7. Lucia

To say I am trembling in fear is an understatement. 

One second I was dancing with Giovanni, my heart beating so close to his, and the next I was thrown to the ground, shielded by his body. My ears are still ringing from the explosion and the palms of my hands were tender from scraping them against the floor as I went down.

Now I’m in the back of an armored SUV, sitting next to a mean-looking woman wearing a scowl similar to Giovanni’s. She’s wearing a red dress and high heels, is tall and slender, with short blonde hair and tattoos that look like feathers creeping into her neck.

I hug my body and feel the ripples of fear still coursing through me. I suspected that a lot of people weren’t happy about this marriage, but I didn’t expect a hit right on our wedding day. Wouldn’t this be the highest disrespect to pay the son of a Capo dei Capi?

Wait… wouldn’t this cause a war?

As soon as we hit the cobblestone driveway, I know we’ve arrived at Giovanni’s estate. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like this is home, but it is as close as I’m going to get to one since I’m married to the owner. 

“Come,” the woman says in a curt voice and as soon as I get out, she grabs me by the arm and drags me inside. “Can’t believe my brother left me stuck with babysitting you.”

This is when I look up at her and finally get a better look at her features. Yes, she may be blonde whereas Giovanni has thick black hair but those piercing blue eyes and chiseled cheekbones are all too familiar.

“You’re Giovanni’s sister?” I ask, surprised at this.

The entire week he never introduced me to any of his family, not even his parents. I was left with minders who instructed me on what to do and what to say. They didn’t even bother introducing themselves to me at the wedding.

For the first time since I’ve left Sicily, I curse myself for not asking more questions about my husband.

“She’s smart too,” the woman says as she pulls me inside and up the wooden stairs. “Gio wants you to stay inside and wait for him; you’ve not been given permission to leave the bedroom.”

“Okay,” I say as I allow her to drag me along. 

I hate being this timid and submissive, especially when I’m next to someone who seems to hate me for no reason… Just like everyone else back at the convent. But what exactly am I going to do? Argue with her not to pull me along?

The last time I checked, I’m a Camorrista and of enemy blood; and now I am in her home. 

We come to a stop, and she opens the bedroom door, shoving me inside. “Wait here for my brother so he can deal with you when he gets back. There will be guards outside, so don’t even try anything funny,” she says before slamming the door behind her. 

Breathing out a sigh, I square my shoulders and stare at the door for a few seconds before I realize what she’s just said, then I turn around and look at the room behind me. Everything is beautiful, right down to the soft bedding and drapes; the color scheme is a soft gold and honey, with accents of black and silver. 

My prison cell from now on looks so luxurious, right down to the large walk-in closet housing our clothing on either side. 

In the center island, I see a white lace and satin negligee ready for me to wear when my husband eventually comes home. My heartbeat picks up when I know what is expected of me tonight, and that I nearly miss the little white pill next to the skimpy thong.

I frown as I pick it up, wondering what it could be. But as I put it down again, Alana’s words in the bridal room this morning come back to me and my eyes widen. Is this what she meant? A pill to make me more compliant?

With a trembling hand, I move toward the vanity and start to remove the pearl pins from my hair. Each curl that falls down my back has a heaviness settling in my heart, and by the time I’ve removed the last pin, tears are slipping down my cheeks.

I am in an unknown city amongst people who see me as an enemy and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have nothing and no one and will probably be subjected to cruelty tonight, and my husband will feel justified because of who my parents were.

Glancing up at my tear-stained face, I suck in a strained breath and start to remove the makeup caking my face before removing the wedding dress. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, so I hang it over the center console, then head to the bathroom to wash the day away. 

I try to put the fear out of my mind, but by the time I head to the walk-in closet to get into the lingerie set out for me, my body is a trembling mess again. What am I going to do? Everyone here hates me, my husband even more so!

As I slip on the thong, my eyes fall on the pill and I swallow deeply. Perhaps I should take it… it would make things easier, right? I won’t feel pain even if he hurts me… right? 

I shake my head and grab the pill, then I head back into the bedroom to wait for Giovanni. Even if I wanted to sleep, I can’t because I’m wound up way too tight to even think of having a peaceful sleep. 

The pill I’ve placed on the nightstand seems to tempt me more and more, but a few hours later when the door bursts open, I still haven’t taken it.

My eyes widen and trepidation sinks in deep when I look up into the clear blue eyes of the man who will claim me.

With a muscular, powerful build wrapped in an expensive tuxedo, the man radiated the raw and primal strength of a Don. Dark, slicked-back hair, a square jaw, piercing blue eyes, and a proud nose… I would have found him gorgeous, were it not for the predatory look in his eyes.

His inked fingers house two silver rings on either of his pinky fingers, along with his wedding band, which he is currently spinning with his other hand. I still find it odd that his hands aren’t fully tattooed like most mafia men, and I wonder if his entire body is covered too.

I jump out of bed to greet him, and when he stalks over to me with his hands in his pockets and anger blazing in his eyes, I take a step back without thinking. He sees my fear and grins, walking right up to me until I’m pinned against the wall.

“Are you scared of me, Micetta?” he asks, calling me kitten again and I shake my head. “Oh, you’re not? Not even when I’m about to ruin you?”

Dread, as heavy as lead, washes over me and makes me wish I took that darned pill before he came home. His eyes roam over my naked body possessively, as if appraising every dip and curve of it.

He draws his hand to my chin and tilts it up so I can look into his eyes, and I shiver at his touch. That gorgeous spicy/woodsy scent of his did nothing about the fear coursing through my body.

“You know I am well within my rights to take what is mine, right?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “But I am not about to stick my cock into a trembling hole when I know how to make it good for you, as well.”

I narrow my eyes at his statement and, as if seeing the question there, he takes a step back and my heart drops when I notice him pulling a knife from his pocket.