Chapter 27

27

Luca

Nice one. Did you actually say those pathetically possessive words to her? Can you get any sappier? You're beginning to sound like an eighties love song. Only it seems to have an effect on her, for her gaze widens. That tell-tale dilation of her pupils kicks in, and even across the table, I can make out the way her dark pupils take over the expanse of those large amber eyes of hers. As tawny as a lioness' gaze, as sparkling as dappled sunlight, as deep as the heart of a topaz.

This woman vexes me. What is it about her that I find so fascinating? What is it about her that tempts me, and awakens the chords inside of me that I thought were silenced so long ago?

I can't take my gaze off of her delicate features—that heart-shaped face, the thick eyelashes that flutter over her exquisite cheekbones, the beautiful bow of her upper lip, that upturned chin, the slim shoulders and dainty fingers she has wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. Her almost empty wine glass.

I snatch the bottle of wine, then lean over and fill it up.

"Thank you." She stares into the depths of her glass. "You don't have to put up a pretense when we're alone," she says in a low voice.

"It's not a pretense."

She raises her gaze to mine. "You confuse me. You're the one who proposed this arrangement, then you say that we should sleep together so it feels genuine. Only you retract that later by claiming you are happy for things to take their natural course, and now, you come across as all possessive. It makes my head spin. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say that?—"

"That?"

"You're developing feelings for me."

Ridiculous. I kick out my legs and lean back in my seat. "You're mistaken. I do intend to sleep with you, and only so the relationship comes across as genuine to my brothers. It's the same reason I specified no one else fill your glass but me. I am Mafioso. It's expected that I'd be possessive about my intended. And I wanted things to take their natural course because I have no intention of forcing myself on you. Unless—" I lean forward. "Perhaps, you'd prefer that I did so."

Her breath catches.

"Is that what this is about? Do you prefer I take you without giving you a choice? Would you prefer I show you how it could be between us without asking for your consent?"

Her chest rises and falls. The pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat speeds up.

"Is that what you want, Angel?"

Color flushes her cheeks. She gulps, then shakes her head. "Of course not."

"Are you sure? It's okay to tell me if that's what turns you on."

Her amber eyes turn to flint. She firms her lips. She jumps up and turns to leave, but I'm faster. I swoop over and grab her wrist.

"Sit down."

Her shoulders rise. Her entire being is so wound up, I worry her pulse rate is through the roof.

"Angel," I say softly, "you know I mean you no harm."

She watches me warily.

"I was merely saying I'm here to oblige your wishes. If you want me to fuck you, you only have to ask."

"You bastard. You know exactly how to get under my skin, don't you?"

"It's too easy," I admit. "Your instant reactions to my suggestions are a turn on. Your sensitivity to my nearness is an aphrodisiac nothing can ever equal. The way you stand up to me at every turn, how you don't hesitate to speak your mind without regard to the consequences, how you look me in the eye, and yet, are unable to give voice to your deepest desires, which are written into every curve of your body, is a contradiction which appeals to me, even as you confound me."

Every muscle in her body vibrates with an emotion I don't dare name. She's attracted to me; she wants me. Yet, she stops herself from reaching out to me. Oh, her body betrays her every time, but her eyes, that resolution in them as she grapples with the intensity of her passion, holds me in thrall. Everything about her holds me in thrall. The conflict bleeds from every cell in her body and draws me to her over and over again. It's why I'm here, instead of attending a meeting with my brothers. Something I suspect they'll never let me live down.

It'll be worth it, to get to spend this time with her. This time on which there's a sell-by date. For we can't stay together for too long. So why hadn't I given her an outer limit for the time we're to be together? Why hadn't I been able to tell her that, at the first instance possible, I intend to break things off and set her free? Is it because I already know I won't be able to let her go once I have her? Would it be better to sleep with her before we get married, and fuck it out of my system, so her nearness doesn't affect me so much anymore?

"One month." I tighten my grip on her arm. "Give me one month after we're married and I'll release you."

She searches my features. "So, one month after we're married, you'll divorce me?"

"There are no divorces in the Cosa Nostra ," I point out.

She pales. "S-so what, then?"

"One month. We stay married for that time. Then, you're free to leave. Of course, all of your needs will be taken care of. As the wife of the Capo , you'll have a monthly deposit made into your account that will take care of everything. That'll continue, even if something happens to me." Her eyes widen, but I continue, "You won't need to work, unless you choose to."

She tugs on her arm, and this time, I release her.

She slips into her seat and toys with her glass of wine. "How much money are we talking about?"

A heavy sensation presses down on my chest. My stomach bottoms out. And I thought she was different from other women. That it wasn't my money she was attracted to. I know, already, it isn't my status.

Most women in this country look on the fact that I am Cosa Nostra with awe... Indeed, marrying into the Sovrano family is a social ranking they aspire to. But she's already made it clear it has the opposite effect on her. The Sovrano family name means nothing to her. As for being part of the Cosa Nostra ? She's against the very idea that my livelihood is based on often being on the wrong side of the law. I thought it extended to her view on money, that it held no meaning for her. But I was wrong, it seems. Like most females, wealth equals security for her, the attainment of which is a goal to aspire to reach. So why had I thought of her as being different?

"A hundred-thousand every month."

She laughs. "Is that all being the wife of a Mafia Capo is worth?"

I reach for my own wine glass and take a healthy swig. "Two hundred-thousand."

"Come now, Capo , you and I both know you could do better."

I tighten my fingers around the glass. The hostess comes by to top me up, and I snarl at her. She pales and skitters away. When I turn my gaze on my wife-to-be, she's watching me with a placid expression.

Anyone else would know it's not a good idea to dare me when I'm in this mood. But she doesn't have any sense of self-preservation. It's the only reason she's sitting here with a gleam in her eyes and an innocent look on her features as she taunts me.

That emptiness in the pit of my stomach grows until it seems to fill my entire body. My hands and feet feel numb. My chest feels too heavy for the rest of me, and every breath is a struggle. I shake my head to clear it.

What's wrong with me? Had I expected anything different from her? Had I hoped that she'd be someone who'd see through my bluster to the man I am underneath? Why should she when I've promised her nothing? When I've told her there's no way I could ever love her, when I've made it clear there's no chance of anything more long-term between us. I squeeze down on the stem of my wine glass and it snaps. The remnants of the blood-red liquid stain the white tablecloth.

She gasps, then turns her gaze up to my face.

I release the broken stem and allow my lips to curl. "A million dollars a month. On one condition."