe in such things? It doesn't matter. I'll be damned if I let her go. I'd rather get staked or shot with silver bullets than exist without her.

Which makes it top priority to find out who took a cheap shot at me in my restaurant. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to put my future wife in danger? I'm a selfish bastard for tying her to me—to this life filled with danger and uncertainty.

But I can promise her no matter what, that she'll always come first. And that she'll always be safe with me.

I just have to take care of this little hiccup first.