Chapter 7 MICELI

Present Day in Severu's Office

I avoid looking at the young woman I have been instructed to marry. I will do my duty to la famiglia , but I can't drum up any excitement for tying my life to a woman more than a decade younger than me.

And fucking Irish to boot.

When she fails to respond to something Shaughnessy says, I finally focus my gaze on her.

Brilliant green eyes stare back at me, her expression a strange mix of trepidation and dislike. Something about her is familiar. Have I seen her at one of the clubs? No. She's not twenty-one yet and a mob princess isn't going to risk getting into a mafia owned club with fake I.D., is she?

Too big a chance her actions will blow back on her family.

Then she speaks. "Uh…hello," she says after a short hesitation.

I know that voice.

Aphrodite.

The woman who has haunted me for two damn months.

Other than her voice, the woman standing in front of me has nothing in common with the siren who gave me the best sex of my life.

And a gift I had not looked for.

It can't be her.

But then she speaks again, a wisecrack about keeping it in the family when she's introduced to my don, me and Big Sal. That snarky tone is pure Aphrodite .

Róise… cazzo , I thought her name was Ann…is wearing black like that night in Portland.

The color of the dress is the only similarity between then and now though.

This black dress has a full skirt that reaches past her knees like something from the 1950s. It hides the perfect curve of her lush ass and although it highlights her waist, her tits with their raspberry pink nipples are hidden behind a conservative bodice.

Not a single inch of the creamy skin I spent so much time licking and marking is on display. Her black leather flats add nothing to her diminutive height.

My intended fiancée's outfit wouldn't be out of place at a funeral.

The platinum hair is gone. Her waxed pussy hadn't hinted at the dark brown curls that shine with rich copper glints under the bright office lighting.

If she's wearing any at all, Róise's makeup is subdued and does nothing to give her the look of false sophistication she had two months ago.

That woman's innocence better matches this woman's presence.

Accidente . She definitely didn't come with the intention of impressing her future fiancé.

Not like two months ago when she'd been dressed to kill with makeup that changed her features more than I realized.

Or my mind is just playing fucked up tricks on me. There's one way to know for sure.

With a perfunctory greeting, I put my hand out to shake.

Her uncle has to prod her, but Róise takes it. Her fingers slide against my palm and the electric current that jumps between us from that simple touch is as familiar as her voice.

Unwilling to put off learning the truth, I turn her hand over so I can see the memorial tattoo on her forearm. It's there. If it were angel's wings, or something common, I could believe it was a million-to-one coincidence, but this?

No.

The overlapping butterflies in flight are distinctive both in design and coloring, going from vibrant blues and purples to black. There are two dates under them. Her parents' deaths, she'd said.

Fury battles with shock and relief that only increases my rage.

What is there to be relieved about?

She's a good lay. So are thousands of other women in New York. Her charade only goes to show how good she is at deception.

"You tricked me," I accuse.

She tries to yank her hand from mine.

I don't let go .

"We can talk about that later," she hisses.

"How did my niece trick you?" Shaughnessy demands. "You two have never met to my knowledge."

Something flashes in my soon-to-be fiancée's emerald eyes. Fear? Anger?

"As you well know, I didn't even know his name until this morning," she says in an even tone to her uncle.

Her quick sidestep only increases my distrust of her, but her implication is unacceptable if it is the truth.

I wouldn't lay odds on that though.

"Is that true?" I demand of Shaughnessy in a voice that lets him know I expect an answer and no damn prevaricating like his niece.

"She agreed to the blood alliance," Shaughnessy says without actually answering my question.

"It runs in the family," I say with disgust and squeeze Róise's hand before repeating my question. "Is. That. True?"

Her too young features set in a mutinous frown, but she nods.

"Why wouldn't you tell her who her intended husband is?" my brother, Don of the Genovese, asks.

Shaughnessy hems and haws, but doesn't say anything that explains it.

"If you let go of my hand, I will tell you," Róise bargains.

