Page 51 of Runaway in the Mafia (The shadows of Cosa Nostra Chronicles #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

VITALE

S atisfaction hummed in my body. Pleasure coasted through my veins. My gaze followed her in a half-aroused state. She was a lamb put amid my devious family. But she handled it like a queen, with a smile on her face and praise falling from her lips.

They said beauty was in the beholder’s eye.

Well, it looked like this party of made men only followed one eye line, and that was the path of my wife.

My wife. Fuck. I knew the moment I met her that she was made to be mine.

I’d had suits custom-made for me. Furniture down to the last hinge and little screws with my fucking initials.

Hell, my entire house was tailor-made just for me.

But nothing moulded so perfectly into place like she did.

Like the ying to my yang. The lock to my key.

The only difference now was that the rest of the world had finally caught up.

There was a fucking piece of paper to prove it and a ridiculous ceremony I couldn’t give a shit about to show it.

If it were up to me, I would have put the gun to the mayor’s head in the town hall, and it would have been a done deal.

But there was something to be said about my whole ass family and covetous cronies seeing her with me.

I could get used to this. If I had known marriage was going to be this enticing, I would have tied her down the second she rocked up to me in her towel-clad body.

It was fucking perfect. If only I could get rid of the frustration twitching under my veins.

There was an annoying voice in my head. One that started with a whisper that was building up to an obnoxious buzz.

She doesn’t want it as much as I do. Her willingness to take an out had proved it.

Given the chance, she’d drop me like a firecracker and bolt for the exit.

It didn’t sit right with me. Made my blood boil in my veins.

I had the paper. I’d announced it to the world.

But nothing would stop my wife from running if she found the opportunity.

My head throbbed, and the hand around my whiskey tightened.

The conversations around me dimmed to a buzz.

Secrets and sins. I thought I’d be done with that.

I’d thought getting rid of a limp dicked, wife beater would be it.

But knowing she hadn’t invited any of her family told me there was a whole fucking bible of it hidden behind her veiled eyes.

I was getting fucking impatient. Desperate to see her naked, without the layer of secrets.

I didn’t want to be the one to force the truth out of her.

I’d promised myself I’d give her time. I’d let her lead the path to her life.

I’d already forced her hand by backing her into this marriage.

But I’d told myself I couldn’t… wouldn’t force feed everything about our marriage.

Jesus fuck, it hurt to wait, and knowing she wanted an out had brought a wrench to my patience.

The bolts were loosening fast, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to hold on.

I wanted her to trust me. With everything she had. One day, I hoped she’d come to me. Tell me everything about her. The irrational monster in me wanted that day to be today.

In my fucking dreams.

I sighed and skimmed my gaze to the right.

Antonio was huddled in a corner, a hand on his wife’s waist and a grip on her chin.

It looked very fucking intense. Two seconds passed before little Cora shoved her way in between.

Antonio’s groan of frustration carried over to me as he reluctantly took a step back.

Cora stood before Divya, her arms crossed, body locked in defiance.

Whatever he was trying to push through wasn’t working.

Both the girls giggled in perfect mother-daughter amity when my c onsigliere whirled and came towards me, carrying an annoyed glare.

This was the reason Divya was my favourite of all the wives of my men.

She was the only one to rattle his nerves like a gorilla in a cage.

“That fucking saree.” Antonio dropped into the chair next to me.

I shrugged. It was nice. But not as beautiful as it was on my wife.

My wife .

“It’s nine yards of a mystery.”

“Not anymore,” I muttered, my gaze on my wife, over the rim of my glass.

He eyed me with a grin. “Unwrapped it already, huh?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Couldn’t wait till the end of the day?”

“No fucking way.”

Antonio palmed his face and groaned into it. “To think I held out until the end of the day.”

“It’s practically a sex invitation.”

“What’s a sex invitation?”

I looked up to find Martello standing behind me, a half-puffed cigarette in his hand and annoyance in his attitude. My brother-in-law and I weren’t a match made in heaven. He wanted my sister all to himself, and I couldn’t help reminding him that I knew her way before he ever set eyes on her.

I couldn’t handle five minutes with him without him rubbing up against me in an annoying way. He very well thought the same about me. The tip of my tongue burned with a snide remark. But Antonio shot me a warning glare and intervened. “A saree.”

