6. Salvatore

What a time to begin acting on impulse.

Even when I was a younger man, and might have wanted to, I always kept a rein on myself. I never allowed myself to indulge my baser impulses, to be anything less than a man who was capable of upholding the wishes of the don I served. I didn't live like a priest, by any means, but I've always avoided excess in all things—including desire.

I clench my fists at my sides as I step out of Gia's room, trying to shake off the feeling that lingers on my fingertips, the sensation of touching her for the first time. I had meant it when I told Igor that my interruption of the wedding had nothing to do with lust. That I didn't desire my goddaughter. That I was only looking to protect her from a fate that I couldn't willingly hand her over to.

But I felt her momentary intake of breath when I touched the nape of her neck. I saw what she was wearing beneath that dress—lingerie fit for a princess, for a virgin bride. One who was meant to be sacrificed to the Bratva tonight, even if neither she nor her father saw it that way.

Theydid.

My jaw tightens. But that means that someone else will have to take her to bed tonight—me. The only way to make the marriage stick is to ensure it's consummated. Even the blessing of a priest and signatures on paper won't stop an annulment, if Gia were to escape and go back into the Bratva's hands. Not unless it's clear that the marriage has been made complete in all ways.

I'll think about it later,I tell myself, sucking in a deep breath as I head to the elevator. First, I need to speak with Josef, my second-in-command, who is in charge of my security. He's the closest thing I have to an underboss—I hadn't gotten around yet to appointing someone to fill the role that I once filled for Enzo.

There will be consequences to what I've just done. The fallout could be severe, and we need a plan to mitigate it. To know what we will do when the Bratva come to take their revenge.

It's not a matter of if they will. I don't doubt the sincerity of Igor's threat, not for a moment.

I'd be a fool to do so.

Josef is waiting down in the lobby. "I've done what I can to ensure you and your wife's safety," he says, his forehead creased. "I've doubled the normal security detail on your suite, and there's more discreetly placed around the hotel and its grounds."

Your wife. Hearing Gia referred to in that way startles me. It hasn't entirely sunk in yet—what I've done. What this will mean for us both.

"I'm adding security at both her family mansion and yours, as well, Don Morelli," Josef continues. "The pakhan could choose to retaliate in a number of ways—we should make sure that we're prepared for any potential outcome. And depending on which home you plan to take her to, after tonight?—"

"Mine." It comes out a little more sharply than I intended. "She is my wife, after all, as you said. She'll come back to my home, with me."

Josef nods. "Of course. I'll make sure the bulk of the security is stationed there, then, and that they're all aware of the situation. If the Bratva attacks, we're not to hold back, are we?"

I shake my head, feeling the weight of it as I do. The peace with the Bratva was carefully crafted; for all that I don't agree with the means, and I've just shattered it with one decision. "No. There's no quarter, if they attack. I won't risk anyone harming Gia."

"Understood." Josef looks at me somberly. "There will be bloodshed, Don Morelli. A lot of it, I think."

"I know." I rub a hand over my mouth, and for a moment, I wonder if I've made the wrong choice. But I reject the thought as soon as it forms. I would never have done it if I hadn't felt sure that the Bratva posed a threat to Gia. That she wouldn't have been safe with them.

That they might have enjoyed taking out decades of resentment and strife between our families on her, and it would have been too late to save her, by the time she realized her mistake.

"The focus is on protecting her, at all costs," I tell Josef firmly. "She should never have been promised to them in the first place. I've done what I can to right that mistake, and we'll deal with the consequences from here."

He nods, but I can't help but wonder what he's truly thinking. I've put a great many people in danger, to protect one person. It's not that I think their lives are worth less than hers—but I can see why he might think that. Why Josef might look at my choice and think, to himself, whether or not it was worth what will come.

I have to believe that this was the right thing to do. That the peace wouldn't have lasted, once Pyotr grew tired of his new toy.

