Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

ELENA

T he following day, I wake with a surreal feeling, waiting for the springy mattress to dig into my side like every day. It’s become a routine, waking to a painful reminder of our poverty. Then, I sink deeper into the thick, luxurious bed. The silk sheets caress my skin. For long moments, I let myself savor it. Then, my conscious mind kicks in, and I remember what this is all about.

Yesterday, after the standoff with Aunt Rosa, Dario was distant during the car ride home. We barely exchanged any words at all except small talk. Back at the apartment, it was like I could feel a tension in the atmosphere between us, the potential for something significant. Something special , even. Not that it matters; it’s not what I’m here for. I need to be careful with that sort of thinking.

Clara knocks on my door. “Excuse me, Miss. Mrs. Moretti would like to speak with you.”

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “When will she get here?”

“She’s already here.”

I quickly shower in the en suite, trying not to let myself laugh like a madwoman at the water pressure, at how I can choose which heat I’d like. We have two options at our place: searing hot and ice cold—kind of like Dario and me.

Maria Moretti is waiting for me in the dining room, a lavish breakfast laid out. She looks glamorous, as though she’s been awake for hours having her makeup and hair professionally done. I feel frumpy in my casual jeans and T-shirt.

She stands, pulling me into a hug that feels distant. She fake kisses my cheek the way rich people do. “Elena, dear girl. Have you slept?”

“I slept fine, thank you,” I reply, pulling out a chair.

She frowns at me, making me feel like I’m under inspection, which, obviously, I am. “I understand your aunt, your only remaining relative, is very sick. I know you’re not officially part of the family yet, but I would like to offer to, shall we say, provide for her medical care, no matter what might transpire?”

I take a moment to pick through her words, and then I get it. She’s saying she wants to pay for Aunt Rosa’s care even if Dario and I don’t marry.

She leans forward, hinting at the Mafia queen she could become at any moment. Her expression is serious. “My son has taken a keen liking to you, of course, and I cannot blame him for that. You’re a charming young lady. I’m merely trying to express that I wouldn’t want you to think your aunt’s care relies on your marriage.”

In fact, it does. That’s the whole point of this deal, but she can’t know that. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, Mrs. Moretti,” I say, doing my best to play the high-society game of not just coming out and saying what’s on my mind.

“Your aunt’s care isn’t contingent upon your clear, genuine devotion to my son,” she says with a hint of sarcasm.

She emphasizes genuine , a clear implication that she thinks I’m only doing all this for the money. She undeniably doesn’t know the full extent. She doesn’t know this is all an act.

“I despise money talk, but in this case, it’s necessary,” she says. “I’m perfectly willing to write a check to ensure your aunt doesn’t suffer unduly.”

The table is filled with food and jugs of drinks. My stomach rumbles, but I’m worried about reaching for anything and making the wrong move. Instead, I sit with my hands in my lap, waiting for her to indicate what I must do to remain proper . I am so, so not suited to this world.

“My aunt isn’t currently in need of any additional care,” I say, wondering if my phrasing is sufficiently up-my-own-ass.

“That’s excellent news,” she beams, but her eyes flicker with suspicion. “I assume my son has assisted in this noble endeavor?”

“Your son has been most generous,” I reply, feeling like I’m in some Regency drama.

“Generosity is Dario’s very soul. It doesn’t surprise me that, once learning about the viciousness your family suffered, he would be so selfless in his care and his love. Please, allow me to ask about you.”

“What about me, Mrs. Moretti?”

“Do you love my son?”

I don’t know him. I only met him two days ago. He’s tall, handsome, and so intense that he puts weird ideas and thoughts in my head that I never dreamed would exist when I agreed to this. Yet it doesn’t matter how I truthfully feel. “I love your son more than life itself.”

“Marriage isn’t merely about love, however. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“I’m ready to dedicate myself to him. I’m ready to do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” she repeats. “How lovely.”

Yet her tone says the exact opposite. I slipped there, making it sound like I was doing this out of duty, not love, as I just proclaimed. I wonder what would have happened if Dario and I had met under different circumstances. Would sassing him still feel so good?

“Oh, would you look at the time,” she says, gesturing at the grandfather clock. “Excuse me, but I must leave early.”

I wait for her to stand, and then we do the posh fake-kissing thing again. Once she’s gone, I sit at the table, grab a bread roll directly from the plate, and stuff it into my mouth. Then I drink some juice straight from the jug, not caring when some spills onto my shirt. It’s freeing not to have to care.

“Having fun?” Dario says from the doorway, making me jump.

I turn. “You’re way too sneaky for somebody so big.”

He smirks as he walks into the room. He’s wearing workout clothes. The sweat makes his shirt stick to his chest, showing the outline of his pecs. His biceps bulge, veins pressing against his skin like a beast waiting to bust free.

He sits down, taking a bread roll from the plate and biting from it, then tossing it on his plate. “Did you and Mother have an enjoyable breakfast?”

“She tried to pay me off,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “She basically said, without saying it, that she would give Aunt Rosa all the care she needed, and I didn’t have to marry you.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her you’ve already been generous enough. I told her I love you.”

His lip twitches in that annoyingly captivating way. Strange sensations pulse through my body. I press my legs together under the table, tension making certain parts of my body ache. I need to remember what Giulia said, making the phrase this is business my mantra.

“Good,” he says, nodding. “She came to say goodbye before she left. She seemed less suspicious of you.”

“That’s because I waited to start my feast until she’d gone.”

