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MONTE

T he unmistakable sound of a gun hammer clicks inches from the back of my head.

My first thought: I’m dead.

My second thought: Okay, I’m not dead because I’m still thinking.

My third thought is an internal scream: SAbrINA!

Dying is now out of the question. If I die, then Sabrina will be alone with whatever psycho is holding a gun to my head.

This is my fault. I’ve become sloppy on this trip. I failed to take even a cursory look outside before stepping out of the room. All I wanted to do is get a minute of fresh air and clear my head so I would stop picturing Sabrina naked in the shower a few feet away.

“Don’t move, hero,” says a man at my back. Heavy accent. Italian.

I weigh the odds that I’d be able to knock him off his feet before he shoots my head off. They aren’t fantastic.

The man coughs. A sour tobacco odor rolls off him. “Where is the girl?” he growls.

A furious button is pressed inside my brain. This bastard is holding a gun to my head because he’s here for Sabrina. The reason doesn’t matter. It can’t be good.

“She’s in the shower,” I say in a glum, defeated tone to let him think I’m too scared shitless to do anything.

But a split second after the last syllable is spoken I drop down and hurl myself into his belly until I feel his body hit the wall hard enough to crack bricks.

He’s one hefty son of a bitch but I’ve caught him by surprise. The gun fires wildly toward the clouds. He’s also definitely no martial arts expert and he wasn’t expecting any resistance. Maybe he was under the impression that I’d just curl up in the fetal position or pass the fuck out.

With the breath briefly knocked out of his lungs and his back to the wall, he loses his only weapon when I clamp down on his wrist and waste no time twisting the shit out of it. The gun drops even before I’ve got him spun around with his arm all the way up his back. In desperation, he rears his head back and the move probably would have broken my nose if he wasn’t half a foot shorter. Instead, he just knocks into my jaw, which pisses me off, and I wrench his arm toward his neck.

Something pops. Probably his shoulder. I don’t care. This motherfucker has got to go.

An incoherent yell is all he manages to produce before I pitch him over the balcony railing. My would-be killer flies down to the concrete and lands with a hearty thud.

His agonized screams echo from below, which means he’s not dead, and I don’t know if he brought any friends. What I need to do is grab my gun and Sabrina and get the hell out of here.

However, that plan is cut short by the appearance of a second gun. And a third. In quick succession, a small army of guns has appeared and they are all attached to men in dark suits.

Fortunately, or maybe not, I know one of them.

Vittorio Messina separates from the pack. Luca once described Sabrina’s uncle as an Armani-clad Count Dracula dripping with gold jewelry. The description fits.

Vittorio’s unblinking black eyes are glued to my face. “Where is my niece?” he says in an ominous tone that warns I better tell him what he wants to hear.

One floor below, Gunman #1 has quit screaming and now sobs pitifully. One of Vittorio’s other buddies gingerly steps over to the railing, peeks over the edge, and erupts with a string of Italian curses. My fluency in the language starts and stops with profanity so I don’t know what Vittorio says when he barks out some orders. Two of his men peel off in another direction so I bet there are instructions to deal with the broken man on the ground.

The rest of Vittorio’s entourage is clearly not happy with me. The screaming man must be a buddy of theirs. Whatever. The appearance of Sabrina’s uncle has erased any fears that she’s in serious danger and that’s all I care about.

But maybe now it’s time to be at least a little bit concerned with my own skin.

Vittorio notices the open door to the motel room, shoots me a rather savage glare and motions to one of his men. A pistol muzzle presses into my lower back and I’m pushed to follow Vittorio into the room, where I’m forced to my knees. And now there’s a gun at my head again.

“You’ll scare her,” I hiss at Vittorio.

He ignores me. “Sabrina,” he calls. “Come out here right now.”

Only a handful of seconds pass before the bathroom door creaks open. Sabrina is soaking wet and wrapped in a towel. The sight of her, so vulnerable and afraid, triggers something ferocious in me and I jerk away from Vittorio’s lackey.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” I roar and lunge for the nearest dark suit.

