Damage: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance Page 10

  I straighten my spine and walk out of the bedroom. I can see him waiting with Rafa in the foyer and they both look up at me. Stefan’s face doesn’t change. I don’t know if Rafa’s does because I’m only looking at Stefan.

  Stefan.

  Satan.

  Stefan.

  He’s beautiful, just like all fallen angels are. I thought so even that first night. The night he smelled of death. The night he risked death sneaking into my bedroom on my sixteenth birthday to give me that gift. To make me that promise that he would be back for me. That he would steal me away.

  He’s dressed in a dark suit with a dark shirt and tie and never takes his eyes off me as I walk down the stairs, remembering last night, remembering his warning. The welts on my thighs burn but it’s good. The pain won’t let me forget what he is. What he’s capable of.

  I am a means to an end. That reality was muddled a few nights ago, but now, it’s crystal clear.

  I’ll marry Stefan Sabbioni today. Weeks earlier than planned.

  And then we’ll petition for guardianship of my brother. Take him out of my father’s hands so he can’t use him as a pawn. Put him in Stefan’s hands instead.

  And there’s that catch. Stefan will become his guardian. Not me.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  There I go again.

  I didn’t think I’d be taking my brother with me.

  “You look beautiful, Gabriela,” Stefan says, closing his hands softly around my wrists, his cheek brushing mine as he brings his mouth to my ear to whisper his question to me. “Are you going to behave?”

  His body is just touching mine and he’s moved our arms so his are bent around me, the position just enough to denote possession.

  “Last night’s warning stands,” he adds when I don’t answer right away.

  “You mean last night’s threat?” I ask.

  He grins, tightens his hold on me until I wince.

  “Your answer?”

  “I have no choice. You didn’t leave me with one. My brother’s well-being is at stake, Stefan, so don’t worry, I’ll do as I’m told.”

  Does he feel my hate? Does it roll off me in icy waves because that’s what I feel like now. Ice. But maybe that’s not hate. Maybe that’s betrayal.

  Stefan shifts his grip to my hand and walks me toward the door. Rafa and Miss Millie follow and a few minutes later, we’re loaded into the SUVs and our motorcade is driving into Palermo proper.

  It’s surreal, this.

  I look at my husband to be. He’s texting something into his phone.

  Why does it matter if I’m married to him or not? Why does it matter if it’s now or two weeks from now? I’m his. I can be his prisoner and his wife. I am already the former. Because no matter what, he won’t let me go. And this, once we file those papers and he gains guardianship of my brother, it’s one more thing he’ll have to bind me to him.

  What happens when he gets everything he wants?

  What happens to Gabe? To me?

  We arrive at City Hall in Palermo. It’s beautiful. Just what you’d expect in an Italian city with its ancient architecture, the fountains and sculptures outside, the tourists. The never-ending crowds of tourists.

  The area that’s been cordoned off is opened to us and our motorcade passes through. We pull to a stop at an entrance blocked to tourists. I wonder if they rolled the red carpet out for us especially when Stefan comes to help me out. When he wraps his arm around my back and when I can’t move, he nudges me along.

  This is happening. I know it. I don’t know why I’m dragging my feet.

  A man comes to greet Stefan. He has his own entourage. I’m introduced to him. He’s the mayor. And the woman beside him is his wife. They brought their kids to the wedding.

  I shake hands, smile, but it all feels strange. Like I’m standing in a bubble while they’re all here around me. While they’re living this day and I’m displaced. Out of time. A ghost.

  “Gabriela?” Stefan asks, eyebrows raised, a warning in his eyes.

  I blink, look around and realize they’re all watching me, waiting for something.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Are you ready?” Stefan asks me.

  I look at him. At them. I touch my forehead. It’s clammy even though I’m shuddering with cold. Sweat comes away and I feel lightheaded.