This woman. "I shouldn't have to make a deal to get honesty out of you."

"That goes both ways."

Not sure what the hell she means by that, but I let go of her without putting distance between us. "Start talking."

"He didn't want to give me any reason to back out of the deal. Though he should have realized that learning who you are would only make me more determined to go through with this unholy bargain."

Unholy bargain? Melodramatic much?

"Why is that?" Severu asks when I don't.

Róise looks at him. "Your brother's reputation precedes him. He is both ruthless and a womanizer."

"And that made you want to marry him?" Severu looks at me like I should know what she's talking about.

I don't have the first clue, unless she's planning to spy on us for her uncle. Despising me will make that easier for her to justify to herself.

"It made me not want my cousin offered up in my place."

"Your cousin is already married." To Shaughnessy's underboss.

"My younger cousin. "

The Irish mob boss only has one other daughter. No way is Róise talking about Fiona Shaughnessy.

"She's still in high school for fuck's sake." The look of disgust I give to Shaughnessy is lost on him.

He's too busy glaring at Róise. "She'll be eighteen before the wedding."

"I would not agree to marry a damned teenager." Róise is almost twenty-one and that is bad enough.

"If I back out, then you won't agree to the blood alliance?" Róise asks with enough hopefulness to do serious damage to the ego of an average man.

Good thing I am not average. I'm starting to get amused. Róise clearly does not want to marry into our family. That bodes well for her not being a spy.

"You have already given your word," I remind her. "If you back out now, not only will the blood alliance not happen, but our two syndicates will become enemies."

She crosses her arms over her sweet little curves. "Aren't we already?"

"No."

"We have a truce," Severu adds, looking at my almost fiancée like he's trying to figure her out. "That truce would end."

"More blood would spill," Shaughnessy says with a meaningful look at his niece. "Innocents as well as soldiers would be caught up in the conflict."

"We don't hurt innocents," I bark.

Róise's expression is pure disbelief. "Tell that to my mom. Oh, wait, you can't because she's dead."

"Your mother died ten years ago." Big Sal speaks directly to Róise for the first time since she and her uncle entered the office.

"Eleven, but who's counting?" she demands caustically. "In case you are wondering, that would be me."

Okay, two things Aphrodite and Róise have in common. The voice and that sarcastic attitude.

Sal nods ponderously. "Your mother's death was unfortunate."

"Agreed." Shaughnessy frowns at his niece as if daring her to continue.

I could have told him that would only spur her on. And I only knew her for one night when she was pretending to be someone else.

How does he not realize it?

"My mother died after being hit by a stray bullet fired from a Cosa Nostra gun during our so-called truce." The look she gives me says she holds me personally responsible .

My dick twitches with inappropriate interest. That angry fervency is too close to the sexual passion she met me with that night in Portland. A perfect match to my own despite the innocence I discovered too late.

Big Sal clears his throat. "The Bonanno Family and your grandfather had bad blood between them."

"Cleansed by the spilling of my mother's."

As brutal as that truth is, she is right. Her mother's death absolved the former mob boss's sins in the Bonanno don's eyes.

"We are not the Bonannos," I point out.

"You swore on the godfather's ring, just like every other mafia man in this city."

Every high level made man, but she's not going to care about the distinction. "I did."

"Which makes you Cosa Nostra."

"It does." Part of the syndicate responsible for her mom's death.

I get it. She doesn't like that, but I'm proud to be Cosa Nostra. Even prouder to be the Genovese underboss.

"Enough," Shaughnessy barks. "You agreed to this betrothal, Róise. It is done."

"But it's not done is it? Not until I give birth to a De Luca baby."

Which according to the agreement won't happen for at least two years because that's when she goes off her birth control. I didn't argue about that addition to the contract between our families.

My nephew is precious to me and I hope Severu and Catalina have lots of kids for Neri to play with, but I'm content to wait to be called papà myself.

There's no rush. Unlike my brother, I don't need heirs to take over from me one day.