That one way or another, lives would have been lost, and Gia would have paid an unnecessary price.

"I'll report back to you as soon as all of the men are in place," Josef says, and if he disagrees with what I've done, there's no trace of it in his voice. "You're going to take her back to your home tomorrow?"

I nod. "Mid-morning, probably."

"Everything will be ready for you, then. I'll notify the staff, as well."

"Thank you." I pause, wondering if I should say something else to him, some reassurance. But I'm not sure what, exactly, I could say that would make the situation better.

If anything, saying more might only make it worse.

As I head back to the hotel—and Gia—my thoughts are a tangle of conflicting desires.

I know I need to consummate the marriage. The validity of the union—and thus her safety—depends on it. Beyond that, I'll need an heir eventually. Enzo's death came with a mountain of duties, and a transfer of power that needed to be carefully handled, lest someone see the chance to slip in and take the title from me—and with it, everything Enzo had built. I hadn't had a chance, before today, to consider what else I might need to do in order to secure that future—if I would marry and produce heirs, or if I would pass the title on to someone else. I hadn't had time to consider it. And in the past?—

I can recall thinking, at times, that I would like to marry. The idea of a wife, a more domestic home, children—all of it held a growing appeal for me as I got older. But my life, and my devotion to Enzo and his legacy, left no room for a family of my own.

As the don, I had the opportunity to have that at last. And in time, I would have begun to consider it. But now, all those considerations have come to a head.

I have a wife, now. And if I want to truly continue her father's legacy and mine, I will need to have a child with her. It's as much my duty as it is hers—and if there's one thing I've always been devoted to above all else, it's the concept of doing my duty.

Of ensuring that those who depend on me are not let down.

But what it takes in order to do those things?—

I feel my jaw tighten as I see the hotel come into view, the minutes ticking down until I see Gia again. I shouldn't want her. I shouldn't think of her with so much as a flicker of desire. I've watched her grow up, seen her turn into a beautiful young woman without even the beginning of an indecent thought in my head. I've been her godfather, her father's best friend, her guardian.

And now I'm meant to be a husband to her—and all that entails.

If there's one downside to being a man,I think grimly as the car pulls up in front of the hotel and I step out, it's that I will need to feel desire, in order to make this night work. I will have to want her, in order to consummate the marriage. And I'm not sure if I can allow myself to feel what I need to, in order to go through with it.

Gia isn't in the bedroom when I walk in. Her dress and lingerie are in a pile on the floor, her room service tray abandoned on the cart. I'm pleased to see that she's eaten, at least, but I feel a flash of anxiety at not seeing her there in the room. And then I see the light under the bathroom door, a bit of steam feathering out, and I relax.

She'll come out eventually, and I'm in no hurry to face her. I pour myself a glass of cognac and call for someone to come and take the tray away, studiously ignoring the pile of silk and lace next to the bed. It's a reminder of just how beautiful she looked today, of what she was wearing beneath the gown, of how much less she's wearing right now.

My cock twitches despite myself, and I take a bracing gulp of the cognac. I don't know whether I want my arousal to be difficult, or not. The quicker I can find it within myself to desire her, the faster this can all be over—but even that twitch has caused a knot of guilt to settle in my stomach, threatening to grow with every moment that I try to distance my thoughts from the naked woman in the adjoining bathroom.

It feels both like an eternity, and all too soon when I hear the click of the door. Gia steps out, wrapped in one of the thick hotel robes, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her cheeks are slightly flushed from the heat of the bath, and she stops when she sees me sitting on the couch, her expression instantly turning wary.

"Someone brought your things up." I nod to the quilted travel bag sitting next to the wardrobe. "Everything you might need should be in there."

"Including the husband I was meant to marry?" Gia asks tartly, and I feel my jaw tighten.

"Do you want a drink?" I ask her, hoping to change the subject, and she presses her lips together.

