Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

A fter forty-five minutes of listening to my aunt's antiquated theories of what makes a proper Italian wife, I am much more stable. "Thanks, Zia Lina." I stand, then lean down to kiss her cheek. Then I scan the crowd, searching for my new husband. I finally spot him near the towering wedding cake—a grand, five-tiered confection covered in intricate white fondant and adorned with blood-red roses. The Valdici crest is airbrushed in antique gold on the side facing the dance floor. The server hands me a large knife as I join Renzo in the center of the room. Our guests form a circle around us, eager to witness the cutting of the cake. Renzo's arm slips around my waist. I glance up at him, and for the first time tonight, my plan comes into focus.

"You try and stab me, and you'll be dead before you hit the floor," Renzo whispers, his breath tickling my ear and sending vibrations down my spine. His lips curl up at the corners as if he knows exactly the effect he has on me. He leans down and kisses me hard on the mouth. Camera flashes go off in rapid succession, leaving spots in my vision as Renzo straightens and pulls me tightly against him.

"Here you go," the wedding planner says, gesturing to where we're supposed to cut the cake. Renzo quickly places his hand over mine, his grip hard on my fingers. There's no way I can stab him now, not that that was my plan. I'm not stupid enough to try stabbing my new husband in front of his entire family. I'd never make it out alive.

I force a smile at the wedding planner, then widen my eyes at Renzo. "Why on earth would I want to stab you?" I ask, my voice sugary sweet.

He throws his head back and laughs. Pressed as close to him as I am, his deep, rich laugh rumbles out of his chest and into mine. The sound makes me break out in a sweat. I don't like being this close to him. It does too many things to my body that I'm unable to control.

"Your eyes give you away, Mia. You can't hide what you're thinking from me." Renzo claims my mouth again, then turns his attention to the cake. I maintain a false smile as he cuts the cake with our hands joined on the knife. More flashes go off. It's hot, and I'm starting to feel nauseous, but whether it's from the booze or the fact that Renzo seems to be able to read my thoughts, I have no clue. The mere idea that I can't hide what I'm thinking from him sends me into a panic.

"Bacio, bacio, bacio!" the crowd chants, and Renzo leans down to kiss me again, to the roar of approval from the crowd. This time, he slides his tongue into my mouth, taking his sweet time with it, and lowers his hand to the curve of my butt, much to the crowd's delight. Damn if he isn't an amazing kisser. My thighs tighten as my core tingles in anticipation. Even my body is betraying me, just like every other member of my family.

The night ends in a swirl of lights and music. When it's time for us to leave, I'm grateful to escape the crowd. People are getting drunk and out of control. I hate that. I hate losing control, which is why I rarely drink.

"You hang in there," Luna whispers in my ear as she hugs me. "We're on standby. Just let us know what you need for your plan, and we're there for you." She squeezes my arms and steps back.

"You'll be fine," Pippa adds, pulling me into a hug. "Call me if it all gets too much, and we'll make a run for Australia."

I want to laugh because it sounds so over the top and silly, but it's not silly. It's real, and my life might depend on my ability to get away. It's exactly what I had been thinking in the ballroom. Escape. Australia was a good choice. I filed that away for further exploration.

I hug Pippa fiercely until my mother snarls, "Let go. You're making a scene."

I immediately release Pippa and step back. She moves to stand beside Luna. My mother approaches, her face a mask of disdain. She leans in to hug me, but I can't bring myself to return it. She gives me a quick squeeze, and my father does the same. I keep my arms at my sides.

Then we're in the limo, whisked away to… "Where are we going?" I ask as Renzo unties his bow tie. It suddenly hits me that I never asked about a honeymoon. The wedding had been thrown together in just a few months, which is unheard of for a wedding of this size. Getting four hundred people to be available on such short notice is crazy, but when the Valdici or Giordano families say to be somewhere, you show up.

Renzo ignores me, pulling out his phone and checking his emails.

"Where are we going?" I ask again, more insistently.

He remains silent, focused on his phone.

I've had enough. Zia Lina always said, "Start as you mean to go," though she was talking about making a good wife by learning his favorite meals and cooking them. But I took it to heart. I'm not spending a lifetime with this man only to have him ignore me whenever he feels like it. No fucking way. If he thinks he can get away with that, his lifetime might be shorter than he anticipates.

I find the button I want on the armrest. I press it, and the divider between us and the driver starts to lower.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Renzo growls.

"Finding out where we're going," I reply, pressing the button again. "Excuse me?—"

Renzo leans over me, pushing my hand off the button and immediately raising the divider again. "You do what I say and only what I say." He keeps me pinned to the seat, giving me a murderous stare.

"I want to know where we're going. If you're not going to tell me, then I'll find out another way. If you think I'm going to sit in the corner like some little mousy thing, speaking only when you say it's okay, then you might as well kill me now because I will not put up with that shit. Not at all." I glare back at him. I figure I have nothing to lose except my life, and at this point, it doesn't look so great.

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. "There she is," he murmurs, running a knuckle along my jawline. "I wondered when the real you would show up. All that polite chit-chat with a fixed smile—I knew it couldn't be real. Not Sophia Giordano's kid. Your madre is hard as nails. Your padre could learn a thing or two from her. He's weak by comparison. He needs her balls."

Renzo isn't saying anything I don't already know about my parents, but it makes my stomach churn that it's common knowledge.

