Chapter 2

Mia

I didn’t dress appropriately for dinner despite our honored guests.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a woman about to attend her sentencing. I knew the ropes. This wasn’t the first time I’d had this conversation. Eleven years ago, I’d taken the news of my impending nuptials like the proper young Italian woman I’d been raised to be. Clenching my jaw, I peered into my hazel eyes. Twenty-four hours ago, they’d been filled with optimism for the future. Now they looked back at me with a blank stare, no longer filled with hope but void of emotion. If I let emotion take hold, I wouldn’t be able to go on with this dinner.  

Straightening my shoulders, I exhaled.

That proper girl no longer existed.

That well-bred obedience had been raped and beaten out of me. On the night of my wedding, I’d made the mistake of telling Rocco no—I was young, frightened, and believed in the hope of kindness and consideration. The memory of the way his lips curled at the challenge made me want to vomit. The blood I’d shed should have enraged my father, the man who was supposed to protect me. My heart died a little when along with the other men, Father laughed at the news and patted Rocco on the shoulder.

No. I wouldn’t go willingly.

I wasn’t dressing up for the capo dei capi when he was about to condemn me to another loveless marriage. Whoever Dario thought he could marry me off to would have a rude awakening. I’d done my time and grown stronger for it.

I made myself a vow.

Taking my own life wasn’t in my future. However, I wasn’t above murder. How could I have lived in this famiglia for nearly three decades and not embraced the idea of killing those who thought to control me? In the five months since Rocco’s death, I’d experienced a new kind of freedom while simultaneously being held captive in the mansion. If killing was necessary to retain my freedom, I’d live that way in a federal prison. It had to be better than marriage.

Wearing tight black leggings, flat ballerina shoes, and a loose black shirt, with my dark blond hair pulled back to a ponytail, and very little makeup, I made my way from my suite down to the first floor, knowing that Dario and Catalina were due to arrive any minute. There were voices coming from below.

I paused at the second-floor landing, enamored by the vision. The setting sun shone through the high transom, drenching the chandelier with golden rays and sending cascades of color dancing over the marble foyer. Down below, Catalina’s bodyguard stood near the front doors. Mother hugged Catalina as I made my way down the staircase. By Mother’s exuberance, you’d never suspect the unkind things she said about Dario’s wife in private.

My gaze went to my brother.

Nearly half a year of ruling the famiglia showed in the tenseness of his jawline and the tiny lines spidering from the sides of his eyes. The pressure was evident, making him even less stoic than before. Nevertheless, as Mom released Catalina, Dario went to his wife’s side, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist.

Mother turned to me with a quick scan, her expression voicelessly objecting to my attire. Of course, everyone else was dressed more formally. It was as I neared the last step that I heard my sister-in-law’s news.

Baby.

Catalina is pregnant.

The information caused my steps to stutter.

How old is she?

Twenty-four or twenty-five.

She and Dario had been married for eight months, and she was already carrying his child. A child who would be both Mafia and cartel. The news hit a nerve I wasn’t expecting.

I’d yet to acknowledge that deep inside me, I grieved my lack of children.

As long as Rocco was alive, I’d told myself our childless status was his failure. It gave me another reason to detest him. It also made it easier for me to deal with the reality that deep down, I wanted children. After his death, I’d come to terms with the idea of never having a child of my own.

At Catalina’s joyous news, I was unable to squelch the green ink of jealousy seeping into my bloodstream and coursing throughout my body. With monumental effort, I feigned a smile as my tone jumped an octave. “Did I hear you’re pregnant?” I reached for Catalina’s hands. “So soon.”

A rose hue filled her cheeks, giving her a radiant sheen as she leaned into Dario and kept her green stare on me. “We wanted to tell you in person.”

Catalina was no longer the terrified new bride from her wedding night. The way she sought Dario for support was but another reason for me to be resentful. Had I ever sought support from Rocco?

“When are you due?” Mom asked.

“July.”

Five months away and yet, there was no visual sign of a baby growing within her. Under Catalina’s slacks and blouse, her frame was as trim and slender as it had been on her wedding day. The only possible difference may be that her breasts were bigger. To be candid, I never before fully assessed Catalina’s breasts.

“Congratulations,” I said. I turned my attention to Dario. “So, this happy news is the reason for your visit.”

“One of them,” Dario said.

“Oh, I can’t believe you haven’t told me before now…” Mom continued her gushing as she led the four of us into the front parlor. “Your father would be so happy. Have you considered naming your son Vincent? It’s a tradition…” Her words, phrases, and questions came a mile a minute as she asked about the baby and Catalina’s health. “Are you going to learn the baby’s gender?”

Catalina deferred to Dario, like the disgustingly submissive wife she was.

