Collateral: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance Read online

  I keep a close eye on my fiancée and notice when she slips into the house. I excuse myself a few moments later and follow her, knowing where she’s going.

  The last time I crept up these stairs was the night I learned my brother was dead. It was the night I delivered my message.

  Tonight, I climb them as if I own them, because in a way, I do.

  Her room is dark when I enter, but from inside the bedroom, I see a light and hear the clicking of keys on a keyboard. I walk silently toward it and the way her desk is situated, she has her back to me. She doesn’t hear me enter but is reading whatever is on the screen before scrolling down, clicking on something else, reading that.

  When I clear my throat, she stiffens. She quickly closes the screen and sits back but doesn’t turn around.

  I set my hands on her shoulders and squeeze. “You slipped away,” I say, leaning down to touch my cheek to hers. “What’s so interesting that you left your own engagement party?” I whisper.

  “It’s not a real engagement party.”

  I squeeze her shoulder with one hand as with the other I tap the mousepad and bring the screen back to life. On her home screen is a photo of a puppy.

  “Your dog?”

  “Stock photo.”

  “That’s not weird at all.”

  I click on the Safari button and her hand flies to close over mine to stop me.

  She turns her head a little, so her face is an inch from mine. Her eyes meet mine, then travel slowly to my mouth and she licks her lips.

  I smile.

  Her eyes narrow infinitesimally when she meets my gaze again. “I’m tired. How long do we have to stay?”

  “Just until I have a look at your browsing history.”

  “There’s nothing to see.”

  “Then you won’t mind.”

  She rolls the chair backward and rises.

  I straighten so our bodies are touching with her trapped between the desk and me.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to distract me,” I say.

  She lifts her chin a little. “What’s with you and Clara? Is she really your cousin?”

  I shift my gaze down to her pretty, full lips, to the swell of small breasts with their hardened nipples pressing against the satin of the dress.

  “Third cousin.”

  “Do you guys have a thing or something? You and her and Rafa?”

  She’s so close, I smell the soft hint of perfume.

  “Strange question to ask your fiancé at your own engagement party, don’t you think?”

  “This isn’t real, stop acting like it is. I want to know. I have a right to know. I won’t be made a fool of.”

  “How would I make a fool of you?” I want her to say the words.

  She glares at me. “If there’s something going on, I want to know.”

  “What would be going on?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Grow up, Gabriela. Use your words.”

  “Fine. You want me to use my words? Here you go. Are you fucking her?”

  I smile wide. “Would you be jealous if I were?”

  “You’re cousins.”

  “And it would bother you if we were kissing cousins?”

  “I’m done. Are you fucking her or not?”

  “Gabriela,” I say, voice low. “Be a good girl and go sit down on the bed to wait for me.”

  “Or what?” she asks, straightening, inadvertently pushing her breasts against me.

  My gaze drops to them. “You’d better sit down before I decide I like the distraction, little girl.”

  “If I’m such a little girl, then why do you look at me like you do?”

  “Like you think I look at Clara?”

  “You’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

  “No, I just want to have a look at your computer.”

  “Why was she swimming naked in your pool?”

  I cluck my tongue. “You’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “She’d lost a bet, Gabriela.”

  “A bet?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Not until we’re married, Princess.” I wink.

  Annoyance flashes through her eyes but she masks it quickly, plastering a wide grin on her face. “Of course, you’re assuming I’ll screw you at all.”

  I press against her, let her feel me as I wrap one hand to the bare skin of her back, and I watch her eyes and hear her breath catch as I slide my fingers down her spine. Down as far as the dress will allow. When she exhales, I cup her ass and squeeze.

  She gasps, slaps her hands against my chest.

  “Don’t worry. That doesn’t mean we can’t do other things,” I start, kneading her tight little ass as she pushes against me.

  “Get off me, pervert.”

  I chuckle. “How does cupping your ass make me a pervert?”

  “Just stop it.”

  “Tell me something and I’ll stop.”

  “What?”

  “Would you like that? Like me to get you off? Maybe I should give you a taste. I know I’d like one. I’d love to hear what that sharp little tongue of yours calls out when you’re coming on mine.”

  Her face burns a deep red.

  She shoves harder, but she won’t move me until I want to be moved.

  “Why are you such a jerk?” She’s so angry, she looks like she’s going to cry or stomp her foot or something.

  “Go sit down,” I say more seriously.

  “No. Get out of my room, Stefan.”

  “This isn’t your room anymore, Gabriela. Your room is in my house. The sooner you understand that, the better.”

  She shoves again, and when I press against her I see her falter, momentarily uncertain.

  “What were you looking at?” I ask, seizing the opportunity.

  “What?”

  “On your computer. Why did you close out as soon as you heard me?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Wrong. Everything about you is my business now. What are you hiding?”

  “Get away from me, I mean it.”

  “Then tell me what you were looking at or go sit down while I search for myself. I’ll find out anyway.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ve already told you not until we’re married.”