"How was your business?" she asks instead, every word barbed. "Did your time away from me help? Did you have a chance to think about how you're going to manage to please your pretty young bride? I have expectations, you know."

Her voice is high, arched, full of petulance, but I can hear the nerves underneath it. She claimed to have been looking forward to her wedding night, but I've never heard of a virgin mafia bride who wasn't terrified of the act. Her father allowed her some liberties with Pyotr—let them court and visit at home—but I can't imagine she's all that well-versed in what's meant to happen tonight. No decent mafia daughter would be.

I take a slow breath, ignoring her question as I sip my drink. Gia stands there for a moment, clearly at a loss as to what to do, and then crosses the room towards her bag. She's about to unzip it when I stop her, forcing myself to speak up.

"We can get this over with now, or later, Gia. Whichever you prefer."

She straightens, her hand going to clutch the front of her robe. "You tell me," she says flatly. "After all, you're the one who forced me to marry you."

"You understand what needs to happen tonight, don't you?" I stand up, going to refill my glass. I'll need at least one more drink, if I'm going to get through this. "I'm asking your preference, Gia. Pyotr wouldn't have given you as much."

It was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it before it came out of my mouth. I've never been one to lose control of my tongue, but the tension in the room has me on edge as much as Gia, making it hard to remain calm.

"You don't know anything about Pyotr." Gia's shoulders tense, and she wraps her arms around herself. "We talked about tonight. We?—"

I don't want to hear about what lewd things Pyotr might have whispered in her ear. "Do you want a drink, Gia?" I ask again, and she bites her lip, looking at me with a sudden uncertainty flickering in her face.

"Yes," she says finally, and I can hear a little more of the nervousness slipping through.

"Wine, or liquor?" The bar is well-stocked with the latter, and I wait for her answer. She hesitates for a moment more.

"Wine," she says finally, letting out a breath. "I don't know what kind of liquor I would enjoy."

"I'll order up a bottle, then. A good one."

Gia says nothing as I call for a bottle of wine, still hovering near the wardrobe. She seems unwilling to come and sit down, so I sit instead, watching her from across the room.

"We don't need to be enemies, Gia," I say slowly, trying to think of how to diffuse the tension. "We've been on good terms all your life. I care for you. I always have. I've only done this to?—"

"If you say ‘to protect you' again, I'll scream." Gia's lips press together, and she glares at me. "You're doing this for your own ends. Your own desires. I don't want to hear about how it's for my own good."

"What can I say to convince you that I'm telling the truth?" I take another sip of my drink, hoping she'll answer me, and not just bite back with another attempted jab. Our marriage can't be one of contention and strife for all of it. And I would rather it not begin that way at all.

"There's nothing." Gia turns her face away, her arms tightening around herself. A moment later, there's a knock at the door, and she goes to open it, clearly eager for that drink she was promised.

I watch her as she opens the bottle before I can even offer to help, pouring herself a glass. She moves stiffly, every inch of her body strung taut, and I question whether this has to be done tonight. Surely, I could give it time—give her a chance to become accustomed to the idea of the marriage…and myself time to come around to the idea of desiring her.

No. It has to be done tonight.Tomorrow, I need to have proof of the consummation to send to Igor, evidence that there is no point in him trying to take back his son's bride. Without that, Gia remains vulnerable, still a potential match for the Bratva heir, their marriage embattled but not entirely impossible.

Once she is mine—in every way—they won't be able to touch her. Not like that. And whatever violence comes of it, that will be a different matter for me to settle.

I'll make it quick,I tell myself as I polish off the remainder of my cognac and stand, setting the glass aside. Brief, for us both. It will be about duty, and not lust. I'll imagine what I need to in order to be aroused, and I'll find enough pleasure in it to finish. I'll hope that tonight will give us an heir without any further need to fuck her again. It will be done, and from there, I'll decide how our marriage will be managed. If I need to find pleasure outside of the marriage from time to time, it's not unusual for a mafia husband to do so—though I don't relish the thought of being unfaithful. But I've never been a man with such strong lust that I can't make it a rare occasion?—

"What are you thinking about?" Gia's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and curious. "Trying to get up the nerve to touch me? Or maybe just get it up?" She sets her glass aside, her chin tilted up defiantly, her lip curling as she glares at me. "Here. I'll make it easy for you. Since you were so intent on stealing what wasn't meant to belong to you."

