Owned by the mafia boss

CARMELA

My dreams were ashes.

Soon, I’d marry a man I hated. I’d sign Carmela Costa onto a marriage certificate and bind myself forever to a psychopath.

Starting a family was out of the question. Michael’s two kids meant he was unlikely to want more.

I leaned my head back so my tears wouldn’t blur the mascara.

I sat in a room in the Boston Cathedral, a magnificent colonial structure from the early nineteenth century restored by my brother-in-law, Alessio. The cost of booking it ran in the tens of thousands, but Michael had spared no expense on this sham wedding.

I’d wanted a small ceremony-Michael insisted on a big affair, instructed me to buy a designer dress, and booked a major act for the reception. It was the party of the year, as far as Boston’s underworld was concerned. Everybody would be here, from politicians, CEOs, cops on the Costa payroll, and gangsters from every corner of the Northeast.

A ray of sunlight broke through a cloud, stroking my face with warmth. The golden windows were shut against the dazzling sunshine burning through rolling clouds. So inviting. I could so easily open them and jump into that brilliant blue.

Seven days had passed since Michael took me into his home. I’d arranged the details for this last-minute wedding with the help of a planner Michael hired. I thought it’d be a shit show, but over three hundred guests RSVP’d to attend.

The stylist pinned my ebony mane into a thick updo, the silk flowers with pearls for buds standing out like stars. Janet, a willowy makeup artist, dabbed my wrist with swatches of two identical pink lip glosses and peered at the stripes of color. She unscrewed one and painted my mouth.

The church bells tolled, ringing the half-hour.

Janet sighed, looking everywhere but my eyes. She leaned over and tweezed hair from my brow.

“Perfect.” She plucked a Q-tip from the pile and soaked my tears. “The photographers will be in any minute.”

I wasn’t big on displays of emotion. I hated losing control. I’d never even been drunk, which seemed like a significant accomplishment at twenty-seven years old, but I couldn’t look into the mirror without tearing up. This should have been the best day of my life.

A fist hammered the door, punctuating the last echo of the bell, and then Michael’s smoky voice boomed through. “It’s me. Open.”

Someone got the door.

Michael stepped through, the sunlight bleaching his expression into something wholesome. Handsome-picture-perfect with the white boutonniere hanging over his lapel. He’d tamed his mocha hair into a slick wave. He wore a navy tuxedo and had softened his beard to a shadow clinging to his neck. His brown eyes glowed with a swirl of golden amber. A gorgeous smile curved his full mouth, completing the look that’d always cemented him as the Safe Guy.

It was a con.

In private, the temperamental bastard barely spoke. During my seven-day isolation, he’d locked me in the east wing of his mansion and popped in only to discuss wedding details, ignoring me so thoroughly it was hard to accept he wanted this marriage.

Michael took in my dress with an appreciative nod. He stopped an inch away, blocking the bright rays. “Everybody out.”

Nobody argued with a Costa.

The workers filtered from the room, making so little noise it was as though they passed through the wood. Michael’s knuckles grazed my chin. He touched me with the familiarity of a lover.

Before this, we’d done nothing but exchange pleasantries. At my niece’s christening, he sat beside me. Matteo had raced down the pews, so I’d dragged him over my lap. I still remembered Michael’s gratitude and the stinging patch on my cheek when he kissed me.

“You look beautiful, Carmela.”

The ghost of his lips seemed to press into me. I stamped on the growing flames. I would not be manipulated.

“Stop pretending to be nice. We both know it’s an act, and I won’t have it around me. Ever.”

“Fine.”

His hand fell, and the light in his gaze died. I could’ve laughed at how quickly he abandoned the façade if this weren’t so depressing.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m less concerned about superstition and more worried my bride will misbehave at the ceremony.” Michael pulled from the sun’s brilliance and stepped into shadow. “We have a long day ahead of us. My family is here, including my kids. Matteo will do whatever he’s told, but my daughter …she’s not happy.”

No shit, Sherlock. “What do you expect? You dropped this marriage on her without warning. She’ll hate you forever.”

“She already hates me.”

I can’t imagine why. “What do you want?”

“When we’re around my children, we call a cease-fire. No fighting. No insults. No slammed doors. With them, we are the perfect couple.”

“What do I get in return?”

His brow ticked. “You won’t be punished. Before your panties twist in a wad, remember that you freaked out over a few sex toys. You’ll cave after five minutes.”

He was such a prick to throw that in my face.

“Go to hell, Michael.”

“It’s up to you.” He checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t consider it a worthy battle. I’ll have you begging for mercy in a heartbeat, and all our bickering does is hurt two innocent kids who didn’t ask for this.”

I hated that he sounded so reasonable, but I had no intention of dragging those children into our mess. “Makes sense. You don’t want a repeat performance of the last marriage.”

He rolled his eyes. “Quite clever.”

“Are we finished?”

“Not yet. I have something for you. Part one of your wedding gift, so to speak.” Michael lazily gestured at the door. “Bring him in.”

Oak doors swung inward, and a disheveled man stumbled inside. His hair stuck up on all sides. Once free of Michael’s soldiers, he shook his jacket.

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

I stood. “Dad?”

He wore a double-breasted suit, the material bunching on his chest. A butterfly bandage stretched across a heavily bruised nose. He pivoted toward Michael, who smiled and waved.

“Ignacio,” greeted Michael with a tight grin. “Glad you could make it.”

“Why am I here, Costa?”

“To give away your daughter.” Michael pressed into my side, his arm wrapping my waist. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Dad wheeled, his jaw dropping as he took me in, wedding dress and all. “Oh, my God.”

His wide-eyed horror told me he’d had no idea about any of this. Michael had detonated a bomb, danced in the flames, and pissed on the charred ashes.

“Naz, didn’t you believe me?” He stared at my father, wearing a wolf-like smile. “I told you I was marrying her. Hell, I even gave you an invitation.”

It dawned on my father, the tan draining from his face. “All this for a grudge?”

“Grudge,” