Page 7 of Italian Mafia Boss's Virgin Lover

“I’m going,” I tell her. “To the country.”

She laughs, the chime-like sound surprising and pleasant. “This isn’t the country?”

I suppress an amused smile. “It is, quite.”

She nods, averts her eyes. The smile stays.

I want to test her again, I find. I think of how she flinched from my touch at the fire, and reach for her. Though she stiffens, she doesn’t pull away as I brush my knuckles against her cheek.

“Charcoal,” I say, by way of explanation. Her eyes hold mine. She’s paralyzed, a rabbit cornered by the wolf. A faint tremor goes through her. “I’ll be back within the week.”

“So long?”

“You’ll miss me, so soon?” I ask. Her eyes widen. I drop my hand and back away, studying the light of the room. It’s been untouched a long time, and her presence fills it. “I’ll have the room fixed for you. The dust and furniture, and the drapes. Too heavy to let in the best light, I’d guess.”

Her eyes glitter. Again she smiles faintly. “Right. Thank you, Santo.”

“You’re free to explore the grounds and estate, but I ask you remain wary. You know the life you’ve entered,” I add, more stiffly, straightening to my full height. “I have enemies everywhere, and as my intended wife, they are your enemies now too.”

She bows her head, hands folded before her almost in contrition. “Of course.”

“I have guards posted around the clock. They’ll escort you wherever you wish to go.”

She nods once more, and I resist the urge to tip her chin up, to force her to meet my eyes. There’s no room for tenderness here though, or even curiosity. And I won’t so soon forget the fear or disgust in her eyes last night.It would displease me greatly.I remember my place entirely, as her master. Her captor. Forever, her enemy.

I incline my head and leave her there in silence. She doesn’t break it.

* * *

Dario drives me into the mountains. Fall’s curtain is closing, the frost setting deep into the high cliffs of northern Italy. I wouldn’t have chosen this moment to endeavor an engagement, much less such a tricky one. If it were up to me, I’d never marry at all.

But the last year has changed the course of my life in ways I could never have predicted. Once kingpins in the Italian Mafia, the Amatas were broadly known and highly respected. Our bloodlines run back to royals and Romans, and across the world that fact alone demanded loyalty.

But in the nineties, my father and his brothers found themselves victims of a violent coup. They were killed one by one, hunted, picked off like sick animals at the fringe of a herd. What remained of their men, loyal and devoted to the Amatas, fought to keep the name alive. And when my older brother Vittorio came of age, he took up the mantle proudly.

For over a decade, Vittorio led my father’s men as well as his own. But our enemies were conniving, disloyal, and dishonorable. They lusted after the Amata wealth, the blood, title, the lands and holdings across Europe and abroad.

One family lorded above them all—Romano.Once our families were tight as blood. Our houses fought in ancient wars. We were neighbors, brothers. They stood by us, loyal to the end—until greed caught in them like a cancer.

Their heir and young leader was Gregorio, a man I would once have called my closest friend. Until he joined our enemies, and betrayed us.

Until he killed my brother. And all for what?

The same thing men have fought and died for since our dawning. Wealth and power. The Romanos were good people, and mine believed them beyond corruption. For some generations, perhaps they were. But Gregorio broke that line of inherited trust. He loved my brother as much as I did, and yet that love was not enough to curb his desire.

Gregorio didn’t want to be second to any, even the best man he knew. He wanted to be first—the top, the king. And he was willing, as so many are, to bloody his hands and conscience to attain that place. Fate had made it so easy, after all. There was only one king to topple, and the entire empire would fall.

Vittorio never saw it coming. Such was his faith in his friend, in humanity. A faith I have never shared, and maybe that’s why I am still here, and my brother and father are not.

I should have been there, that day.

The notion is worn smooth, familiar as a scar. I was always proud of the Amata name, but I didn’t care for the pomp or politics. My father died when I was very young, and it was Vittorio who all but raised me. He believed I was a better man than I was, and he paid for it.

I was trouble. From the time I was a kid, until—now, I suppose. I liked to operate alone, to cut dangerous deals and sow the Amata name into the darker underbellies of Italy and all of Europe. I made our name one that wasn’t only respected, but feared. And in the end, it wasn’t enough to protect my brother.

Now it’s far too late. I’ve spent the year since his death clinging to power as the wolves draw nearer. The girl is a boon, and so is the armistice with her father, even if he is as far away as America. She’ll produce heirs for me, and together we’ll rebuild the Amata empire.

But only if I can wrangle loyalty back, and build up an army we’ve long lost. Vittorio wanted to sway those who were once allies, but had turned. I don’t give a damn about them. Snakes, the lot. Ancient names, new ones—they can rot for all I care. Royal blood and political power don’t appeal to me.