  “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she asks, shifting her hands to grip my shoulders. “Let me tell you something, you’re not,” she says with a smirk and in the same instant, her knee rushes toward my balls and I have to admit, it would have been a pretty good hit. She’s fast. Faster than I expect.

  But I’m faster and I capture her knee between my thighs and shift my grip to the tight twist of her hair. I’m messing it up, but I don’t care. I want her attention.

  I tug her head backward and I know it hurts from the look on her face, but that’s the point.

  “Don’t ever try that again, understand?”

  “Don’t you ever try putting your hands on me again!”

  I twist my fingers and she makes a small, pained sound.

  “I’ll put my hands on you whenever and wherever I like. You belong to me, remember?”

  “Last I checked you can’t own another human being.”

  “That’s another point you’re wrong on. See, you’re in my world now. And in my world, I make the rules and you obey them. I. Own. You.”

  With that, I spin the chair around and sit her back down facing me. I cup the back of her head and hold her to me as I search her browser’s history over her head. She didn’t have time to wipe it clean and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at her search results, although I am surprised she searched in Italian.

  I make a mental note of the fact. Note the fact that she hasn’t mentioned that she understands Italian but that’s my bad. I made an assumption. I underestimated my fiancée.

  That won’t
happen again.

  My teeth grit as I scroll through the results. Although I know there isn’t much for her to find, seeing my brother’s name linked with her father’s, seeing the few details publicly available, it still irritates me. But it’s not those things that piss me off.

  It’s when I notice the little message icon pop up with a brand-new message. When I read it, I realize why she looked so guilty this afternoon. When I walked into her bedroom to find her sitting on the bed with her iPod, I’d assumed she was listening to music.

  Again, I underestimated her.

  It’s just a one-word text in response to her longer one from someone named Alex and it simply reads “Okay.”

  Her question to him makes my blood boil and it takes all I have to keep my face neutral.

  “I’m in Rome and not too far from you. I need to see you. Please. I promise no one will find out. Tonight may be my last chance.”

  Who the fuck is Alex?

  I close it all down and draw back to look at her.

  I knew I’d have to test her. And I’m sure this will be the first of many such tests.

  So why do I feel a sense of betrayal? What did I expect?

  Placing my hands on either side of her on the desk, I cage her in and lean in close.

  What she sees in my eyes must frighten her because hers go wider, and she leans as far away from me as she can.

  “If you want information on my brother, all you need to do is ask me. Don’t go behind my back and don’t lie to me. Do you understand?”

  She looks surprised but nods. “I didn’t think you’d tell me,” she says, her voice sounding hoarse like her throat is dry. Or maybe that’s relief I hear.

  I study her for a long minute, then step away, giving her space.

  “I have a meeting with your father, but I’ll have a driver take you back to my uncle’s house.”

  Her eyes search mine like she can’t fucking believe it’s going to be this easy.

  “Thank you.”

  I hate being lied to. I fucking hate it. And I hate being lied to by someone in my own house. It’s what brought our family down once. The thing that ripped it apart. I won’t have it again.

  Granted, Gabriela isn’t with me by choice, but she will be my wife. If she’s fucking this Alex asshole, I will put a stop to it, and I will punish her. I will not be deceived. And my wife, no matter the circumstances of our marriage, will absolutely not sleep in any other man’s bed. Ever.

  I hold out my hand, palm up, and give her a false smile, amazing myself with the calm exterior because inside, I want to wring her pretty little neck.

  Her eyes haven’t left mine, but it takes her a long moment before she places her hand inside mine and rises to her feet. I walk her out of her bedroom and down the stairs to the front door. I call one of my men.

  “Take her home,” I tell him in Italian, not making any acknowledgement that I know she understands what I’m saying while she keeps her face blank as if she doesn’t understand a word.

  The soldier nods, gestures for Gabriela.

  She takes a step, but I catch her by the wrist. I step to her and tilt her face up to mine.

  She stares up at me probably wondering if I’m changing my mind or playing some trick on her.

  “Sleep well,” I tell her, and lean down to give her a long kiss on the mouth. Our first.

  I don’t force her lips open. I don’t slide my tongue inside. This isn’t that.

  Instead, I imagine Judas’ betrayal of Jesus, not that I consider myself a martyr. Far from.

  But I think about that kiss in the garden.

  Because for as soft as her lips are and as sweet as she tastes, I know she will betray me tonight.

  14

  Gabriela

  I’m flustered by that kiss. As one of Stefan’s men drives me back to his Uncle Jack’s house, all I can do is think about that kiss.

  Why did he do it? It was wholly unexpected and unnecessary.

  My mind slips back to Clara. To how beautiful and sophisticated and polished she looked. How confidently she gave me her hand and how carefully she chose her words.

  She knows the circumstances that bring Stefan and I together. I have no doubt of that.

  And the way he answered—or didn’t answer—about her and the fact that I even asked—because I don’t care—pisses me off to think about it. That, and it embarrasses me.

  Why did I ask anyway? What do I care who he’s fucking as long as he doesn’t touch me?