The answer to Mom’s question was no—they didn’t want to know the gender before birth. Despite Mom’s desire for grandsons, Dario said they’d be happy with a boy or girl. Interestingly, no one had addressed Mom’s question about using Father’s name.

My own thoughts blared in my head, stifling the conversation around me. If I was going to enlist my sister-in-law’s aid in stopping my marriage, I needed to pay closer attention to what they were saying. Yet with each passing minute, my mind was on my future or lack thereof, not on the upcoming bundle of joy.

When Rosa arrived with a bottle of prosecco, our mother’s favorite before-dinner sparkling wine, and four glasses, Mom sent her away. “No alcohol. My daughter-in-law is expecting.”

Rosa’s eyes opened wide. “Congratulations, Mrs. Luciano.” She was speaking to Catalina. “Would lemonade be appropriate? Or water?”

“Yes, lemonade,” Mom said. “Good idea.”

“Water for me,” Catalina replied. “Acidic drinks and I are still not getting along.”

“Of course.”

“Rosa,” I said as I tried to maintain a smile. “I’m not pregnant. Leave the prosecco.”

“Mia,” Mom chastised. “Don’t you need to excuse yourself to go upstairs and put on something more appropriate for dinner?”

I looked down at my outfit, pressing my lips together. “Nope. Black is my new favorite color.” My smile grew. “And we’re all family, right?” I motioned to Rosa. “Bring the wine over here.”

“Please,” Catalina said. “Don’t let me stop you from drinking whatever you want.”

I gave Mom a ‘told you so’ look as Rosa placed the tray with the open bottle and glasses on a nearby table. I waved Rosa away. “Go get Catalina’s water. I can pour.” I turned to Mom first. “Prosecco?”

Mom flattened her lips and nodded. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, Catalina.”

Catalina shook her head.

“Dario?” I asked.

“No, thank you.”

“More for me,” I muttered as I filled my glass with a generous pour. Bringing the rim of the glass to my lips, I took a hearty drink before filling Mom’s glass, handing it to her, and topping off my own.

When I looked to the rest of the family, Dario’s admonishing stare was on me. “Perhaps our other conversation shouldn’t wait until after dinner,” he said.

I shook my head. “Or, better yet, it can wait longer than that. Maybe until hell freezes over.”

Catalina paled.

Dario turned to Mom, silently asking if she’d shared the other reason for his visit. Mom nodded and brought her glass to her lips. After a sip, she spoke to Catalina. “It’s a bit chilly outside, but we have a beautiful view from the living room. Come with me before the sun fully sets and see how stunning the mountains are in springtime.”

Dario nodded, giving his wife permission to go on what could be best described as a leave me alone to talk some sense into my sister adventure.

I lifted my glass. “Come back soon.”

Dario waited until they were both out of earshot. “Mom told you.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Mom’s told me many things. If you’re referring to the bombshell she dropped this morning about my forthcoming marriage, yes, she told me.” I finished the rest of the wine in my glass and began to fill it once more when Dario came closer and took the bottle from my grasp.

“I’d rather you be cognizant of this conversation.”

“That makes one of us.” I gripped the stem of my glass. “I want to forget it as soon as it’s over.”

“I never lied to you, Mia. I told you the day Rocco died that marriage was in your future.”

“Don’t you mean the day you killed him?”

My brother inhaled, his nostrils flaring. “Potayto-potahto.”

“Tell me who my new husband will be, brother. It’s pretty damn clear that I’m not a prize catch. I’m not a virgin and no longer the daughter of Kansas City’s capo. Is this some old widower?” I turned and walked toward the windows, dodging the furniture along the way. With my attention on our conversation, I was oblivious to the natural beauty beyond the panes. My thoughts went to an old widower. There was a possibility in that scenario. “I hope he is.” I spun back to Dario. “Maybe he’s so old he won’t be able to get it up. Raped on one wedding night is really my limit.”

Dario’s eyes darkened. “You should have told me.”

“And what would you have done? I was Rocco’s wife.”

“I would have done what I did, just ten years earlier.”

Maybe it was the few glasses of wine on my empty stomach but Dario’s conviction made me laugh. “And I’m to believe you’ll kill my next husband, too.”

“Not all men rape their wives.”

I lifted the glass, taking the last few drops of wine. Lowering the glass, I met my brother’s stare. “I’m one for one. Forgive me for not appreciating the odds.” When Dario didn’t respond, I asked, “Who?”

“He’s not old.”

If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t. “Well, another wish smashed to smithereens.”

“He’s two years younger than you, and Mia, you are a prize catch. You’re a Luciano. The ridiculous expectation of past generations requiring virginity is no longer as much of a standard.”

A laugh bubbled from my throat. “Right. Mom and Aunt Francesca weren’t thrilled to find blood on your wedding-night sheets.”

