Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“That’s basically all I know too.”
“Beats marrying the other one, right? Can you imagine being a Don’s wife?” There’s a strange bit of wistfulness in Sophia’s tone. She didn’t understand when I ran away, and I don’t think she ever will. For her, and for most of my other girl cousins, finding a good guy with a strong position inside the Famiglias is basically the best life can get. Marrying a Don is peak mafia-bride stuff, and I gave it up. That’s what we were raised to believe, anyway. A good Italian man with strong family values. Landing a Don is basically like hitting a jackpot in the lottery. Which is why running away was so unthinkable, at least to everyone around me.
How could I be so ungrateful? That’s what Papa said, anyway. Sophia didn’t use those words, but I could see it in her eyes when she asked me what I was thinking, giving up an opportunity like Renzo Rossi.
Marrying a Don meant my children would be powerful. They’d be set for life.
They’d also be stuck as Rossis.
Not that she’d ever understand.
I make up excuses whenever someone mentions what I did. I panicked, I was afraid, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. They usually let it go. But Sophia and I both know there’s more left unsaid, and I hope she never wants the truth.
“I just want him to be nice to me, that’s all.” I shove a smile on my face to deflect from any further conversation about Renzo.
“Come on, you want him to be a little bit mean, right? Nice guys are good and all, but you need a man.” Sophia nudges me with her elbow, waggling her eyebrows.
“As if you’d know. What, have you kissed like six guys in your life?”
“Hey, Joey Faro got to third base, remember that? Totally fingered me for like two minutes. I’ve got more experience than any other unmarried Rinaldo girl.”
“Right, you’re practically the town bicycle.”
She cackles with delight and I smile along with her.
“Honestly, if you’re worried about the sex stuff, don’t be. I bet the guy knows what he’s doing. I mean, the Famiglia boys are practically encouraged to start doing it young, right?”
“Double standard, the story of our lives.”
“Stay pure, stay clean, don’t ruin yourself before marriage.” She says it with an ugly laugh. “Easy for them to say, shoving their dicks into everything that moves.”
“I hope you’re wrong.” I pause at the top of the steps, my heart going nuts with nerves. “Honestly. You heard he’s nice, right?”
“You’ll be fine.” She squeezes my arms and hugs me again. “I promise. I’ll be right up here. Scream if he’s a creep.”
“Papa would love that.”
“Screw your dad. I mean, many blessings on the Don and all that.” She kisses my cheek. “Go meet your husband.”
I descend the steps on weak knees.
There are more soldiers waiting down at the bottom. I grew up in this house surrounded by made men, but it still makes me uncomfortable when random new faces appear. They’re all respectful and polite, never overstepping the boundaries between them and the actual family, but they lurk, and I catch them watching me sometimes.
They stare at me like I’m the real prize here, and I bet any one of them would love to marry the Don’s daughter.
Not for me, but for the opportunity to get closer to my old man.
I pause outside of the sitting room, take another deep breath, before plunging inside. I walk with my head held high, pretending that I’m not losing my freaking mind with nervous energy, and present myself to the men.
Papa stands first, followed by Saul Rossi. I stare at my future husband, frowning slightly as he studies me with equal curiosity. He’s in a dark blue suit, not overly formal, no tie, top button of his crisp white dress shirt undone, his thick dark hair pushed back, a slight beard growing on his wide face. He’s stocky and tall, muscular in a heavy-set sort of way. Handsome, actually, like all the Rossi men are. Just like Gian. Except where Gian’s rugged and athletic, Saul’s a block of wood, a refrigerator of a man.
I try to picture myself lying in bed with him and feel nothing at all.
“Allegra, this is Saul Rossi. And Saul, this is my daughter, Allegra.” Papa walks to my side and steers me toward him. I hold out my hand and Saul shakes it, his grip firm but not crushing.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and I swear he sounds bored.
“I’ll leave you two to speak alone.” Papa gestures for me to sit with Saul on the couch. He moves over to give me space as I perch on the edge, hands folded in my lap, back straight like there’s a rod down my spine. “If you need anything, just call out.”