Page 50 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AHANA

T he house was filling up like an Indian bus.

Italian spilled out of open windows and rolled out through the doorways to the white fabric-covered chairs which filled the garden.

The sun glared, and brighter than that were Ada’s vibrant flowers, primed to perfection.

Cars drove up the driveway, the gravel crunching under the heavy tires of the heated engines, bringing the black to decorate the exterior along with it.

I closed the window in my room and stepped away from it.

It wasn’t the heat outside that sent suffocation spiralling up my throat.

It was the jagged edge rock stuck between my chest and my windpipe.

While my family thought I was married to a man of their culture, caste, and religion, I was getting dressed to marry the man who’d executed him in psycho style.

While they thought I was alone at home in London, I was about to tie the knot under the watchful eyes of hundreds of strangers in Sicily.

Guilt burned like acid inside me. I could never tell my family. They could never know that I was marrying outside of my culture. And Vitale could never know about them. I was stuck. In between the life I wanted and the life I was born into.

My hand clenched around the gold locket around my neck.

The weight of it felt like a burden on this day.

It felt as tight as a metal clasp closing in on my chest. If Pāpā ever found out, it would break him.

Perhaps more than the lies I’d told him about Rajesh.

This betrayal would be the last nail in his coffin, hammered down by his own blood, his eldest daughter.

The apple of his eye. It would split his weak heart in two if he ever found out I’d got married without telling him.

He should have been here. He should have been giving me away.

But when Ada had asked to involve my family, I’d only had silence to fill her in.

How could I tell him and initiate the catastrophe?

What was I to do? I didn’t know anymore. How had I ended up here?

I was caught in my own web of lies. Cornered myself, so deep that I didn’t see an escape route out. All I saw were problems. That kept springing up like land mines on a war-torn landslide. No safety in sight.

I yearned to be the little girl of a long time ago. Pāpā’s favourite, no responsibilities weighing on my shoulders. Nothing but dreams lined up ahead of me. Why had reality marched in and kicked the door open?

I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing.

Choosing between laying the truth out in plain sight and burying it behind sealed lips.

I was a whirlpool of emotions. Standing in neither land.

He said I was strong. The truth was that I was a coward.

Frozen into inaction. Dread held me trapped.

Bringing pain to my family wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

Even worse was the fear that they’d reject me.

I wanted to forget everyone else and just think of myself.

Take charge of my life like I’d taken charge of my business.

But I couldn’t. It felt as impossible as flying. It felt unnatural to even dream of it.

The worst part was that I wanted this. I wanted him. So badly I could feel it in each hitch to my breath. In the pulse fluttering in my throat. In the blood flowing in my veins. I wanted to be his.

If karma were real, it should hit me now and be done with it. Not leave me standing in a gorgeous ivory saree, looking like innocence when I carried nothing but sin.

The door clicked open, and even before I caught his smooth, refined, spicy scent, I knew it was my husband-to-be. He stepped in, and the door shut behind him. He leaned back against it. The lock clicking in place brought a frantic throb to my heartbeat.

He seemed to be the type to not respect the rules. Didn’t think he cared much for not seeing the bride before the deal had been signed.

There was at least twenty feet in between us. From my corner of the room to the door. A bed and a closet in between. But the zap of electricity, the sizzle in the air, made it feel like he was an inch from my face.

He was in a three-piece suit in sage green. A white dress shirt hid underneath his waistcoat, and cognac brown shoes polished off his good-enough-to-devour look.

His gaze rolled on me lazily. Heated my skin like a breeze on a hot summer day.

My saree was a modern retelling. Divya had made a masterpiece out of it.

The blouse, made of raw, gold silk, was a simple bandana around my breasts.

The saree itself was a mixture of rich silk and soft linen in ivory, carrying little sparkles of gold beads.

It was supposed to be light and breezy. But when his gaze found mine and burned with approval, it felt heavy and stuck to me like a feverish heat.

He pushed off the door, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Looks like a lot of work.”

Of all the things I’d thought he’d say, that wasn’t it. I shoved down the disappointment. Entirely. “Not really. I’m used to wearing them.”

“Good.”

Suspicion tickled in. “Why?”

Something dark and delicious glinted in his eyes. “What did I tell you about the next time you wear one of these?”

Fucking on the closest surface came to mind. The air filled with hot insinuation. Heavy. Tangible. Wicked. He can’t be serious.

“Does the O between your lips mean you remembered? Or should I jog your memory?”

“But—” My words stumbled. Without realising it, I was moving. My ass hit the windowsill. “We are getting married today. Now, ” I added, in case he’d forgotten the time.

His expression didn’t shift. If anything, it only became more resolute. He moved towards me. Eating up the space between us. Slow and steady. “Should have thought of that before you put yourself in that.”

“You can’t be serious.” He was three feet away from me. His body heat radiating. Delicious. “There are people waiting, Vitale.” A crackle of laughter outside punctuated it. “Please.” I dropped all pretence and pleaded.

“I don’t give a fuck.” He orbited around me, and I moved nervously away from the window, avoiding him. “Now undress before I do it myself.”

“We shouldn’t do this.”

He went on as if he hadn’t heard me. “I can’t guarantee it’ll end up in one piece if I do it.”

“You can’t—”

He prowled towards me, his front an inch from mine. Dark determination swam in his eyes.

I hot-footed a step back. Held up my hand. “Okay. Okay. Mere to hosh udd gaye! ”

He cocked his head. “I hope that’s just a long yes.”

I glared at him. “Of course not. It means I must have lost my mind.”

His eyes glittered dangerously. “You and me both, baby.”