For my efforts, I get pistol whipped across my right cheek. Stars cloud my vision.

Sabrina shrieks. “Monte!”

She dashes over here in her towel while I try to blink the stars away.

“Leave him alone!” She attempts to shove the man who still has a gun pointed at me.

Vittorio issues a sharp command. The man lowers his weapon and takes a step back.

Sabrina drops down right in front of me. Her pretty face crumples.

“They hurt you,” she says softly and her gentle fingertips touch my rapidly swelling face. She’s still only wearing a towel and water drips from her hair onto my skin.

I want to hug her, reassure her, shield her from the prying eyes of these bastards.

But before I can do anything at all, more company arrives.

“Sabrina!” A woman’s voice. Giulia Barone shoves her way into the room and gapes at the scene in front of her.

Sabrina swivels to look at her mother but doesn’t leave my side. “Mama! What the hell is going on?”

Her mother continues to survey the scene and draws some conclusions. Her troubled eyes land briefly on me and she starts yelling in rapid fire Italian before stalking over to the nearest bed. She pulls the entire comforter off and promptly drapes it over her daughter’s shoulders. Then she throws me a dirty look and tries to pull Sabrina away.

Sabrina resists and clings to me instead. “Does anyone want to explain why half of Sicily has busted in here to terrorize us this morning?”

Her mother gestures wildly. “I’ve been worried sick. Your uncle says you get into all kinds of trouble in New York and now you run all over the country with some man.”

“Mama, he’s not ‘some man’. You know very well who Monte is.”

Sabrina’s mother takes note of my shirtless condition and scans the evidence that I’ve been sharing a cheap motel room with her daughter. “What has he done to you?”

“It’s not like that,” Sabrina explains.

“I have eyes, bambolina . He was supposed to be offering protection. Instead, we find you like this and he’s made no promise to you at all.”

“That’s not true!”

Her mother crosses her arms and seethes. “Of course it’s true. You are young and beautiful and he takes advantage of you because he can.”

“No! Monte and I, we’re, um, engaged.”

We’re WHAT?

Her mother blinks. The stiffly crossed arms relax. “You are engaged? Since when?”

Sabrina freezes, glances at me, then shakes off all hesitation and stands. She pulls the puffy comforter around her like a queenly cape and faces down the entire room. “Since the day I landed in New York. Why do you think I was in such a hurry to get back to the States? Monte is my fiancé so everyone needs to back the hell off.”

She’s very convincing. I’m impressed. And at this point I’m a fan of whatever tactic encourages this merry band of mobsters to fuck off back to Europe and leave us in peace.

Sabrina’s mother has softened but she’s still frowning. “Where is your ring?”

“I’ve been taking my time deciding which one I want.”

“And what are you doing driving all over the place?”

“We’re having a romantic road trip,” Sabrina declares. “To, uh, celebrate our love.”

I have to cough to hide a snort of laughter at that one. Vittorio’s glittering black eyes are watching me carefully so I try to look like a guy who was having a nice engagement honeymoon before people barged in and started waving guns at us.

Sabrina’s mother is studying me with new interest. “You are still Luca’s best friend?”

“Yes.”

She’s giving this some thought. From what Sabrina has said, her mother has a high opinion of Luca. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” I reply.

She appears pleased with this number.

Sabrina tugs on my arm, urging me to get off my knees and stand. “Monte’s father owns Gino’s Pizzeria. His family is a legend in New York.”

Ha! That might be stretching the truth a bit.

“Why didn’t you ask for permission to marry my daughter?” Sabrina’s mother asks me but she’s calmed down quite a bit.

I’m trying to think of an excuse but Sabrina beats me to it.

“Mama, is that really necessary? I already said yes. That’s all he needs.”

Giulia Barone shakes her head. “I would like him to ask permission.”

Sabrina looks at me. So does everyone else in the room. This is starting to feel like a comedy routine.

Sabrina’s expression is pleading. She squeezes my arm for encouragement. Clearly, she thinks going along with this farce is the quickest way to lower everyone’s blood pressure and she knows these people a lot better than I do.