  As we pass through the gates of the gothic mansion and drive toward the front door, I note that the opening of the temporary fencing where the truck drove through this afternoon is still unguarded. It strikes me that it is. Wouldn’t that be more of a threat against intruders than the front gates?

  But maybe Uncle Jack isn’t a target.

  Is Stefan?

  I realize I’d never thought of that because if Stefan is a target, does that make me one too? And as the boss of a mafia family, there must be a constant threat against him. I mean, I know of at least one man who would kill Stefan Sabbioni if he could. My father.

  We pull up to the front door and I have to wait for the driver to open my door because it’s locked.

  I feel like a child, but I climb out and pass him into the house. I don’t speak to anyone and no one speaks to me. They’re just a bunch of soldiers and I’m sure their orders don’t include making small talk with me.

  As I make my way slowly up to my bedroom, I make a note of where everyone is, and pretend to be curious about the construction if anyone asks why I’m peeking my head into the sealed off living room.

  Tools, work tables and dust cover the room and the furniture is set against the far corner under multiple dust-cloths. I glance back, but none of the soldiers have come to check up on me.

  I need to go upstairs and change my clothes, grab the money. I plan on giving it to Alex and his aunt. I’m sure they need it, considering he no longer works for my father and I remember being at his aunt’s house years ago. She’s not well off.

  I wish I could just walk out right now, but I hurry up the stairs and put on the same sundress I’d had on earlier, along with a pair of flip flops. Not ideal but they’ll do. I hadn’t actually packed before leaving Palermo.

  After I’m dressed, I let my hair down because the pins are digging into my skull. I just drop them where I stand, and finger comb my hair, which is wavy now from the tight twist. I find the tear in the lining of the duffel that I sewed shut a few nights ago.

  I pull at the stitching until it gives and dig my hand between the layers to find the Ziploc I’d stashed there. I pull it out, eyeing the wad of cash, a credit card and my passport. A fake one. Alex had it made for me. The currency is American, not Euros, but it’s still money.

  I don’t know why I take the passport with me. I just need the cash because I’m not planning on running away, am I? Stefan would find me. Or my father would. I wonder which would be worse.

  I take the credit card out of the Ziploc then tuck the bag into the little clutch which is too fancy for my sundress but it’s all I have. I leave my iPod and the European charger I picked up from home in the clutch.

  It feels strange to mess up the bed, stuffing the pillows under the covers in case anyone peeks in, so they think I’m sleeping, but this isn’t the first time I’ve snuck out. I’m a pro.

  Although I guess if I were a pro, I wouldn’t have to sneak out now because I wouldn’t have gotten caught the other night.

  Wishing I could call an Uber, I walk back out into the hallway after checking that it’s clear and creep back down the stairs and into the dusty living room. I stop when I hear two men talking but their voices fade as they pass somewhere inside the house.

  I make my way to the temporary door, open it and think how easy this is. Something niggles at me about that.

  I never did get a reply from Alex to say it was okay that I come, but I just need to at least drop off the money. That’s all. Apologi
ze in person. I don’t know. All I know is I owe him because he has two broken legs because of me.

  Those are the thoughts that I busy myself with as I step out into the dark night. I hug my arms to myself even though it’s not cold and, after making sure the path is clear, I hurry toward the large truck parked near the fence, scoot around it and a few moments later, I’m on the street walking quickly away from the house wondering how I was able to do it, counting my lucky stars.

  I know Rome pretty well, although this neighborhood not as much. But I walk back the way we’d driven and fifteen minutes later, I get to a gas station with an attached café and walk in. Only a couple of tables are occupied but there aren’t enough people here that I can go unnoticed.

  Everyone turns when the bell over the door jingles as I enter. I tuck my hair behind my ears and make my way to the counter where two men stand sipping espressos.

  The bartender acknowledges me and, after ordering an espresso I won’t drink, I ask if I can use the phone to call a taxi. He does one better and calls it for me, and I pay for my coffee with the credit card then walk back outside to wait for the taxi which pulls up just a few minutes later.

  This is too easy, I think, but I climb in and give him the address, which is about a half-hour ride.

  The driver eyes me in the rear-view mirror but I ignore him and settle in as we drive, thinking I’ll ask him to wait and drive me back to Uncle Jack’s and sneak back into my room without anyone noticing I even left. Even if Stefan comes back, if he peers into my bedroom, he’ll see the pillows and assume I’m sleeping and that will be that.

  And if I do get caught, I’ll deal with the consequences. I’m sure Stefan will punish me, but I’ve survived Gabriel Marchese’s wrath. How much worse can Stefan Sabbioni be?

  When we pull up to the house, I ask the driver to wait, telling him I’ll pay him for that time too. He agrees and I climb out.

  This isn’t the best neighborhood, and I’m aware of that as I make my way to the front door of the small house that belongs to Alex’s aunt.

  I only know where it is because Alex’s dad worked for my father years ago when we were all kids. A couple of times, my mom would let us pick Alex up and take him with us when we went to a park or a pool. His mom had died when he was just a baby, so I guess in that sense, I was lucky. I had my mom for eight years.