“Here you are, dolcezza,” I agree.
We stay exactly in that same position, watching one another. She’s sizing me up, trying to figure me out. She won’t. But I have her figured out. Aside from being hesitant, she feels as though she had no choice but to marry me. She’s also scared. I don’t blame her, I would be if I were her too.
I’m selfish. I’m demanding—I’ll be both, her time and her body.
I own her now. A possession that I never thought I would have. She’s landed in my lap and I’m never going to let her go. I’ll never lose her, I won’t fucking allow it. I’ll protect her until my dying breath. Pippa is who I never thought I could have and who I always dreamed of.
The limo stops, but I don’t make a single move to get out of the car. The driver doesn’t open my door either. He knows to wait for my signal, to wait for me to open my door myself. I instructed him before the ceremony.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask.
I watch as her brows furrow. She thinks about my question, then she inhales a deep breath as she leans in closer to me, shifting her hand away from my mouth, I wait as she moves so that her lips are almost touching my own.
“I don’t know, yet,” she whispers. “I suppose I’ll have to wait to see when you hurt me, and how badly it feels. Because I know that Made Men hurt their wives. I just don’t know to the extent that you will deliver your painful blows.”
Shaking my head once, I lean forward, gently nipping her bottom lip with my teeth. Reaching for the handle of the car door, I tug it open. The driver stands to the side, holding the door open for us.
Slipping out of the limo, I don’t answer her. I’m not going to make her blind promises. I will hurt her, there is no doubt. There is no way for me to say that I won’t. There is also no way for me to know the extent of the pain that I will eventually cause her.
For now, we’ll eat, we’ll dance and we will celebrate our union with friends and family, along with famiglia. Later, I’ll take her virginity, finally owning her body for myself, something that I have dreamed of since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
PIPPA
Massimo walks away from me after we’ve eaten, danced our first dance, and cut our cake. I watch as he makes his way over to Gavino and his small circle of men. Pressing my lips together, I’m unable to take my eyes off of him.
I supposed I didn’t realize it three years ago when I was taken to see my sister. Massimo isn’t just a Made Man. He is one of the men at Gavino’s side. One of his top men.
“You’re beautiful,” a voice says from my side.
Turning my head, I smile at my sister. Rosana is stunning in a pale pink tea-length dress. Her black hair is straight down her back, her makeup subtle and perfect for her age. She’s even wearing small heeled strappy sandals. She looks like the little lady that she is on the cusp of womanhood.
“Thank you,” I breathe as I reach for her and wrap my arms around her body.
She returns my hug, her arms tightening around me. “I feel like I’m losing another of my sisters,” she whispers.
My arms flex. “Never,” I swear. “Never.”
“Rosana,” Irene snaps.
Her body flinches. I want to keep her right here with me. She lifts her head, her eyes looking up at me, watery and on the verge of losing it right here. Shaking my head, I release her, knowing that my aunt will be a bitch if I try to keep her with me.
“You know how to get ahold of me. I will always answer your calls, always. When I know my address, I’ll send it to you. Just know, you are never on your own. You always have me, forever.”
She nods, then turns away from me and makes her way toward Irene. The bitch smirks before she jerks her chin and spins her back to me. I watch as they walk away from me.
Irene is my past and I’m not sad to see her go, but Rosana, I’m not sure of the life that she has ahead of her and I would be a liar if I said that I wasn’t worried.
“Dance?” a man’s voice murmurs. Turning, I smile at a man. He’s a little older, but he looks oddly familiar. “Carlo,” he introduces. “My son is Arlo,” he clarifies. “Dance?” he asks again, extending his palm.
Nodding, I smile as I slip my hand in his. Together we walk out onto the dancefloor. There is a Sinatra song playing and I almost laugh at how much of a cliché it is, but I don’t. Carlo has one of my hands in his, the other resting at my side as he effortlessly twirls me around the dancefloor in my gown.
“You make a beautiful bride, mimma.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my face feeling hot from his compliment.
He hums the tune of the song as he smiles at me. “I don’t have daughters. Just my new one, Lenora. She likes you. Tells me so many good things about you,” he says softly.
Clearing my throat, I try not to tear up. “You need to know. This life, it isn’t easy. You women have to be stronger than any man on earth. Are you strong, mimma?”
“Do you know Irene Mazzilli?” I deadpan.
His eyes widen and he lets out a low groan before he chuckles. “I see,” he drawls.
“She loves my sister. Me? Not so much,” I say, admitting it aloud to a near stranger makes me feel funny, but Carlo is comfortable.
We twirl around the floor as the song continues to play. “Understood,” he whispers. “So, you are strong. Good. You will need it if you plan on taming one of these men.”
“Tame?” I ask. “I assumed they were all untamable.”
Carlo lets out a laugh, its loud and boisterous. I’m sure that it causes people to look at us, but I can only see this man in front of me who has beautiful laugh lines and an even more gorgeous laugh. I didn’t know it was possible for any of these men to actually laugh and mean it.
My heart skips, wondering if I will ever hear Massimo laugh, truly laugh. Flicking my gaze over to him and his group of men, I bite my bottom lip as I watch them. He’s in deep discussion with Gavino, I can only see his profile. His gorgeous, but serious, profile.
“May I cut in?”
Turning my head, Carlo’s fingers flex against the small of my back. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says with a clear warning tone to his voice.
The other man doesn’t say a word and Carlo grunts as he reluctantly releases me. The man who takes his place is around Massimo’s age if I had to guess, late-twenties or early thirties. He’s handsome, too, just like most of the men around here.
“Tizaiano Bianchi,” he says, announcing himself.
His fingers curl around my waist as he pulls me a little too close to his body. Lifting my eyes up to meet his, I smile softly, careful not to give away my racing heart at his close presence.
“Pippa,” I say.
He dips his chin, his gaze flicking down to my chest before it lifts back up to meet my own eyes. “You’re a beautiful bride. Massimo is a very lucky man,” he purrs.
My breath hitches, not because he’s complimented me, but because there is meaning behind that compliment. I don’t know who this man is, but I don’t need any trouble. This man is assuredly just that—trouble.
“Thank you,” I whisper, suppressing a shiver.