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I couldn’t decide if it was a nightmare or a wet dream. Butterflies rustled in my stomach, and panic rushed in my eardrums. My hands were anything but steady when I lifted the tail of the saree resting on my shoulder.

“Spin,” he said, his eyes dark, words wrapped in a command.

I gave him my back and turned in confusion.

Caught his scorching gaze in the mirror.

The saree unfolded reluctantly, silk in my hands and heat in his gaze.

It unravelled smoothly, as smooth as his eyes that followed its path, eagerly.

When the nine yards of fabric were heavy in my hands, I laid it on the bed, careful not to damage the little beads wrapped within it.

The woman-eater behind me had no patience. An annoyed huff of breath left him before he pointed to my silk skirt. “That needs to go.”

The look in his eyes told me I’d better hurry if I wanted it in one piece. I wiggled and shimmied out of it. Outside, crystal glasses tingled. “Happy?”

“Not quite.” He nodded towards the bandana around my breasts.

Of course he would. I unclasped it and it flew to the bed like a golden butterfly.

He licked his lips. My nipples tightened.

Heat pulsed on my naked breasts. His gaze was intent.

The green in it but a distant spark. It felt like he barely held back, and it did nothing to chill the heat spreading through my body. I tugged on my thong.

“Leave it,” he rasped.

His eyes were ravenous. A sound of satisfaction left him.

It was all male and possessive. It was wild and burned like a furnace as it ran over my body.

Top to toe and back. Again and again. His hand fisted, and behind his slacks, he grew heavy.

I should have felt naked. Bare. Ashamed.

But I couldn’t look away. This was the most seductive reflection I’d ever seen.

A dark obsession grew inside me. Watching him watch me in the mirror was a thrill I wanted to chase.

The little things I wore intensified everything.

Abrasive like sandpaper on silk. The scrap of ivory lace between my legs was warm and drenched.

The heels on my feet, sensitive. The jewellery around my neck and earrings heavy.

My long hair coating my back was silk in heat.

His hand trembled when he placed it on my hip. It sizzled on my skin like lava and heat. He buried his lips on my shoulder and groaned into my skin. “Fuck, you were gorgeous in that saree, but without a stitch on, you’re fucking heaven.”

His hand ran from my hip to the side of my breast. His skin was tanned. Lighter than mine. When his hand cupped my breast and squeezed, I almost combusted watching the vision in the reflection.

“Are you wet for me, mia ammaliatrice? ” he asked quietly.

I didn’t respond. He didn’t expect me to. Suddenly, he shifted and sank to his knees. A large hand rolled the ivory lace to one side, and the other pushed my back to bend. Before my next breath, he’d stuck his head in between my legs.

I gasped. One hand flew to my mouth, and the other gripped the mirror in front. He gave me a hungry gaze before his lips found my core.

“Hey Bhagwan.”

He gave a soft lick. Traced the line from top to bottom.

“Fucking sweet.” His rough whisper hit my clit.

Then he went from zero to one hundred. Instantly.

He French kissed my core like the beginning and end to all that existed.

Heat spread from his lips to the rest of my body.

My eyes dropped shut. My legs trembled, trying to hold on to my eight-inch heels and not sink to the floor.

My arms strained from holding on to the mirror.

My clit throbbed when he traced it. Then he took it in his mouth and sucked.

I gritted my teeth and bit into my palm.

I had long since closed my eyes. I couldn’t look.

Couldn’t. No. I have to look. My eyes snapped open, and oh my god.

Watching him completely dressed in his three-piece, dark head between my legs, devouring me…

I snapped. Groaned into my palm and burst into a cluster mess of emotions. Need. Greed. Ecstasy. Heaven. Nirvana.

When I came to, I tasted copper on the inside of my mouth. My body was flushed, and my eyes were infused with lust. Behind me, his face appeared next to mine, his chin was wet, and his lips were thick. The fact that it was because he’d gone down on me made me quiver.

He left a trail of rough five o’clock scratches on my shoulder. “What do you say I send the priest home and fuck you all day?”

My breath halted. I wasn’t too far gone not to take the out to ease the burden in my chest. My vocal cords were dysfunctional. I worked my throat. But my words didn’t even spill before his expression thundered.

His eyes flashed, and a hand slammed into my mouth. “Don’t even fucking think about it. Just one fuck to get me through the day. Then you’re going to sign the papers that make you mine today.”

The room filled with the sound of his zipper going down. He pulled my hips to him, and his rubber-clad thickness touched my opening. I wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or that he just made me that wet, but he didn’t even have to push for his erection to slip an inch through my lips.

A knock on the door jerked my hips away from him. “Ahana, are you ready?”

My panicked glance caught his glare in the mirror.

He gripped my hips against him and slipped inside me. Entirely. I bit into my lip to stop myself from moaning. “You leave me hanging this time, I’m going to snap someone’s head off.”

“Ahana?” Divya’s voice rang out.

“Don’t even fucking think I’m joking,” he growled against my neck.

Wouldn’t I know it.

“We can’t keep everyone waiting,” I whispered.

“Try me,” he growled.

The door handle rattled. “Vitale will be coming soon.”

“Oh, Vitale is going to come soon.” He bit my neck.

I rolled my eyes and cleared my throat. “Just another ten minutes.”

Silence. Oh my God. My voice. Divya sure wasn’t an idiot. She knew what was happening. It was clear when she said, “Okay, ten minutes, Vitale.” And walked away.

“Kill me now,” I muttered.

“If it’s heaven, you want to see, I got you, mia ammaliatrice. ” With that, he pounded into me, and somehow, somewhere, I decided it was better to see the heaven he showed me than the one I’d see one day.