Arranged Mafia Marriage

“We’re better equipped than whatever you’re carrying in there, I assure you,” Seb throws the words over his shoulder as he marches toward the inner part of the house. He passes the rest of his brothers, who are deep in conversation-presumably plotting the end of whoever was crazy enough to shoot at the house of the grandmother of the Don of the Cosa Nostra. OMG, someone was shooting at me. Someone was trying to kill me, and if Seb hadn’t pushed me out of the way, they might have succeeded.

A trembling grips me and my teeth begin to chatter. I try to squeeze my lips together, try to curl into myself, to bury myself in his shirt, but nothing makes it better.

“Shh…” He holds me closer to his chest. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

For some reason, I believe him. And it’s nothing to do with the fact that his chest is broad, and the heat from his body is furnace-level hot, or that he smells soooo good. I draw in a huge lungful of Seb and my head spins. Nothing can hurt me as long as he has his arms around me. Why do I feel so safe in the embrace of one of the Mafioso who rule this city? Or is it precisely because I know what he does for a living that I’m confident he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt anyone who’d dare come after me? OMG, he really is John Wick come to life, isn’t he?

“Who…who was that, who shot at me?” I ask, mainly because I want to stop the line of thought buzzing through my mind.

“Whoever it was, he doesn’t have much longer left to live,” he answers in a grim voice.

I swallow. A shiver runs down my spine. The menace in his voice is a reminder of how his way of life is so different from mine. The confidence with which he speaks is also a turn on. I shouldn’t find the violence inherent in him so appealing, but my elevated breathing, the way my pulse flutters as he tucks my head under his chin, the moisture that laces the flesh between my legs-all of it, insists otherwise.

He shoulders his way inside a bathroom and comes to a stop in front of the sink. I try to pull away from him but he only tightens his grasp around me.

“Hush,” he says in a voice that brooks no argument, “calm down first.”

We stay that way for a few seconds, during which time I allow myself to relax in his embrace. Allow myself to rub my cheek against his shirt, to draw his musky, edgy scent into my lungs, and close my eyes and pretend it’s okay that a well-known Mafioso is comforting me after someone shot at me. Jesus, I was shot at.

“Feeling better?” his voice rumbles against my cheek.

I nod, and he lowers me onto the counter.

He peers into my face, then swears. “You’re still bleeding.”

He grabs a fresh cloth, wets it under the tap, and presses it to my wound.

I wince and his jaw hardens further. He takes my hand and presses it against the washcloth. “Hold it there,” he orders as he moves away. Every time he speaks, authority drips from him. It must be nice to know that whatever he says, us mere mortals will obey.

He reaches up and grabs a first-aid kit from the shelf above the sink, then shakes out cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic. He moves to stand between my legs, and when I lower the washcloth, he presses the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball to the wound.

I hiss out a breath.

A pulse tics to life in his jaw and his features seem to grow stormier. His actions, however, grow gentler. He dabs at the blood, tosses away the bloodied cotton ball, repeats his action with the next, and with the next. When he’s finally satisfied, he places a bandage on the cut.

“There.” He surveys his handiwork. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” I say truthfully, “it’s just a surface cut.”

“On your face.” He scowls. “They hurt your face.”

“Technically, I think I hurt it when you pushed me down and threw yourself on top of me and-”

He glares at me, and I forget my train of thought. My stomach twists. Bam-Bam-Bam, my heart collides with my ribcage. Wariness trickles down my spine. I lean back from him, trying to put distance between us. To my surprise, he steps back and I slide down to place my feet on the floor and straighten. Unfortunately, that also means my breasts brush his chest. Heat sluices through my veins and my breath catches.

Every muscle in his body seems to tense. The tendons of his throat move as he swallows. Is he as affected by my proximity as I am by his?

“How do you feel?” he growls.

“I am fine, really.” I peer into his features. “You, however, seem agitated.”

His lips firm and he wraps his fingers around my wrist. Goosebumps pop on my skin. Little frissons of sensations arrow out from the point of contact. “Wh-what are you doing?” I croak.