Before I can fully register what she's saying, she undoes the belt of her robe, and lets it drop to the floor.

She's naked underneath. Completely, entirely bare. Deep down, I know I should look away, that I shouldn't take pleasure in devouring the sight in front of me. But she's utter perfection. Glossy, thick dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, a full-lipped, rosy mouth, round, high breasts that would fit perfectly in my hands. Her waist nips in softly, her hips a perfect slender curve, her legs long and smooth. Her skin is pale, flushed ever so slightly, and I feel a ripple of lust go through me at the sight of the soft brown curls between her thighs, hiding what I know would taste as sweet as honey.

I feel my cock swell, stiffening against my thigh, and I feel entirely ashamed. But she's remarkably beautiful—maybe the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

And she's mine.

Looking at her, I can't help but think what a painful irony it is that I'm seeing her like this, and shouldn't relish the knowledge that I'll be the one to sink into her soft, perfect heat tonight, making her mine entirely. I can't imagine anyone else would look at her, and think: I have to fuck her tonight.

But I shouldn't want this. I can't.

Gia reaches for her wine glass, taking another drink. A droplet clings to her lower lip, and I feel a shiver run over my skin. She stands at the foot of the bed, the two of us at an impasse, and I see her gaze flick down to the front of my suit trousers.

"Maybe you aren't having as much trouble getting it up as I thought you would have." She tosses her hair, finishing off her wine, and putting the glass down before turning towards me. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me what to do, husband?"

I shouldn't let her get to me. Her bravado is hiding her nervousness, her fear—I feel certain of that. But as she steps forward, walking towards me brazenly as she leaves her robe puddled on the floor where she stood, I begin to wonder if I've misjudged her.

Before I can gather myself and think of what to say, Gia walks up to me, pressing her palm against the front of my trousers.

Right against my thickening cock.

My body reacts before I can think to rein it in. A beautiful, naked woman is pressing her hand against me, and my cock stiffens instantly, hard and aching under her touch. Her eyes narrow, her lips curving in a mocking smile.

"No desire here, hm? No lust?" She cocks her head to one side. "It's bigger than I thought it would be."

I grab her wrist, jerking her hand away and doing my level best to ignore the throbbing ache where her palm was a moment before.

I have misjudged her. I thought of her as barely more than a child, sweet and innocent, if capable of standing up for herself when she found something she thought she wanted. But the woman in front of me seems to have more of an idea about what she expects to happen tonight than I would have thought.

"What are you doing?" I tighten my grip around her wrist for a moment, before letting go and stepping back.

"Making sure my husband will be able to do his duty," Gia smirks at me. "What's next? You tell me to lay back on the bed—or would you rather have me bend over it? Do you want me down on my knees? What filthy things did you fantasize about, that made you decide to steal me away literally at the altar?"

Each word comes out like a hiss, dripping venom, her body coiled tight as a snake ready to strike. She intends to make this into a fight, I can tell. My head is swimming with a desire that I wasn't prepared for, with urges that I know I shouldn't give in to.

"How do you even know all of this?" I snap, retreating to more comfortable territory—outraged that Gia seems to be so well-informed about her wedding night. "Did your friends tell you all of this? What you should expect from your husband?"

