Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
A virginal bride she was not, but I wasn't marrying her for love, so what did it matter?
This was a business arrangement, nothing more, nothing less.
Her father, Antonius Carlo Fichera, was a powerful capo in Dante Agnello's organization and would be instrumental in keeping the peace after we assassinated Salvatore Giovanni Mangana, Dante's former vice capo who had attacked my family, over a month ago. The last thing my family needed was any more drama from the Sicilian mafia and if my taking a less than desirable bride secured their safety, then so be it.
At first, I was surprised and relieved at my father and uncle's show of support for my decision. I should have known better. Behind the scenes, they worked with Sebastian Diamanti to find alternative solutions, causing a delay in my return to Sicily.
There weren't any.
Not short of a bloodbath taking out half of Dante's men, which would turn him from a reluctant enemy ally to a pure enemy.
So, with no more delays, I set sail for Sicily to claim my somewhat tarnished bride.
Might as well enjoy a pleasant cruise around the coast on the family's yacht before I faced the gallows.
On the upside, a woman as promiscuous as Antonia would be unlikely to object to my more unique demands in the bedroom.
Every cloud had a silver lining.
I was due to meet with her father tomorrow evening, so saw no reason not to enjoy myself at Palermo's famous Carnevale festivities. Despite being assured by her father that my blushing bride was dutifully at home awaiting our reunion, I wasn't the least bit surprised to see her dancing in the middle of the raucous crowd.
I was surprised at how … different … she seemed.
True, I had only met Antonia briefly on Dante's yacht when I was helping my father and Liliana out of a rather delicate situation, but still…
After following in my father's rather clandestine footsteps, someone in my profession needed to be a quick study of character. Which wasn't gleaned just from what someone said, or their actions. I had learned from my father to study everything.
Every micro expression.
Every movement.
Every detail.
And something was off about Antonia.
On the yacht, she displayed a brassy crassness typical of individuals with nothing meaningful to say or offer to society. Everything about the woman had screamed "pay attention to me," from her heavy makeup to her tight dress and loud laugh.
She also had no problem hanging on the arm of one man while still trying to throw herself at me.
Something I intended to put a stop to.
While this was not a love match and I may have accepted that my bride came with a less-than-ideal reputation, that didn't mean I would accept her cuckolding me.
I refused to share my toys.
At least that was one perk of this messed-up arrangement.
Most men dreamed of getting a wife who acted like a whore in bed.
My challenge would be in restricting her to only my bed… which I planned to do with restraints if necessary. Her days of jumping on the nearest man were fucking over.
Tonight, as I gazed at her from afar before approaching, she was different.
She had little to no makeup on, and her blonde hair flowed freely down her back in soft waves. It seemed longer than I remembered and far more flattering than the crunchy, hair-sprayed style she wore on the yacht. I could just imagine wrapping my fist in tonight's silky curls and pulling hard as I fucked her from behind.
Then there was her attire. Instead of taking advantage of the permissive atmosphere of Carnevale to wear something suggestive and revealing as I would have expected her to do, she wore a voluminous ruffled skirt and simple white, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse with no jewelry or other adornment. It would almost be considered modest, especially for this festive occasion.
I became transfixed when she danced.
Despite the fast-paced 6/8 time of the pizzica tarantelle, she seemed to move to a slower rhythm than the rest of the crowd. Her hips swayed to every third beat, instead of every other one, so her movements were more seductive.
I assumed it was an artifice to entice and flirt with the males in the crowd until her head fell back and I realized her eyes were closed. She seemed lost in the music, dancing solely for her own pleasure.
To my surprise, I experienced a surge of jealous rage when I realized several men had circled around her swaying form, like wolves drawn to a penned lamb.
Now was the time to stop this behavior.
My new bride might as well know now, I expected strict obedience from her.
The fact her obedience would also come with her complete submission as she was down on her knees pleasuring me added just a slight shimmer to that somewhat thin silver lining.
The moment I laid hands on her, my confusion over her changed demeanor only increased.