“Can I marry Sabrina?” I say to no one in particular. I cannot believe those words just escaped from my mouth.

A long moment of silence passes.

One of Vittorio’s men sneezes.

Sabrina moves closer, using herself as a buffer between me and her family’s potential wrath. Instinctively, I slide my arm across her shoulders, which are still covered by a fluffy white comforter. This automatic act of pulling her close feels so natural. The deep crunch inside my chest is equal parts protective and possessive.

I don’t know what I am to Sabrina but the label doesn’t matter. I’d still go to fucking war for her.

Sabrina’s mother exchanges a glance with Vittorio. He must have given some kind of signal because she breaks into a relieved smile.

“Yes,” she declares, smiling even more broadly. “Monte, you have permission to marry my Sabrina right away.”

Right away?

English isn’t her first language. Maybe she means something else.

“Right away?” Sabrina echoes with fresh panic.

Vittorio murmurs to two of his men. They nod and quickly leave the room.

“The ceremony will be this afternoon,” Vittorio says. “The details should only take a few hours to put together.”

Sabrina’s jaw drops. Clearly, this was not an outcome she anticipated.

She closes her mouth and stubbornly raises her chin. “I can’t get possibly get married today.”

Vittorio fixes his cufflinks. “Of course you can.”

Sabrina elbows me in the gut. “Hey honey, didn’t we discuss a winter wedding?”

“We did,” I agree. “I…uh, really like the winter.”

She purses her lips and throws me a ‘Is that the best you can do?’ look of exasperation.

Well, excuse the shit out of me, but in the last five minutes I’ve been held at gunpoint, thrown some mafia dick off a balcony, been held at gunpoint again, been pistol whipped, gotten engaged, and now I’m about to be marched down the aisle before lunch. I’m a little fucking dizzy.

“My sisters aren’t even here,” Sabrina says, as if that will mean anything to her uncle. “I can’t get married without Daisy and Anni.”

He shrugs, unconcerned. “Have another wedding later if you like. I need to return home in the morning and I want this business taken care of.”

“Mama,” Sabrina complains. “This is absolutely crazy.”

But her mother is already making happy plans. “Don’t worry,” she says. “You will be beautiful, cara . I’m sure we can find someone to do your hair and makeup.” She turns her eyes to me and snaps her fingers. “Monte needs some ice for his face. Did you really need to hit him like that?”

There’s now an eruption of voices. Sabrina is carrying on that there’s no possible way to have a wedding under these conditions. Her mother is assuring her that her hair will look nice. Vittorio is handing out brisk instructions in Italian. The motel manager pokes his head into the room and wants to know what the hell we’re doing to his property and by the way, do we have anything to do with the man who fell off the balcony and broke his leg?

My swollen cheek is starting to hurt like a bastard but I stick two fingers in my mouth and blow out an ear piercing whistle that stops everyone in their tracks.

“Listen.” I tighten my arm around Sabrina’s shoulders, looking very much like an affectionate fiancé. “Sabrina and I don’t want to have some hasty shotgun wedding today so that is that.”

Sabrina bobs her head. “Right. That is that. This isn’t anyone’s decision but mine. And Monte’s, I guess.”

“A wedding?” The manager scratches at a red patch of skin on his neck. “Do you need to use the conference room? It’s available today but you’ll have to cough up a five hundred dollar deposit.”

Vittorio sends one of his men to go deal with the manager. He’s actually running out of men to send on errands. He’s also starting to appear bored with all the drama.

Now he crooks a finger. “Come with me, Monte.”

“I’m coming too,” Sabrina says.

“No.” Her mother pulls her away. “Let the men talk. You need to start getting ready.”

This time Sabrina allows her mother to guide her in the direction of the bathroom. She throws a desperate look over her shoulder. I give her what I hope is an encouraging nod to let her know I’ll take care of this wedding bullshit.

But first, I’m not having a sit down with the Sicilian mafia king without the dignity of shoes and a shirt. I throw them on hastily before following Vittorio outside.