  “Let’s get her out of the sun,” someone says and as if to prove some point, my knees give out and there’s a joint swelling of gasps as Stefan catches me before I fall.

  He’s angry. I see it. He holds me close to him and I reach up to touch his arm, his chest. I want to push him away, but to those watching, it must look like a lover’s touch.

  “It’s the heat,” someone says. “She’s too warm.”

  Stefan cups my face to make me look at him. His eyes convey their warning. He leans in close and stubble tickles my ear. “Stand up.”

  He pulls back and I nod. What can I do?

  I stand but I’m unsteady.

  Everyone walks into the air-conditioned building and I feel better. Maybe it was the heat. At least in part.

  “Sit down here, dear,” Miss Millie says, and she takes the glass of water from one of the men and hands it to me.

  I take it and sip. “I’m okay,” I tell her as I watch Stefan watching me even as he talks to the mayor.

  I think about my mom and realize I’ve forgotten more of her face. I think about something else too. About memories vanishing. And I’m wrong. Only the good ones vanish. The bad ones, we live them over and over again in our minds.

  I wish I could forget how she died and remember how she lived. I miss her so much, it hurts, and I let myself daydream for just a second about how things might have been if she’d lived. If he hadn’t killed her. Would my father be a different person? Would he have done what he did to Stefan’s family? Would Stefan be a stranger to me?

  And what about Gabe? Would he be himself?

  There’s a commotion and I realize, once again, that I was distracted. Stefan’s hazel eyes are still on me, though.

  He says something to one of the men and a few minutes later, the room is cleared. He comes to sit beside me.

  “Bad luck,” I say.

  “What?” he asks, sliding his hand under my dress to rest it on my thigh. He traces one of the welts. Is this a reminder?

  “To see the bride before the ceremony,” I say.

  He just studies me. “All the luck I’ve ever had has been bad.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re bad.”

  “Maybe. Are you ready?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the difference between now or a few weeks from now? You were always going to be mine, Gabriela. This was always going to happen.”

  “I want an agreement between us. I want just this one thing.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “My brother. Put me down as his legal guardian. You can do whatever you want to me and I’ll do what you say, but you leave him alone. No contact. No nothing.”

  “Will that make you happy?”

  “I don’t think you care about my happiness. You don’t have to pretend you do. I see you for what you are now, and I won’t forget again.”

  He shifts his gaze away and for one moment, I see something that doesn’t fit. Doesn’t belong. A flicker of something almost painful.

  When he returns his gaze to mine, it’s gone. “You used to see a different me.”

  “I was wrong.” It hurts to say the words.

  It takes him a moment, but he stands, holds out his hand. “Come.”

  “Do you agree?”

  “You know I can’t do that. Now don’t make this harder than it has to be. My intention is not to take him from you. The opposite. It was always to give him to you. Think of it as a wedding gift.”

  “A wedding gift?” I can’t believe him.

  Before I can say more, he takes hold of my arm and lifts me to my feet.

  �
��Our guests are waiting.”

  16

  Stefan

  The wedding ceremony, as fraudulent as it feels, is legally binding.

  The small room is pretty enough, with high ceilings and large windows. Blue drapes with little yellow flowers on them match the carpet and the upholstery of the chairs situated to face the large antique table at the front.

  It’s all old and a little dusty but it will serve its purpose.

  Gabriela doesn’t walk down the aisle toward me. I walk her, her arm tucked into mine, the small bouquet of flowers something someone must have handed her on her way in because I’ve never seen them before. She holds them absently, her eyes locked on the front of the room.

  It’s like she’s not here.

  Like she’s blocking this out.

  At least she’s not crying. Not fighting. She won’t, though. There’s too much at stake.

  If she doesn’t do this, she will lose her brother.

  If she does, she’ll gain guardianship of him. Well, I will, technically but I don’t have any interest in Gabe Marchese apart from using him to screw his father especially when he thought he’d screw me in the process.