The smile slips off his face as he grabs my chin. "Don't mistake me for your father. I'm not weak. You'll do what I say when I say it, or you'll suffer the consequences."

I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something stupid. He doesn't need any more provoking, and I don't want to deal with the consequences—at least not tonight. I have to find out what they might be, and I'm not up to it now. I'm still half-drunk. I take a breath. "Where are we going?"

I can't let him have the last word. It's just not in my nature. Don't show fear. Don't show weakness. That's what my mother taught me. Nothing about compassion or being a good person. Just how to survive and beat everyone else.

He lets go of my chin and settles back into the seat. "Home. My home here in Genoa. I don't have time for a honeymoon. We can do that later in the year."

I say nothing. I can't tell if I'm relieved that we're not off to some Caribbean Island or disappointed. I'm numb, but I have a million questions, the first being what the hell am I supposed to do about clothes? I didn't pack anything. Never even crossed my mind with all the other pre-wedding crap I had to endure.

I glance down at my wedding dress. It's a mermaid design with beading along the bodice, clinging to every single curve. Not something I would have chosen, but my mother said it would show off my figure to the rest of the crowd. "Make Lorenzo proud that you're his wife," she'd said.

Whatever. I'm just looking forward to getting it off.

We pull up to the gates, which roll open smoothly. The limo sails through and circles a grand stone fountain before stopping in front of a marble staircase. The house is an imposing structure with ivy climbing up its stone fa?ade. It's the kind of place that feels cold and unwelcoming, even from the outside, with dark, heavy windows that seem to stare back at me. The driver comes around and opens Renzo's door first, then mine. The breeze off the Ligurian Sea hits me, and I shiver. I didn't bring any kind of jacket. In fact, I didn't bring anything at all.

Renzo grabs my arm and hauls me out of the limo, catching me when I stumble. Without warning, he scoops me up into his arms.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demand.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Carrying my wife over the threshold. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

"When have you ever done anything you were supposed to do?" I question, squirming in his arms. I don't want to be carried. I want to be on my own two feet, with some semblance of control.

"There's always a first time," he replies with a ghost of a smile.

What does that mean? Does he know? My heart races as I think about the inevitable moment when he discovers I'm a virgin. This will be mortifying.

Renzo strides up the steps as if I weigh nothing, the massive oak doors swinging open as we approach.

"Good evening, sir, and may I offer my congratulations," the butler says as we enter the grand foyer. The inside of the house is just as imposing as the outside—marble floors, high frescoed ceilings, and what appears to be expensive artwork on the walls.

"Thanks, Albert. Bring champagne up to my room," Renzo commands, still carrying me as if I were nothing more than a sack of groceries.

"A chilled bottle awaits you already, sir," Albert replies, his voice floating up through the grand foyer as Renzo crests the stairs and strides confidently down the hallway.

My heart pounds against my ribcage so hard I'm sure Renzo can feel each thump as he strides along the plush carpet.

The hallway is grand and stately, lined with intricately patterned marble that glistens under the warm light of antique brass sconces. The walls are adorned with dark wood paneling, rich and glossy, interspersed with ornate frescoes depicting scenes from Roman mythology. The air is thick with the scent of polished mahogany, mingled with a faint, sweet hint of vanilla that clings to the old-world elegance of the space.

Renzo carries me effortlessly, his strides confident and unhurried, as we pass under an arched ceiling with hand-painted murals. At the end of the hallway, a set of grand double doors looms, carved with intricate floral motifs and framed by Corinthian columns. With a swift kick, Renzo pushes them open, revealing a room fit for royalty. The primary bedroom is bathed in a soft glow from a crystal chandelier. Floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy silk curtains line the walls.

I gasp. The room is enormous, with sliding glass doors along the left wall that open onto a balcony overlooking the dark, still water below. The rhythmic murmur of waves is just audible through the thick glass. A large fireplace dominates the wall near the entrance, its dark stone hearth matching the room's moody, luxurious atmosphere. But it's the bed that really catches my attention—a monstrously huge piece of furniture, draped in a black duvet and adorned with an excessive number of plush pillows. The sight of it sends a rush of blood through my veins, making my head spin.

Renzo throws me onto the bed, and my teeth snap together as I land with a soft thud.

"Take your clothes off," he growls and strides toward a short hallway on the right that leads to what I assume is the bathroom. "I want you naked and waiting when I get back." With that, he disappears behind a door, leaving me alone in the massive room.

I sit up slowly, my gaze drifting toward the sliding glass doors. The darkness outside feels oppressive, and I can barely make out the faint shimmer of the water. My heart races as I realize Renzo is expecting me to undress, too fucking bad—I can't reach the zipper of my dress on my own. It's a small victory, but I'll take anything I can get.

Sweat breaks out on my palms. I'm a twenty-five-year-old virgin. How does that happen? Try being a mafia princess. No one is allowed near me. Peter was my tutor in economics, the only reason he was allowed into my world. And he wasn't even that good-looking. Tony and Ralf, my security, didn't think I'd want to sleep with him, so they didn't worry about leaving us alone. But school is over, and I have no more opportunities to meet anyone else. Figures the one man who's allowed close is too fucking scared of the consequences of sleeping with me to get it up.

A half-laugh, half-sob escapes from my throat, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. What the hell am I going to do?