Gunman #1 is no longer crying on the pavement. He must have been carried off to have his wounds tended to. Sucks for him. My conscience is clear.

Four gleaming black Range Rovers are lined up on the far side of the parking lot. They weren’t there earlier. I would have noticed. I’m not surprised when Vittorio heads right for them, never once looking back to make sure I’m following. There’s the question of how Vittorio found a fleet of expensive vehicles to tow his Mob Squad around small town Kansas, but I guess when you’re a billionaire mafia tycoon you can acquire anything you want.

Except an on-demand wedding. The line has to be drawn somewhere.

One of Vittorio’s men stands guard at the vehicles. He opens the back door for Vittorio and scowls at me with a wave of his arm, indicating that I need to walk around to the other side and open my own door.

Vittorio watches me climb in. I’m pretty sure this is one of those times when it’s wise to keep my wisecracks to a minimum so I wait for him to speak.

He takes his time and studies me in silence, probably in the hopes of seeing me squirm. He’ll have a long ass wait.

Vittorio drums his bejeweled fingers on his knee. There’s a deep scar across the back of his right wrist. I heard a story about that scar, how he got it as a teenager during a street fight. He nearly lost the hand and also suffered a punctured lung. A friend of his died that night after taking a knife to the throat.

Among the gang of attackers was the son of a prominent politician. No one expected any arrests but Vittorio decided not to wait around for the wheels of justice anyway. Within a week after Vittorio was discharged from the hospital, pieces of his enemies were being found all over Palermo. The politician picked up his morning newspaper one day to find his son’s tongue and both hands underneath. After that, he lost his mind and ran into the sea, never to be seen again.

That’s what Vittorio was capable of before he even reached the age of eighteen. It’s safe to say he’s a little more lethal now.

“Monte Castelli,” he says in the harsh manner of a strict judge about to deliver a verdict. “I know all about you already. It didn’t take long to find out about your family connections.” He pauses for effect. “ All of your family connections.”

I’m not exactly shocked. And I haven’t forgotten what Sabrina told me about her uncle’s arranged marriage schemes. “We all have our crosses to bear. Some of mine live in Wyoming. I’ve heard they’re friends of yours.”

He knows exactly what I mean and chuckles. “Let me explain something to you.”

“Can’t wait,” I mutter.

“Sabrina is the last unmarried daughter of Albie Barone. And she’s my niece. As you can guess, there are a lot of potential suitors. My sister has been hoping her youngest child will settle down. Sabrina’s lack of cooperation is becoming a thorn in my side. She’s refused all other marriage offers. Her mother has been beside herself ever since Sabrina took off with no warning. I’m not foolish enough to believe your silly engagement story but Sabrina obviously likes you well enough. Now you can be her husband. You get to keep her happy.”

This doesn’t sound like a request.

“So if I refuse to tie the knot at your command, can I look forward to some concrete shoes at the bottom of the nearest lake?”

He flashes a tight smile. “You flatter yourself to think I’d even bother.”

“Sabrina says that she doesn’t want to get married today. That should be the end of the discussion.”

“Like I said, Sabrina has many other offers. For now I’ll bring her back to Sicily. If you’re not interested in the job, someone else will be. Do you want to take that chance?”

My blood turns molten as his words sink in. I doubt he’s a man who feels the need to be anything other than candid and he dislikes loose ends.

This evil fucker bargains his own flesh and blood away so casually and his message is clear. He’ll marry Sabrina off by force to get her off his hands.

The choice he’s giving me is to cooperate and protect her. Or else watch her get dragged away to serve as a trophy wife for some demented mafia scion like one of the Tempestas.

I’ll fall on a sword before I let that happen.

He waits. He drums his fingers again. His patience has limits. He won’t allow too much of his time to be taken up by his niece’s welfare.

Fine. There’s no need to think twice.

“I’ll do it,” I say. “I’ll marry her. And if you insist that it has to happen today then I’ll marry her today. But this means she gets to remain in New York and go back to school and do whatever the hell else she wants. Good enough?”

If a rattlesnake could smile, it would probably look like Vittorio Messina right now. “I expected no less.”