"My friends all told me it was terrifying and painful," she snaps. "But it wouldn't have been for me. I know how I felt with Pyotr, those afternoons that we spent together, how he made me feel. It wouldn't have been like that with him?—"

I close the space between us before I can stop myself, my hand on her arm as I glare down at her. "You will stop speaking his name in our bedroom. Do you understand? I don't want to hear what fantasies Pyotr spun with you about your wedding night?—"

"No?" A cruel smile curves Gia's mouth. "Don't you want to know what I'll be imagining while you fuck me?"

"Christ, woman!" I nearly snarl it, taking a step back as I shake my head, trying to rein in my anger. In a matter of moments, she's managed to rouse me more quickly than anyone ever has—in more ways than one. "Are you even a virgin? Or was your father more of a fool than I thought, to allow your Bratva fiancé to court you in half-privacy?"

"Why does it matter?" Gia shoots back. God, but she's beautiful when she's angry, I can't help but think, seeing her dark eyes snapping with fury, her full mouth pursed, her body poised as if she's half-thinking of lunging at me. Everything I've ever thought about her, all the ways I've seen her all her life, crumble in the face of this woman in front of me. This Gia is someone I've never met before. I caught a glimpse of this side her, maybe, in my office when she demanded that the marriage be allowed to go forward. But not like this. "Why should any of that old-fashioned nonsense matter? Who cares if I'm a virgin?—"

She's being difficult on purpose. I'm sure of it—there's no way she and Pyotr could have gotten that far, but I'm past thinking clearly. I move towards her, and I see her quick intake of breath as I back her towards the bed, looming over her, my expression taut with anger and frustration.

"I care," I growl. "You are my wife, Gia. I have a right to know if?—"

"I'm a virgin," she hisses. "There you go. Does that turn you on? That's what you want, isn't it? Knowing there's a tight little hole waiting for you that no one else has fucked before?"

"Watch your mouth." I clench my hand into a fist, trying not to touch her until I have a rein on my emotions, on my arousal. I'm stunned to hear her speak that way, to hear that kind of filth coming from her pretty, innocent mouth—and at the same time, my cock is harder than it's ever been. It feels as if all the blood in my body has taken up residence between my legs, throbbing with a near-painful ache, demanding relief.

"What are you waiting for?" she taunts, taking another step back, until her thighs hit the edge of the bed. One movement, that's all it would take to topple her onto it. I'd worried that I wouldn't be able to find it within myself to desire her, that I might not be able to get hard, that I'd both make a fool of myself and fail to protect her all at once. But this, I hadn't expected.

I want her with a ferocity that shames me, and makes me nearly feral with need all at once. I can see everything that I want to do to her in my mind's eye, the way I could turn her mocking taunts to mewling cries in moments, just by spreading her legs and showing her how it feels to have a man's tongue on her sweet pussy. I could make her come again and again before I finally fuck her, leave her breathless and gasping, and make her apologize for all the things she's said before I give her what she wants.

I could make her beg for me.

I could make her forget that there was ever supposed to be another man in her bed.

Her brazenness, her fire, is completely unexpected. It's almost enough to make me want to rewind time and give her back, because I can see the ways in which she might very well make my life hell over the coming days and weeks.

But it's also turning me on beyond anything I've ever felt before.

"Well?" She taunts again. "Are you trying to remember how to do it? Where it goes, maybe? I can't imagine very many women are lining up to jump in bed with you, Salvatore. You're so far past your prime, after all. Maybe it was different when you were younger, but—" She shrugs, sliding back onto the bed, her tongue flicking out over her lower lip as she leans back against the pillows. "Should I just go to sleep now? Maybe it won't matter one way or another. You'll spend all night making up your mind, and Pyotr will come for me in the morning?—"

I should gag you. I should find another use for your mouth. I should show you all the things I could do to you, and you'd forget every insult you're thinking of right now, lining them up to fling at me like knives.I bite my tongue against everything that springs into my head, knowing that engaging with her mockery won't make this any better, or easier.