“A woman in a saree,” I corrected. Mine specifically.

Martello’s cynical gaze followed Divya and Ahana. “Really?”

“Get Daria to wear one and you’ll get it.”

I glared at Antonio. “Jackass, we’re talking about my little sister.”

“My wife now.” My brother-in-law jumped in to set me right. Cunt. “It looks like a fuck load of trouble.”

I agree.

“To rip it off.”

I groaned and closed my eyes to block the imagery of him ripping anything off my sister.

“Hmm…” My eyes snapped open to catch Antonio’s pensive gaze on Divya. I couldn’t help but follow his line of thought smoothly.

“Test drive.”

Except my consigliere had the patience to wait, eye fucking his wife from his chair. I didn’t. I was off my seat and striding towards her to their rude chuckles and cat calls. Idiots. You’d think we were in high school, not grown ass made men carrying weapons on our hips.

“Time to take off.” Daria and Lia, standing next to my wife, looked at me like I’d grown twice in size. I had. They were just looking at the wrong head.

“You have got to be kidding me, Ale, the party just started,” Daria said, her expression stunned.

“Don’t care. It’s my party, and I’m ending it.” I wrapped my hand around Ahana’s wrist and tugged.

She, of course, yanked her hand back and stepped away. “No.”

For fuck’s sake. “Ahana.” I gave her a warning glare. It should have cut off any words she thought to spit out.

All it did was notch her determination up the scale. “It’s my party too, and I’m staying.”

Bullshit. She just didn’t want to go home with me. She hated this shit as much as I did. I glared. She fumed. My jaw strained. “You should know better than to disobey me.”

“And you should know better than to order me.”

We glared at each other. We were in our own bubble. Vaguely, I registered my sister’s interest bouncing in between us. But the pretty little scowl across from me got all my fucking attention.

I wasn’t giving in. It was my fucking party, and it was continuing back home on my silk sheets.

Where I’d wanted her from day one. I was done with fucking her against a wall.

Then she cocked her head, twisted her lips into a sultry smile, and whispered a line that got me.

Fucking hell. It hit my chest. At close-range.

“I want to enjoy this wedding.”

My jaw ground. Of course, she used that line on purpose. “Fine.” I couldn’t believe I was doing this. “One hour.”

“Three.”

“Don’t mistake me for a fucking monk. One and a half.”

“Two.” She was enjoying it.

Turned out I was, too. “One and a half on the dot.” But it didn’t stop me from wrapping my hand around her waist and smashing my lips to hers.

When I came back for air, our audience had disappeared.

I tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear and whispered the next words.

“And the next time you disobey me, I’m tossing you over my shoulder and shutting you up with my cock. ”

One hour and thirty minutes later, the guests watched in stunned amusement as I burst out of the party with my wife’s hand laced in mine. They could party into the next morning for all I cared. I was going home and fucking my wife to next Sunday.

Her frustration was palpable as I shoved her in the car and buckled her in.

I got the mayor and the priest to come to Mamma’s house to get all the white line shit done.

And it had nothing to do with welcoming them to Carlo’s home and everything to do with making her mine.

As soon as possible. And now it was time to start the next phase of our marriage.

Besides, I wasn’t going through another second of a jackass’s eyes on my wife’s body or another uncle’s leery gaze virtually tearing her saree off.

The only tearing would be done by me and soon.

I ignored her annoyed glare when I slid into the car. Instead, I started the motor and left a cloud of dust behind us.

“You know this is not how a normal wedding works, right?”

My agitation from earlier brewed. I didn’t need a fucking reminder of the fucker who’d had her before me. “A normal wedding or yours to that wet noodle?”

A sound of frustration filled the car. “I mean normal, as in everyone else’s wedding. You know, the ones who’re not lunatics.”

My gaze flicked to hers. Hers was angry and focused to the front. Arms crossed, lips thinned. Let it go. But the sheet of annoyance rippling under my skin made me go looking for it.

“I am curious, though.” Stop it. “How did your other wedding go? Bet he didn’t make you come twice before the ceremony.”

An angry gasp left her body, but she ignored my bait. “Indian weddings are different to yours.”

“Yeah?” I didn’t relent. Couldn’t. “If you wanted an Indian wedding, Mamma would have been more than happy to arrange it for you. But you didn’t, did you?”

Silence.