Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I've seen it happen all too often, men turning into fucking pussies over a woman. They become untrustworthy. Vulnerable. Weak. And a man in my position can't afford any of that shit.
When she holds her head up, with that proud little chin thrust, to announce that she’s a Rossi, she's adorable. But that’s all it is… adorable. No more, no less. She has a lot to learn yet, and what she’s learned as a Rossi isn’t the end of the fuckin’ line around here.
I hand her the phone back, and she takes it with a wary look.
“You can use it for now, under my supervision.”
I want to see what she does.
Within minutes, she's connected to the Wi-Fi we have onboard, scrolling through her messages and social media. The job I have means I can't afford to be without the internet, so I've invested in a high-speed internet connection everywhere.
"How long is the flight typically?" she asks.
"The flight down is about two and a half hours. Coming back to Boston will take closer to three because of wind currents. Have you ever flown this way before?"
She shakes her head. "Never. Only to Italy, and that's it."
I watch her frown as she scrolls through her phone. "What's this little blue bar at the top of my screen?"
No reason to hide it. "It means I'm mirroring your phone on mine.”
I note the slight tension in her shoulders. “Oh, how quaint. You decided to monitor your future wife like I’m an untrustworthy teenager.” She barely restrains herself from rolling her eyes.
I give her a warning look. If she disrespects me, most especially in front of my men, she’ll feel my palm across her ass right here. She should know better than that, unless Rossi fucked up and spoiled her. Something tells me she wouldn’t like being dressed down in front of my men. Marialena might be cute, but she can be prickly.
I might have my work cut out for me. Excellent.
“So sorry,” she says. "Of course it's your job to protect yourself. And to make sure that I don't do anything dangerous.” She whispers dangerous like it’s a loaded weapon, with mock horror in her tone.
Alright, enough of that. "Watch it, woman.”
She huffs at me but closes her mouth.
I don't dignify that with a response but open my email and get to work.
I ignore her for a little while, let her play on her phone, and about twenty minutes later casually open the app that lets me see what she's been up to.
The first few searches are social media, but the last few are pretty interesting.
How to murder your husband in his sleep.
How to poison your controlling husband.
How to be married to a mafia man and never have sex with him.
How to survive oppression.
How to overturn the patriarchy.
Adorable.
Clever little thing.
"I'd say the whole pillow over the face thing would be most effective, if your husband was dumb enough not to have security nearby. Poisoning is impossible, I'm way too careful with my food, but I suppose you could slip something into my drink if you were clever enough and could get your hands on something toxic, but again… security. And the only way to be married to a mafia man and not have sex with him would be to get your own private jet and flee to another country. What is oppression? Hmm. I doubt my expectations are all that different from your brothers’. But I suppose we'll find out."
"I wasn't married to my brothers," she spits out.
"Too true. I'm going to text you a few more things I want you to look up during your free time, since you're so invested in this search history.”
She eyes me warily while I text.
How to learn how to defer to my husband's authority in a traditional marriage.
How to learn to take a vow of submission to my husband
What if I like being dominated in bed?
What if I like it when my husband spanks me for being naughty?
Her jaw predictably unhinges. "Are you seriously that full of yourself?"
"If we weren't on a plane right now, I would definitely consider that a disrespectful attitude, one that you’d get punished for. In fact…” I scratch my chin thoughtfully. “I'm starting to not care about the fact that we're on a plane. Maybe I should make a demonstration of you in front of my men."
"So that's how you can control things? Squelch anyone who bullies around you because you leave all the bullying to yourself," she says. "Makes perfect sense."
“I thought you were a Rossi. I thought you’d be familiar."
She clenches her jaw but does not respond.
We don't talk for long minutes. I continue to work. Out of the corner of my eye I see her head bobbing as if she's fallen asleep. It's late, it's comfortable in here, and the quiet hum of the engine lulls one to sleep. I casually watch her.