She frustrates me to no end. I grit my teeth, sucking in a breath as I look at her slender, naked body on the bed, and reach for the buttons of my shirt. By the time I undress, I tell myself, I'll have this under control. I won't engage with her taunts that Pyotr is coming to save her; I won't?—

I see her eyes flick to my chest, as my shirt falls open. I've kept myself in good shape over the years—far better than most forty-year-old men. I see her gaze sweep over my muscled chest, down to the hard lines of my abdomen, lower, where the lines on either side of my hipbones disappear below the edge of my belt.

The warring urges within me are enough to drive a man mad. The dance of seduction is familiar to me, the rhythms of lust, the things I would say to her if she were any other woman in the world. My cock strains against the fly of my trousers, utterly insensible to the fact that this woman, we're not supposed to want. This woman should have been off-limits.

But I've made her mine, and now I have to follow through. Even if it feels as if I might damn myself in the process.

I let my shirt fall to the floor, and I see Gia look away, as if trying to pretend that she didn't notice—that she didn't find me attractive for a moment. I start to reach for my belt, and then pause.

"Hurry up." Gia lets out an exasperated breath. "I'm bored." She rolls towards me, propping her head up on one hand, her body exquisite as a painting from this angle. "I should have known you wouldn't be man enough to fuck me, even after you stole me. After all, you're not man enough to keep your promises, are you? Why would you follow through on this?"

The words are sharp, slicing at me, stinging. I made a promise to her father, to uphold his decisions, his legacy. I made a promise to protect his daughter. Those, in and of themselves, were at odds with one another. And now, to protect her?—

I have to do what should be unthinkable.

But my body is all too eager to do what has to be done. And my bruised and battered ego is tired of taking her blows.

I move onto the bed, grasping her hip with one broad hand. Gia gasps, startled just long enough for me to easily roll her onto her back. She stares up at me, her eyes widening as I sweep my hand down the outside of her thigh, nudging her legs apart so that I can kneel between them.

"What are you—" Gia sucks in a breath as I place my other hand on her knee, slowly sliding it up her inner thigh. Her mouth trembles, just a little, as my fingers slide higher, and I feel her muscles tense under her touch, see her abdomen tighten as the unfamiliar sensation washes over her. "What are you doing?—"

She looks utterly stunning, laid out for me like this. Keep it brief. Quick, I remind myself. Pleasure her enough that she won't be hurt by the act, but don't draw it out for your own enjoyment. I cling to that thought, to the idea that what I'll do next is for her, not for my own gratification. I'm well aware of my own size, and the effect it might have on a virgin. I've never taken a woman to bed for her first time before, and it's paramount to me that I don't hurt Gia.

This is for her, not for me. I repeat it in my head like a mantra, as I slide my hand up to the dark curls between her thighs, clinging to it as the means to get through this. I'm not doing it for my own arousal, or because the sight of her with her legs spread and her breasts shaking with each breath makes my cock throb with an excruciatingly pleasurable need. I'm not doing it because I'm aching to feel the wet heat of her on my fingertips, to find out what sound she'll make when I graze her clit for the first time.

It's all necessary. Unavoidable. A part of my duty to protect her. To keep her safe. To keep her from harm.

"Preparing you," I murmur softly, brushing my fingers over the outside of those soft curls, not delving between her folds just yet. "I don't want to hurt you, Gia. I want you wet. Ready for me."

Gia snorts, turning her head away, but I see the hitch of her breath in her throat. "You're not that big," she taunts, but I don't miss the way her eyes quickly flick to the shape of my cock in my trousers, and away again before she thinks I can see. But I see everything. I'm watching her, making certain I don't harm her. That I don't frighten her.

That she's protected in this, as in everything else.

I promised, I think as I slip my fingers between her folds, grazing a fingertip against her clit for the first time. I promised to keep you safe. That's all this is.

But her eyes widen, and she gasps, her hips arching up as she feels the touch of a man's finger against her most intimate, sensitive spot for the first time.

And I know I'm lying to myself, if I say I don't want this.