“You’ve already bled for the famiglia. Now I’m asking you to cement the alliance.”

“You’re asking me?” My laugh grew louder. “You’re not asking me, Capo. You’re ordering me.” I was probably playing with fire. If anyone else in this world was capo, I could expect a slap as a response to my insolence. Our father wouldn’t have hesitated. As I looked around the room for the wine bottle, Dario’s last words hit their target. My delayed reaction caused my humor to disappear and my forehead to furrow. “Alliance? No, Dario. I won’t marry one of the cartel.”

He nodded. “You will. And this won’t be a wedding to a soldier but to the heir of the Roríguez cartel. This is the status you deserve.”

“The heir?” My mind scrambled. Jorge was the drug lord. That meant this was one of his sons. “Aléjandro or Reinaldo?” I could barely recall the younger brother, but I had no trouble conjuring a picture in my mind of the elder one. Tall, muscular, handsome, arrogant, and an asshole. The memories of him after the wedding prickled my skin.

“Aléjandro,” Dario confirmed.

“Wasn’t he with Jasmine at the wedding?”

“Jasmine is in college. I won’t allow her to marry until she graduates.”

Shit.

Jasmine was in college—where I’d hoped to be.

This night just kept getting worse.

I found the prosecco bottle where Dario had set it down and refilled my glass. “Are you saying that Aléjandro wanted Jasmine and he’s getting me?” I spun toward him. “Fuck you for making me a consolation prize.”

Dario took two long strides toward me, taking the glass from my grasp. His words came from between clenched teeth. “Show some respect. I’m still your capo.”

“Is he a murderer? A drug dealer? A criminal?”

“You know what we do. The cartel isn’t that much different.”

I shook my head. “Is Catalina still under Roríguez’s rule?”

Dario’s forehead furrowed.

“Is Catalina still under Jorge Roríguez’s rule?” I asked again. “Or is she under yours?”

“Mine,” he answered curtly.

“So, if I marry Aléjandro as you command, once I’m married, you’re no longer my capo.”

“You will always have the famiglia’s protection.”

“That’s not what I asked. You can’t sell me off to the cartel and expect to still make decisions for me. The cartel is no longer making Catalina’s decisions. If you sell me off to someone in our famiglia, you will still be my capo. Even to another outfit, you’d lose your control of me.”

“Fuck, Mia, this isn’t about controlling you.”

“Bullshit,” I screamed. “It’s all about control.”

“You don’t even know Aléjandro.”

“You’re right, Dario. I don’t know him. I don’t want to know him. I’ve met him and that’s enough. Go ahead and marry me to some old limp-dick Italian. At least I understand the rules of that game.”

The muscles on the side of Dario’s face pulled taut. “You are a catch, Mia. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I’m not selling me. You are.”

“Aléjandro doesn’t mind that you’ve been married. He requested you.”

Does that matter to me?

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re a Luciano. You’re a valuable woman. Hell, I hated when Father gave you to Rocco. I was against the deal from the beginning, but you know how Father felt about Tommaso.”

I nodded.

“You deserve more than a common soldier. Aléjandro is more.”

I let out a long breath. “I hope he knows he’s not getting an obedient, submissive virgin.”

For the first time since our conversation started, Dario grinned. “He knows.”

There was no way—short of running away and entering a protection program—that I would be able to stop this marriage. I had no more chance than I could have stopped Rocco’s and mine a decade ago. God knew I’d pushed Dario further than he would have allowed by most. And yet, my brother and my capo had no intention of letting me out of the agreement he’d already brokered.

“When?” I asked.

“Your mourning will be over before the beginning of April. Your wedding will be small, as it’s your second. Aléjandro has recently been assigned to California. The Ruizes are doing well, growing the cartel’s US network. Jorge wants Aléjandro to stay within the States full-time to handle any challenges that arise. You’ll wed at the Ruiz home near San Diego the first weekend of May.”

I shook my head. “The Ruiz home—you mean Catalina’s family?”

“Her parents. Their home is on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.”

Turning away, I swallowed the bile bubbling in my throat. Dario was describing a destination wedding as if he were a travel agent. I wasn’t interested in a house on a cliff, an ocean, or a marriage. I turned back. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

I hated the confidence in Dario’s voice. “I won’t say no,” I acquiesced. “But I can and will tell you that I hate you for doing this to me.”

Dario nodded.

“I mean it, Dario. I’ll hate you until the day you die, just like Father.”

“That’s your choice. You’re my sister. I’ll never hate you.”

Exhaling, I sagged my shoulders. “I will never love anyone from the cartel. This will be a marriage bound by hate.”

“Your emotions are your choice. From experience, I have to tell you, I never expected to love a cartel member. I was wrong.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m not.”