“Accompanying you back to the others.”

Before I can protest, he’s turned and pushed open the doorway of the bathroom. He drags me along, and I could protest, but weariness grips me and I allow him to tug me along. We reach the living room, where the group of men I’d seen earlier are talking in low voices.

The doctor sees us and rushes forward. She surveys my forehead and nods, “Good job.”

Seb grunts.

“Do you need a painkiller?” she asks.

“No,” I say at the very same time that Seb snaps, “Yes.”

She glances between us, then pulls out a pad from her handbag, writes out a prescription and hands it over to me. Before I can reach for it, jerkface here has snatched it from her and pocketed it.

“Hey,” I scowl, “that’s my prescription.”

He ignores me and nods in the doctor’s direction, “Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will.” The doctor turns to me. “You take care, and if you need anything, make sure you call me. Seb has my number.” She smiles again, then pats me on the shoulder. She turns to leave, and Theresa runs over and hugs me.

“Oh, my god, you gave me a scare. Are you okay?”

“I am.” I squeeze her shoulders. “Sorry I barged in on your dinner like this. I didn’t know where else to go when I realized that I was being followed.”

“You were followed?” Seb snaps from behind me.

I draw in a breath. I will not lose my temper. I will stay calm.

“What’s it to you?” I shoot him a sideways glance. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m speaking to my friend.”

“Axel’s calling you.” He nods over Theresa’s shoulder. I follow his gaze to find that, sure enough, her new husband is trying to get her attention. They were married a few days ago.

“You sure you’re okay?” She peers into my face. “If you want me to stay with you-”

I shake my head, “No, go. I don’t want to keep you.”

“I can stay, really,” she insists.

“I’ll be fine.” I kiss her cheek. “Go, be with your new husband.”

“You sure?” she whispers.

“I’m sure.” I step back.

Her features break into a smile, and she turns and almost skips across the floor to where Axel waits for her. The two of them lock lips in a kiss that seems to go on and on.

“Pussy-whipped motherfucker,” Seb snorts.

“What do you mean?” I turn on him. “They’re in love.”

“Like I said, pussy-whipped,” he says with a smirk.

“Why do men have to be so macho when it comes to admitting that two people can be in love?”

“Because love is an illusion?” His lips thin. “It’s one way that women and men con each other into believing that they have feelings, when really, all they want to do is jump each other.”

“You don’t believe that, do you? If that were true, how do you explain Theresa and Axel, who are not only in love, but married?”

“They got lucky, I guess?” He raises a shoulder. “Doesn’t mean most people do.”

“What do you have against falling in love?”

“It’s not for me,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument.

“With that grumpy attitude of yours, I’d be surprised if anyone were rushing to fall in love with you, anyway” I mutter under my breath.

“I heard you.” His grin widens. “You’re feisty, aren’t you?”

“Hate that word.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Also, I think I should be getting along.”

Massimo returns, followed by Luca. “Seems whoever shot at us also knocked out the guards.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Hmm…” Seb glances from him to me. “They didn’t try to stop you when you ran toward the house, did they?”

“Truthfully, I was too busy trying to save my life to have noticed anyone, but no, no one stopped me.”

“Strange,” Luca murmurs, “so they were already knocked out when she came to the house.”

Seb stiffens. “What are you implying Luca?” he asks.

“Just stating a fact, is all.” Luca tilts his head. “Better not let your emotions get the better of you.”

“You done?” Seb says in a hard voice. The tension between the two stretches. Anger leaps off of Seb’s big body, but his face doesn’t change expression.

The two men glare at each other, then Luca jerks his chin. “I’d watch your back if I were you.” He walks past us, and Seb’s shoulders relax a little.

“What was that? What was he talking about?” I ask.

“Nothing you need to concern your pretty little head about.”

I firm my lips. “You’re a sadistic asshat, you know that?”

He raises a shoulder. “I’ll drop you at home.”

“I can see myself home, thank you very much.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me.” He closes the distance between us.

Suddenly, someone screams behind us.