Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

I flip my hair over my shoulder, “You can do whatever you want; I don’t care.” I flounce past him, and he grabs my wrist and tugs. I fall against him and the contact of skin on skin makes my breath hitch.

“I haven’t given you permission to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t leave until I let you.”

“Says who?”

“Says your future husband.”

“No ring, remember?” I raise my left hand.

Truth be told, I can’t believe that I actually threw away that ring. And I actually liked it… No, I loved it. It was beautiful. And surely, he had chosen the color of the stone because it reminded him of my eyes. Not that he had mentioned it to me, but it had to be that, right? And I had flung it away. It had to be expensive, as well…

But more than that, it had meant something to me. The fact that he had remembered to get me a ring. So what, if it was because his grandmother had pointed out that without a ring, he couldn’t call me his fiancee? Still, it had been my ring. And I had discarded it.

I try to pull away, and this time, he releases me. I march past him and toward the door. I am about to step out when he calls out, “Just remember, we are only getting started.”

I resist the urge to show him my finger. And I don’t mean the one missing a ring. Instead, I walk out the door and to the kitchen. I open the door to the pantry and stare at the range of packaged food stocked inside. Dried pasta, cans of tinned fruit and vegetables, pancake mixes-not very common in Italy, so it must be imported from the UK?-pasta sauces, hell, there is even bread flour and a cookie dough mix. Huh. Apparently, the Sovranos believe in slumming in style.

I pull open the door of the refrigerator, and this time I’m not surprised to find the bottles of beers and wines. Also, eggs, juices, and a Christmas Pudding wrapped up in festive paper and stored on the bottom shelf. All the comforts of home and more.

When I open the freezer, I find packets of frozen vegetables, meats, and fish.

I pull out what I need, then turn and crash into a hard chest. The scent of darkness-dark coffee mixed with brandy-teases my nostrils. I try to step around him, but he moves to block my way.

“What?” I scowl. “I’m busy.”

“You going to cook for us?”

“Unless you’d prefer to do it?”

“I’m good at numbers, but cooking… It’s best I leave that one to you.” He smirks. “Also, I loaded the washing machine with our clothes.”

“Oh, that’s good.” I try to brush past him, but he doesn’t move. “Now what?” I frown. “I’m hungry, and if we are going to be stuck here, I’d prefer to get the cooking underway so we can eat before I starve.”

He steps aside, and I walk over to the kitchen counter. I place all of the items I’d pulled out and busy myself. “I hope you like omelets,” I call out.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“I love omelets,” he says from behind and above me. Again.

I squeal, “Jesus, can you stop creeping up on me like that?”

“Somehow, when I’m with you, I can’t stop myself from following you around,” he mutters with a strange expression on his face.

O-k-a-y. Did he just say that? What did he mean by that. Before I can ask, he steps back. “Why don’t I set the table?” He walks around to the cabinet, pulls out the plates, and places two of them next to me. He retrieves cutlery and napkins, then returns to the island.

I find bread in the bread-box and cartons of milk on the shelves next to the stove. “Wow,” I marvel, “this place is fully stocked.” I turn on him. “Did you plan all this?”

“Plan what?” he asks.

“This,” I wave my hand in the air, “me falling into the pond, then us stumbling across this lodge by-” I make air quotes, “‘accident’?”

“Would I do that?” He widens his gaze.

“Ha!” I scoff. “I’m not going to answer that question.”

“You wound me, Flower.” He thumps his chest. “But to put your mind at ease, no I didn’t plan any of this. I assume Nonna told the housekeeping team to keep the place ready for guests, as a precaution.”

“Hmph,” I flatten my lips, “not sure I believe you.” I turn back to the omelets, and by the time I have plated them out, along with the toast that I remembered to pop in earlier, he’s already seated. I place his plate in front of him and take my seat at the right of him.

Both of us dig in and start eating. By the time I’m halfway through my food, I’m already full. Which is normal for me. I think I’m hungry, but when I start eating, I find I’m not able to finish everything on my plate. I glance up to find he’s polished off everything. I keep my fork and knife aside while I push my plate toward him. “Here, have it.”

“You sure?” He frowns. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I can’t eat too much at one sitting,” I explain, “but I’ll nibble at something in a few hours.”

“So, you literally eat like a rabbit?” He laughs.

“Hopefully, my diet’s more varied than a rabbit’s.” I sniff. “Go on,” I nod toward my plate, “it’s all yours.”

He digs in and seems to inhale everything on my plate, then sits back with a sigh. “That was delicious.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Thought you doctors were too busy studying and interning to learn how to cook.”

I tilt my head. “I did study a lot to qualify. Also, because I was away from home, I began to miss home-cooked food. Apparently, as much as I wanted to be away, the food was one thing I couldn’t turn my back on.”

“So, you learned to cook?”

“It’s also a great stress buster.” I play with my napkin, then crumple it. “When things got too hectic and I felt overwhelmed with the magnitude of what I had set out to do, I turned to cooking.” I glance at him. “And you? What do you do for relieving stress?”

“You mean when I’m not killing people?”

I stare at him.

“Just kidding.” He chuckles. “I haven’t been involved with the enforcing side of the Mafia world for a long time. My specialty is interpreting the law; I am the Consigliere for the clans.”

“But you have been involved with … killing people, in the past?”

He straightens his spine. “If you are asking me if I have killed men, then the answer is yes.”

I glance away. What did I expect him to say? That he hadn’t been involved with taking lives? How naive can I be?

“I am part of the Mafia, Flower,” he says in a soft voice as if he’s read my mind. “It’s part of what I am, to take lives if needed.”

“And it’s part of who I am to save lives.” I tip up my chin. “Guess the two of us really are on opposite sides of the spectrum.” I rise to my feet, then reach over to collect his plate, but he stops me.

“There’s one place where we do meet.”

“You mean the sex?”

“I mean in bed. Where we can forget that we come from two very different positions in life. Where you don’t have to bring the weight of your expectations, of the path you have set yourself. Where you don’t need to do anything but give yourself up to me.”

“You mean to submit to you, don’t you?”

“What you don’t realize is that the person who submits holds the power.”

I snort. “A likely story.”

“It’s true.” He laces his fingers with mine, and the gesture is so gentle, so intimate that my breath catches. I peer into his face, and one side of his lips quirks. “Think about it,” he murmurs, “you give up control, you put your trust in me, and that is a big responsibility. I’m in charge of making you feel good, for pushing you so that you redefine your boundaries. The ability to cause you pain or pleasure would lay in my hands, and that’s a task that I wouldn’t take lightly.” He rubs his thumb in small, slow circles over my wrist, and a shiver runs up my spine. “Imagine that, for the time that you have handed over control to me, you don’t have to make decisions or choices; everything would be decided for you. You’d only have to do as you’re told.”

“That sounds like slavery.”

“Or like freedom.”

“Freedom?” I scoff, “You’re delirious.”

“You wouldn’t have to think about the pros and cons or worry about the consequences of your actions or stress about whether you made the right choice or not. All that worry would be mine.”

“So, what does that leave me with?” I swallow.

“The right to enjoy yourself, to focus on yourself, your pleasure, your needs.” He leans in close enough for his eyelashes to brush mine. “Your wants. Everything you’ve always dreamed of. Your deepest desires. Your filthiest, dirtiest dreams. Everything you’ve wanted to try but were too afraid to ask for, and maybe things that you didn’t even know you would enjoy… I would be able to fulfill those experiences for you.”