They can all go to hell. As far as I’m concerned, Rafaele is not worthy of me. At the end of the day, Rafaele must care more about his deal with my father than his family’s opinion, since he’s still marrying me.
Of course, unlike them, he knows I really am a virgin.
I accidentally blabbed the truth to him while I was drunk. He and Nero kidnapped me off the side of the road and stuffed me into their car when we were at Vale’s wedding in Ibiza. I was so angry that I wasn’t thinking straight. Until then, I’d managed to convince everyone who mattered that I was disgraced and unsuitable for a wife, which suited me just fine.
It used to make me mad that Rafaele knew the truth, but if he didn’t, he may have never let Gemma off the hook.
I bet his family wishes Gemma were still the one marrying their don. After all, my sister didn’t spend a lifetime trying to ruin her own reputation in every way possible.
I blow out a breath. I thought I had a chance to break free from all this. How naive of me. Instead, here I am, sitting beside a man who thinks of me as nothing more than a piece of meat.
Goodbye college. Goodbye moving to LA. Goodbye summer internship at a talent agency. See ya never to all my hopes and dreams.
I glance discreetly at Rafaele. I can’t believe this is the man I’m about to tie myself to.
For life.
At least he’s easy to look at. Okay, not just easy to look at. Rafaele is fucking hot. Far better looking than the last guy my father tried to set me up with—Ludovico. He was over forty, balding, and always had bad breath.
Rafaele is twenty-seven. That’s still eight years on me, but it’s the kind of age gap that nobody even blinks at in the mafia. His dark hair is shiny and smooth, longer at the top and shorter on the sides, and he’s got a clean shave. Young made men often grow out their beards to make themselves look older, but not him.
There’s no mistaking that he’s the don of this family, even though he’s far from being the oldest person in the room. He’s got an air about him that practically screams, “Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” Maybe it’s because of his serious expression, or the kind of perfect posture I thought wasn’t a thing in the age of smartphones, or those damn eyes of his.
Gemma called him the ice prince because of his cold blue gaze, but I don’t know if that’s accurate. I’ve seen him rage.
I’m not sure what was more traumatizing, Ludovico trying to grind his crotch against me, or having his blood splattered on my shoes when Rafaele just casually murdered him.
The memory sends ice down my veins. Rafaele’s brutality is his brand. His civilized exterior is a mask he puts on to make himself palatable in public, but he can remove it just as easily. And besides an affinity for casual murder, I’m not totally sure what else is hiding beneath.
“I’m very good at intimidation. I’m also quite good at other things.”
What was that?
I thought he’d lecture me on how to behave at this dinner. What I didn’t expect was to be blasted with all that sexual energy and innuendo. I mean, he backed me against a wall with that powerful body and sniffed me for fuck’s sake.
The back of my neck heats. I hadn’t anticipated him being interested in me in that way. This is a political marriage, nothing more.
He never even kissed Gemma, and they were engaged for months. I assumed that like some men in the mafia, his wife would be there to pop out babies, but beyond that, he’d entertain himself with whores. That sort of arrangement is common.
Now, I’m not so sure.
Even now, he’s studying me like I’m something fascinating.
I swallow.
I haven’t thought much about what he’ll expect of me beyond the obvious on our wedding night, and now I’m getting the sense he definitely has certain expectations.
Anxiety fans through me. My life has done a one-eighty in the span of a few days, and I’m still coming to terms with all of this.
When the servers come out with the appetizers, the blond woman sitting to my left leans closer. “I’m Elena Messero.” She extends her hand.
I eye it with suspicion, half-expecting her to jerk it back and say “Gotcha.”
But she doesn’t, so eventually, I take it. “I’m Cleo.”
Her grip is firm, and her smile is friendly. She gestures at the woman beside her. “This is Fabiana, although everyone calls her Fabi.”
The other woman also offers me her hand. “We’re Rafe’s sisters.”
Sisters? I didn’t know he had sisters. I never saw them at any of the Messero family events Gem and I went to.