Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
The mark only added to his looks, marring what were perfect, sculpted features.
Another had a long, dark beard that made him look more like a lumberjack than a mafioso. Or a hipster. His eyes were a riveting, steely gray that seemed to glow in contrast to his navy-blue suit.
Then there were the women. Only two, but two more than I’d expected. From what I’d learned, I was under the impression that women had very specific roles in mafia families.
Wives. Mothers. Daughters.
Sure, they could still wield power. Sofia was evidence enough of that. A woman who let a man think he was putting her in her place when she was really pulling all of the strings was one who knew how to be the real head of the family. That’s what I’d come to understand about her.
But being a Made member of the family? That was strictly for people with cocks. The terms ‘Wise Guys’ or ‘Made Men’ didn’t have specific gender connotations for no reason. The mafia was old school.
Old school being a euphemism for misogynistic and archaic, as it often was.
But here the women were, wearing tailored suits of their own. Impeccably tailored suits, clinging to their bodies.
And heels. Killer fucking heels. Well, at least one of them was. The siren with long dark hair, thick eyelashes, striking hazel eyes and full lips. She looked like she could be walking in Milan instead of at the Don’s mansion. There was a sharpness to her eyes. A coldness that I’d come to recognize in killers.
The other was wearing sneakers. Gucci sneakers. I could recognize that now thanks to my designer wardrobe. Her hair was short, a shock of white cropped close to her head. She was wearing little makeup except for blood red lipstick. Her face was heart shaped, features soft and young. But her eyes, pale blue, held that same chill.
Neither of them smiled at me when I caught their eyes.
I guessed this wasn’t a smiling matter. Or they hated me on sight. Although Felix, Sofia and Vincentius knew the circumstances of our engagement, I doubted Cristian was quick to tell his soldiers that he had to force a woman to be his wife. That couldn’t have been good for his image.
I supposed I could announce it at some point, to shame Cristian, make a scene. But I wasn’t a ‘making a scene’ kind of girl, and despite everything that happened, I didn’t want to shame Cristian. Beyond that, I liked the way the title of queen felt, fucking loved the way they were all looking at me as I walked into the room. I loved that Cristian separated himself from an older, severe looking man and came to my side quickly. His hand went to my lower back, another pushed the hair from my face, brushing ever so slightly across the throbbing bruise on my cheek. The gesture was tender, private, not something that should’ve been done in front of a room full of people. He was doing it for a reason, making a statement, I knew that. But it wasn’t performative, I could see it in Cristian’s eyes. He held my gaze for a long moment before he turned to the group.
“Lorenzo marked my woman,” he announced, speaking softly, but his voice seemed to boom through the large room. “Luckily, she is capable of defending herself.” His gaze flickered to me with something resembling pride.
I kept my expression even, forcing my emotions to remain hidden even though something about that look warmed me to my very core.
“It is a fact of life that Sienna must be prepared to defend herself from those trying to take this family down,” he continued. “But not from anyone in this house. Not ever.” His eyes zeroed in on someone sitting in the corner of the room, Felix close to him.
I hadn’t noticed Lorenzo. He was slumped down, as if he were trying to melt into the chair he was sitting in. None of that entitled arrogance or fury remained on his face from this morning. He looked like an entirely different person, ten years younger, drenched in fear and resignation for what was to come.
I felt not an ounce of pity for him.
“A hand is a small price to pay for what you have done,” Cristian informed Lorenzo, tone glacial.
“I agree.”
All eyes went to the owner of the voice.
I’d expected Vincentius to arrive at some point, whether to try to change Cristian’s mind or show him his support, but I did not expect Sofia to be present.
She was not a soft woman. That much was clear from one meeting. She’d been in this life for decades, had lost a daughter to it. She wasn’t going to come begging, make any kind of scene, but I reasoned that a mother would not be a witness to her son getting his hand cut off.