Home > Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(23)

Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(23)
Author: Bella Di Corte

“Yes,” I said. “You don’t seem like a man who has time for games.”

“You don’t look like the rest. You stand out. You could be a queen on a throne. One I’d feel privileged to call wife. You have the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.” He steepled his fingers, watching me even more…intensely, almost studying me in a way that I wasn’t used to: with appreciation. “‘The man said, "This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman, for she was taken out of man.’ I’d be honored to call you bone of my bones; flesh of my flesh. My woman.”

It took me a moment to get my head on straight. His words were almost too blunt, but they were filled with so much truth, it made me a little faint.

Finally, I knew I had to say something, or he would see that he’d made me weak with a few words. “No one has ever…” What was I even saying? He made me too honest, admitting things better left in the darkness. He’s too aware of me already. Those eyes had too much light in them. I knew they were hiding darkness, too, but the contrast between the dark rings around his irises and the blue only made his light even brighter to me.

“Fuck them.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They don’t matter.”

“You do?”

“The only one,” he said. “Il capo.”

“I’ll accept your why,” I said, wanting to change the direction of the conversation. “But there’s more to this than looks alone. Give me other reasons why.”

Rocco and Capo exchanged glances before Capo spoke again.

“What if there are no other reasons? What if the only reason you’re sitting here with me is because I want to hear my name coming out of that pillow-soft mouth of yours, and for the rest of my life, I refuse to allow another man to have the same honor?”

I swallowed down a gulp of water, almost choking again. “That’s honorable,” I said, glad my voice didn’t waver. “But not the entire truth.”

“It’s not,” he said. “But don’t assume anything with me, Mariposa. That would be a mistake. I’m honorable, but only to a certain degree.” His eyes seemed to heat at whatever he thought. The color somehow became darker, a wild storm I could feel in the pit of my stomach.

He was using only a few words to insinuate something much more complicated. Honorable to a certain degree. The attraction between us felt like a living thing that couldn’t be denied. I wanted to touch it. I wanted him to touch me again. I was the numb sky to his strike of electricity.

“Mari,” Rocco said, and I turned to him. “Yes or no. Do you consent to go forward with this meeting? If you do, we will work out the terms, but the arrangement will be live.”

Ironic he had used the homophone “live.”

Holding Capo’s stare, I licked my lips and asked, “Live?”

“You will be my wife,” Capo said, his voice dipping even lower.

“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “I say yes. I do consent. Let’s go forward with the arrangement.”

 

 

Before we could really get started, Rocco went over the most important reason Capo wanted to “take a bride.”

“His grandfather’s sick,” I repeated. At this point, they might as well have called me parrot instead of my name. At every turn, I continued to be shocked.

Rocco nodded and went into more detail. After Capo’s grandmother had died, all he had was his grandfather as a parental figure. His grandfather was dying, and one of his last wishes was to see his grandson married. Before I could even spit out the question, Rocco answered it—Capo would never bring a woman home to meet his grandfather and lie about marrying her. It was out of the question.

I nodded, meeting Capo’s eyes. They rarely moved from my face. Even when I paid attention to Rocco, I could still feel them. “I can understand that,” I said. “My—adoptive mother, she died of cancer when I was ten.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Capo said.

“You have no family, Mari, but it will be required of you to travel to Italy to meet Capo’s.”

“I do.” My voice came out strong. “Have family.”

Both men’s eyes narrowed.

“My best friend, Keely. She’s my family. Her brothers, too.”

Rocco looked at Capo, waiting for him to respond.

“I’ll meet them formally,” he said, “at the party her family is hosting. They’re celebrating her new job. Around two weeks from today. Sunday.”

“How did you know that?”

“I know everything, Mariposa. I know even more when it comes to you.” He ticked off her parent’s names with his fingers and then named each of her brothers and their ages. He gave me a second before he continued. “We know this is an arrangement, Mariposa, but the people in your circle won’t. I will not demand that you lie to your friend, but the truth will be bent. We met today for an interview for a possible position at my club. Once you realized I was the man from Macchiavello’s, we had our moment and things changed.

“I felt it was a conflict of interest to employ you. We had lunch, discussed things people in lust do, and you’d like to invite me to their family thing.” He waved a hand. “We’ll spend time together during the two weeks. I’ll pick you up from her place. Dating.” He seemed to hate the word, because he kind of spit it out. “Then during their family thing, you’ll announce that we’re engaged. We’ll be married at city hall in New York the weekend after. We’ll be married at the end of June in Italy, as well. A proper wedding. Your friends are welcome to attend.”

With all that he’d said, I could only concentrate on one thing. “You know everything about me, but what do I really know about you?”

He leaned forward, taking his hands together on the table, his eyes not absorbing me in a personal way anymore. “You mentioned other reasons for me doing this. You got the second main one, my grandfather’s wish. I hold one heart and more than one vein close to my chest, though. There are other factors at play here, Mariposa. I need you to give me time to bring them to light.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Scusami?”

I grinned. Even though I had no Italian, I sensed what he had said, something the equivalent of excuse me? “How many veins should I expect? The ones connecting to the main heart?”

“You want a number.” He leaned back in his chair, studying my face. “Two.”

“No,” I said. “Pick another number.”

“You want me to make something up.”

“No,” I repeated. “But bad things come in threes. I don’t want you to make something up, but I challenge you to find something good about this situation after your two ‘veins’ are opened up to me. Give me three so we’ll come out with four, with the main heart.”

He stared at me for an intense five minutes, at least. Then he nodded. “I agree.”

Rocco wrote something down.

I liked this. I really, really liked this. Putting everything on the table beforehand. We were hashing our shit out before we committed to each other. Marriage was not supposed to be a business dealing, but in an odd way, I thought that maybe it should be sometimes. I expect this of you. You expect this of me. You do for me. I do for you. And neither of us will cross certain lines. It removed a lot of the weight that felt like it had come crashing down on my back when he had first made his proposal.

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