  He cut Gabriela out of the will entirely. Reverted to the old family rule of inheritance to the first-born. She doesn’t know this yet. If she did, she’d only accuse me of taking guardianship of her brother for the inheritance, and she’d be right. But that’s not solely my reason. I meant it when I said I didn’t want her to be sad.

  Did Marchese think I’d give her back when he changed the will? That I’d call it quits and tuck tail? No. He’s too clever to believe that.

  But when it comes to Gabriela, Gabriel Marchese is odd. He lets his emotions get in the way of his thinking. No, not emotions, exactly. How he is with her is strange, to say the least. It’s more possession than fatherly love that rules him.

  And I don’t think that possession has anything to do with me.

  The memory of how he looked at her at our engagement party returns and I find myself tugging her a little closer.

  She turns to look at me.

  Sad little thing.

  Collateral damage. Remember Antonio. Remember your father. Remember why you’re doing this.

  We reach the front of the room and stand before the mayor who will be the officiant of this sham marriage. Rafa stands at my side and Millie at hers. The only other guests are a handful of soldiers and the mayor’s family.

  Gabriela doesn’t deserve what she’s getting. I know it. I’ve known it from day one. But she is choosing how this goes. I mean it when I say I don’t want to be her enemy, but she makes it impossible.

  Collateral damage.

  The mayor signals for the few witnesses to sit down and he begins the ceremony. Gabriela answers for her part with little nudging from me and I wonder if anyone’s noticed she understands the Italian just fine, only she answers in English.

  When the time comes for the rings, Rafa takes two out of his pocket and hands them to me.

  I take Gabriela’s hand and repeat the mayor’s words as I slide the ring—a wide platinum band that matches her engagement ring—onto her already crowded finger.

  She looks down at it as I do it. Down at our two hands. Mine big, hers so small, so delicate, it disappears inside my palm.

  I can crush her. It wouldn’t take much.

  When it’s her turn to place the ring on my finger, she meekly takes the ring I offer her, a matching band of platinum, and repeats the mayor’s words, pledging her obedience to me, as she slides it onto my finger.

  She doesn’t look at me once.

  And when we’re pronounced husband and wife and the ceremony is over, I pull her to me and kiss her, a chaste kiss on her pretty, resistant mouth.

  One of the mayor’s staff enters the room carrying a tray filled with glasses of champagne for each of us. His wife and family are oblivious to Gabriela’s mood, her mental absence. The mayor isn’t, but that doesn’t matter. I pay him enough and he’ll do what he’s told. If I brought her here in chains, kicking and screaming, he’d still do what he was told and marry us.

  Once the champagne is drunk and everyone has kissed Gabriela’s cheeks and offered us their congratulations, we’re left alone in the room with the mayor. Two soldiers stand outside and Rafa and Millie are on their way to the restaurant for our small reception.

  “Just a few signatures and you can be on your way,” the mayor says.

  This one is the certificate of marriage. I’ll make sure her father has a copy before the end of the day.

  I watch Gabriela and wonder if she hears anything at all as she takes the pen offered to her. She glances to me and I nod once. She looks back at the certificate on the desk and, a moment later, she signs.

  I doubt the next signature I’ll need from her back at the house will be given as easily.

  When she’s finished, I take the pen and sign my name and it’s done.

  Gabriela is my wife.

  I set the pen on the desk and turn to her. She’s looking up at me, her expression that of someone beaten.

  “Congratulations, once again,” the mayor says, standing, extending his hand to me.

  I shake it, thank him.

  Gabriela, too, shakes his hand, and we’re on our way to the reception.

  “I’m tired,” Gabriela complains when we’re in the car. “Do we have to do this?”

  “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

  “Your house is not my home.”

  “You called it that a few days ago.”

  “You were a different man a few days ago.”

  “Same man. Same intentions.”

  “That’s right. Bury all things Marchese.”