I see another lip twitch and feel a tremor in me. His cell phone rings before he can reply. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” When he answers the phone, it wouldn’t be accurate to say that his expression changes. It’s more like a dark shadow wraps around him. He looks ready to kill. Veins bulge all over his body. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“You don’t want to know.”

“Then why did I ask?”

He stands up, and I do the same. He walks up to me, bringing his scent with him. That should gross me out. He’s sweaty and smelly, but it’s so him that it doesn’t somehow.

“Okay then,” he snaps. “Yesterday, I had a meeting with the leader of a rival mob. He said some nasty shit about you. I snapped. I got violent with him. I never do that. Now, as retaliation, he’s destroyed one of our charity centers.”

“Charity centers?” I mutter.

“That’s right. Not everything we do is evil, Elena. Paths of Promise has given a chance to countless kids who would’ve fallen into a life of crime otherwise. Go on; tell me that makes me a hypocrite.”

“That’s not my place.”

“You’re my fiancée. Everything is your place.”

He takes another step forward, staring right into my eyes, staring into me. It finally makes me realize what people mean when they use the phrase penetrating gaze .

“I wasn’t thinking that, anyway,” I tell him. “What are you going do to?”

“Bad things,” he grunts. “What I have to, but I didn’t come here to discuss this. We have a charity gala this evening. Get yourself ready.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. Someone will handle your outfit, makeup, and hair, but you should prepare mentally. Some of these people are even more judgmental than my parents.”

I force a smile onto my face. “Is that even possible?”

He grabs my shoulders. Not hard, but with enough intensity to send more confusing sensations through my body. “Careful. Even if they live with sticks up their asses, they’re still my parents. I wouldn’t make comments about your parents.”

“My parents died in a fire,” I whisper.

“Good. You’re sticking to your role.”

“No.” Why am I even telling him this? “That wasn’t part of my role. It was the truth. I just incorporated it. My parents and my little brother died when I was a kid. That’s why Aunt Rosa took me in. That’s why I can’t lose her.”

His touch tightens on me. My skin blazes under his palms. “It’s true?” When I nod, he leans even closer. His warm breath tickles over my skin. “Shit. I’m sorry, Elena.”

“It was almost ten years ago.”

“That doesn’t mean the pain stops.”

“I’ll give you that.”

As he leans even closer, tingles dance all over me, making me ache.

“At the party,” he says huskily, “we might have to kiss. We should try that now, so it’s not the first time.”

I swallow. Is he messing with me?

“Can I say no?” I ask.

“You can always say no,” he snaps. “Nobody’s going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

I stand up straighter. How he looks at me, with what seems like genuine attraction, makes me feel oddly powerful. “Then yes, let’s practice.”

When he presses his lips against mine, I repeat the mantra over and over. Business, business … Then he makes a groaning noise of pure hunger and wraps his arms around me. He pulls me close, and then I feel his manhood pushing against me through his workout shorts. He can’t fake that , surely. Even if he could, why would he?

I let out a stifled moan as he opens his mouth, his tongue finding mine in a flurry of pure, natural desire. I try to do some internal self-talk to chill myself out, but I can’t think about anything other than the kiss. It’s all I can focus on as he grinds against me.

He growls and grips my hips like he’s been waiting his whole life for this. Is he an even better actor than I am? Lifting me up, he puts me on the table. What am I doing? I wrap my legs around him. He pushes his manhood against my sex. Thank God I’m wearing jeans, but I can still feel him, his huge solidness grinding against me as he shifts back and forth.

There’s another growl from him, another moan from me. He breaks the kiss off but keeps his face close to mine, our noses tickling each other.

“We can’t do this at the party, Mafia man,” I say.

He smiles . Not a lip twitch. Not a distant and calculating smirk. An actual full-fledged smile. “You might have a point there.” He lets out a shuddering breath. “In your expert opinion, can an actor ever rehearse too much?”

“No,” I say, knowing what he’s getting at.

He crashes his lips against mine again. This time, I drag my hands up his arms, savoring the feel of his hard muscles. His arms bulge as much as his manhood like his body is telling me how badly he truly wants me.

I’m not sure how far this would go. My body is steaming up like I’m inside a sauna. My heart is beating so forcefully that it might burst, and I can’t think—not about anything other than us, this closeness, this heat. It’s so new to me. It’s so hot. I almost scream just to let out some of the tension.

Then Clara walks into the room. She turns immediately, but it shatters the moment.

“Excuse me,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Clara,” I say, as Dario moves away and I hop down from the table. I’m breathless, my head spinning. I have to be careful. This can never work for real . Aunt Rosa wouldn’t let it. His parents wouldn’t allow it. He’s too violent. He’s a criminal. I need to remember why I’m here.

“Yes,” Dario says. “No apology needed. I need to go. See you this evening, Elena.”

“See you later,” I murmur.

Clara steps aside as he leaves, then moves toward the table without looking at me. I spot her eyeing up some dish I couldn’t even guess its name.

“Are you hungry, Clara?” I ask.

“Uh … no, miss.”

“Hey, look at me.” She does, seeming nervous. “You can tell the truth.”

“It’s not my place …”

“It’s better than wasting this food. Let’s eat breakfast together. I’ve worked up an appetite.”

I’m smiling like an idiot, like a girl who doesn’t understand her situation, but I do understand. That’s the thing. I know he’s a criminal. I know, logically, I shouldn’t let myself want him, but that kissing was way more than acting.

As Clara and I eat, I try to remember how dark he looked when he said he was going to do bad things today. I try to imagine what they are, but picturing Dario doing anything morally wrong feels difficult after what we just shared.

Just business …

However, that didn’t feel like a transaction.