Page 9 of Unworthy Ties

Gabriella

R occo and I had fallen into a pattern. On weekends, he was gone before I woke up and would return when I had already fallen asleep. During the weekdays, he would be out of bed before me and drinking coffee on the sofa. Then, he would leave and come home after I had fallen asleep.

So, imagine my surprise when he said we were going on a date. Said, mind you. He didn’t ask if I wanted to or if I was free that evening; he simply stated it as a fact, as though it were a foregone conclusion.

“Excuse me?” I sputtered.

“We’re going on a date,” he deadpanned, his eyes focusing on his phone rather than me. It was a challenge and an order rolled into one statement.

“A date?” I echoed, uncertainty creeping in. “Don’t you have like, work to do or something?”

“No,” he responded. He didn’t continue the conversation, instead choosing to look down at his phone.

I watched him for a while, his straight brows furrowed as he scrolled through whatever it was that had his attention. A multitude of questions rushed into my mind—why now? Where would we go? What would we do?

“Why do you want to go on a date with me?” I blurted, unable to keep the thoughts to myself.

“Because you’re my wife?” He answered, not looking up from his phone. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if my question was nonsensical.

Rocco was so frustrating. Yes, I was his wife, but it was an arranged marriage. The only thing he was obliged to do was keep my basic needs met and keep up appearances for our families. But a date?

“Be ready at five,” he said, before standing up and walking into his office.

“I-ugh!”

After a long talk with Giuseppe and six hours later, my frustration had dissipated. Now, I was standing by the door, my heart pounding with anticipation.

What? No, it couldn’t be anticipation. I wasn’t excited about this date; I was merely... curious. It had been a while since we last interacted beyond plain pleasantries, and this sudden change in routine was strangely refreshing.

I might have been lying to myself.

I stood at the front door wearing a sleek black dress that hugged my curves, paired with strappy heels that made my legs look impossibly long.

I had spent more time than I cared to admit on my hair and makeup, telling myself it was just because I wanted to look presentable in public.

It certainly wasn’t to impress a grumpy mafioso.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

Before I could protest further, Rocco dragged me out of the penthouse and into the elevator. His hand on my lower back was firm, offering no room for resistance. My face burned bright red at the touch, and I quickly lowered my gaze to the elevator floor.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and I followed him into the parking garage, my heart pounding with an unfamiliar rhythm.

Rocco led me to a sleek black car, the kind that whispered of power and elegance, and opened the door for me.

I slid into the passenger seat, unsure of what to expect as I adjusted my dress, smoothing the fabric over my thighs.

Rocco climbed in beside me, and the car came to life with a low, throaty growl.

He was silent, focused on the road ahead, yet the tension in the air felt palpable.

“Do you ever smile?” I asked, breaking the silence.

His lips curled slightly at the corners, a flicker of amusement that quickly vanished. “I smile when it’s warranted.”

I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. The man beside me was a riddle wrapped in a mystery, and as much as I wanted to unravel him, I found myself caught in the storm of his silence. The car glided through the streets, the city lights painting a dreamy backdrop against the darkening sky.

The car pulled up to a quiet corner of the harbor where a sleek yacht was anchored.

Rocco stepped out and came around to open my door, offering me his hand.

I accepted it, stepping onto the pier with a glance around.

The large yacht was illuminated by moonlight, a stunning white vessel bobbing gently on the dark, shimmering water.

“You rented a yacht for a date?” I said, overwhelmed by the grandiose gesture. “You didn’t have to—”

“I own it.”

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath, but he heard it—the corner of his mouth twitched as he guided me up the gangway.

The deck was deserted, polished wood gleaming under strands of fairy lights strung above us.

A table sat near the bow, set with candles flickering inside hurricane glass holders, silverware glinting beside bone-white plates.

The wind carried salt and the distant hum of the city, but here, it felt like we’d slipped into another world.

Shoot. It was going to be freezing on this boat, and I only had on a skimpy dress.

I ran my hands up and down my arms, already feeling the goosebumps forming.

Rocco noticed my shivering and wordlessly shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

The warmth of the fabric and his lingering scent enveloped me, causing a flutter in my stomach that I quickly tried to suppress.

He pulled out my chair without a word. I sank into it, clutching his coat tighter around me as he took the seat opposite. His gaze never left me, heavy and unreadable, even as a server materialized silently to pour champagne.

“Why all this?” I asked finally, gesturing at the absurd opulence around us.

He leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass. The candlelight carved shadows beneath his cheekbones, making his eyes look like smoldering coal. “I can’t take my wife on a date?”

His free hand closed over mine on the tablecloth, thumb grazing my knuckles. Static shot up my arm.

“Tch,” I said, looking away from him as I turned bright red. “This is an arranged marriage, remember?”

His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass.

“Arranged,” he repeated, low and deliberate, as if tasting the word for poison.

“And yet here you sit in my clothes.” His gaze dropped to where his oversized coat swallowed my frame, lingering on the strip of bare thigh exposed by the shifted fabric.

The air between us thickened, charged like the moment before a lightning strike.