  I lean toward her, lift her chin with one finger. “It’s a good thing you’re not a Marchese anymore then.”

  She tugs her head away and watches out the window for the twenty-minute ride.

  The small restaurant is set just for our party with tables decorated formally, everything white, flowers, tablecloths, napkins. Champagne corks are popped, and my wife takes her flute when I hand it to her, and she swallows the contents.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her when she holds the empty glass out to me.

  “Celebrating.” When I don’t take her glass, she stops a waiter who is passing and swaps her empty glass out for a full one.

  “Take care, sweetheart,” I tell her as she downs her second glass.

  “Stefan,” it’s Rafa.

  I turn away from my bride. “Yes?”

  “My father’s here. Had some trouble on the road. Flat tire.”

  “Did he?”

  As a sign of good will, I invited Rafa’s father. He’s brought Clara with him and is followed in by a man carrying a large gift covered in white silk cloth.

  I glance at Gabriela as he approaches. For as well as she guards her features, I see recognition flit across her face when she sees him.

  He smiles. “Stefan,” he says, dragging his gaze to mine. “Congratulations.” He leans in to hug me, patting my back.

  “Thank you, Uncle,” I say.

  He turns to Gabriela and smiles wide. I study him for a moment, watch the way he looks at her. See from the corner of my eye the way Rafa shifts his gaze between his father and Clara.

  “Gabriela, this is Francesco Catalano. My uncle and Rafa’s father.”

  He holds his hand out to her.

  She looks at it, then turns to me. I wonder if it’s the missing finger that upsets her, but she collects herself and smiles, slides her hand into his and this gesture, this placing of her small, vulnerable hand inside his older, butchered one, it makes my hackles go up.

  “You make a beautiful bride,” he says, raising her hand to his lips. “Congratulations, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” she manages, her voice a whisper.

  “I have a gift for the bride,” he says, giving me an apologetic look.

  I smile. I don’t care about gifts. But I am curious abou
t his.

  He gestures to the man carrying the large, covered thing and the man brings it over, sets it on the table near us.

  We all turn to it as Francesco tugs the silk covering off and someone gasps at the sudden commotion of flapping wings.

  Two small birds in a cage. A golden cage. Unique. Specially made, I know from looking at it.

  “It’s a replica of Stefan’s house,” my uncle tells her as she steps toward it. She touches the golden door, peers down through it to the birds. “Pure gold. And almost as beautiful as the bride.”

  “Birds?”

  “Lovebirds for the lovebirds,” my uncle says.

  My hands fist.

  “They’re so pretty,” Gabriela says, smiling, leaning down to put a finger inside the cage, petting one of the birds who comes close to it.

  “Not yet named. You’ll have to do that.”

  He watches her, and I shift my gaze from the cage, to her, to him. I don’t care about the birds.

  She looks up at him. “It’s beautiful,” she finally says. “And fitting.”

  My nails dig into the palms of my hands.

  Francesco smiles. “You haven’t seen the best part,” he says. He opens the small door and I can see the workmanship is top notch. He reaches inside to push on the floor of the cage. When he does, a trap door of sorts opens.

  Gabriela peers close. “What is it?”

  “This may be more for my nephew,” he says, giving me a proud look over his shoulder.

  No. Not proud.

  Calculated.

  He pushes a button and music begins to play. A familiar scene.

  Gabriela’s mouth opens and she turns to me but I’m so angry, all I see is red.

  “Faust. Your favorite opera, I believe?” he asks.

  It’s the scene we heard last night as our own tragedy played out.

  “It’s perfect,” Gabriela says. She puts her hands on his arms and leans in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you very much, Mr. Catalano.”

  “Let’s eat!” Rafa calls out from somewhere behind me as music starts to play and people move to their tables.

  17

  Gabriela

  I’m sent to my room to await my husband’s summons. At least Rafa carried my wedding gift upstairs. It’s heavier than I expected but the birds are sweet.