The champagne flute slipped from my fingers as he leaned across the table.

Crystal shattered against the teak planks just as his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

“You mistake paperwork for prison bars,” he murmured, breath hot against skin he had no right to know made my knees weak.

“I could have you screaming vows you actually mean before dessert.”

The world tilted—whether from the yacht cresting a wave or the way his teeth scraped my earlobe, I couldn’t tell.

My palm met his chest to push him back, but the heat of him seeped through his dress shirt, betraying me.

“You’re delusional,” I hissed, though the tremor in my voice peeled the lie bare.

Rocco’s laugh was dark velvet. “Am I?” His hand slid up my thigh beneath the table, fingertips tracing my exposed thigh. Every rational thought dissolved into primal static.

Just as his hand was about to slide under my dress, a server appeared suddenly at our table, breaking the spell. Rocco leaned back smoothly, as if nothing had happened, while I struggled to compose myself.

“Your first course, sir and madam,” the server announced, placing two small plates before us.

The delicate aroma of truffle and herbs wafted up, but I could barely focus on the food.

My skin still tingled where Rocco had touched me, and my heart raced.

I took a large gulp of water, trying to cool the heat that had spread through my body.

Rocco seemed unperturbed, casually picking up his fork as if he hadn’t just set my nerves on fire. I watched him take a bite, the way his jaw worked as he chewed. When had I started noticing these things about him?

I’d obsessed over Felix for ten years, but I had never taken the time to notice the intricacies of Rocco. Suddenly, everything he did caught my attention.

“Eat,” Rocco commanded softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “The food is delicious.”

I startled, realizing I’d been staring. Flustered, I picked up my fork and took a bite of the exquisite dish before me.

The flavors exploded on my tongue, a symphony of tastes that momentarily distracted me from the tension crackling between us.

I savored each bite, aware of Rocco’s gaze on me as I ate.

We got through our meal in a charged silence, the only sounds being the clink of silverware and the gentle lapping of waves against the yacht.

I needed to say something, anything, to break this silence.

“That was really good,” I managed to say as we finished dessert.

“Mhm. Let’s go out onto the top deck and enjoy the view.”

Rocco helped me out of my chair with practiced grace that felt more like a claim than courtesy, his palm searing through silk as it settled against my lower back. Night air kissed my flushed skin as we emerged onto the deserted upper deck, salt and danger mingling in every breath.

He leaned against the polished railing like a panther surveying conquered territory, moonlight gilding the wicked angles of his face. “Still pretending you don’t like this?” The question slithered across my nape as his thumb found the frantic pulse beneath my jaw.

I opened my mouth to protest—to resurrect some shred of self-preservation—but his other hand slid beneath my hair, fingertips tracing constellations down my spine that unraveled every coherent thought. The harbor lights blurred as he tilted my chin up, our shared breath fogging the crisp air.

His mouth crashed over mine with the violence of a storm breaking—a claiming masquerading as a kiss.

I gripped his shoulders to steady myself as his teeth caught my lower lip, a punishment and a promise fused into one.

The world narrowed to the scrape of his stubble against my cheek, the possessive arch of his body caging me against chilled metal as waves roared beneath us.

He swallowed my gasp when his hands dropped to my hips, lifting me onto the railing like an offering to whatever gods watched over fools and ruined things. My thighs instinctively clamped around him as he stepped between them, our bodies slotting together with damning precision.

“Still,” he growled against my collarbone as I shuddered, “pretending you don’t belong to me?”

I dug fingers into his hair, torn between pushing him into oblivion or pulling him closer. I had spent ten years longing for his brother, but Felix’s name turned to ash on my tongue when Rocco bit down where my pulse throbbed—a sharp sting blooming into liquid heat that pooled low in my belly.

His knee pressed higher between my thighs as distant music swelled from the deck below, some waltz meant for real lovers. Gold cufflinks bit into my palms when I yanked him closer, my body betraying every lie I’d told myself about him.

The railing groaned beneath us as he leaned into the abyss—nothing at my back but hungry waves and his grip keeping me from falling. I arched into danger’s teeth and tasted sin on his tongue. The world spun dizzyingly as he pulled back just enough to rasp, “Say it. Tell me you want this.”

“I…” I started, but before I could finish, a large wave lurched the boat to the side.

The sudden motion sent us careening sideways, my grip on Rocco’s shirt the only thing keeping me from plummeting into the churning waters below. His arm shot out, wrapping around my waist and yanking me against his chest as we stumbled away from the railing.

We crashed onto the deck, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. Rocco’s body cushioned my fall, his arms still locked around me as if he feared I might slip away like sea foam.

The wave had also washed the moment away; the two of us no longer caught up in one another. For a heartbeat, we lay there, stunned and silent. The distant music had stopped, replaced by shouts of alarm from the deck below. Rocco’s chest heaved beneath me, his heart thundering against my palm.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice rough with concern.

“Yes,” I responded, rolling off of him and standing up.

Even though the wave had almost dragged me out to sea, I was secretly grateful for it. I had no idea how to answer Rocco’s question—did I want this?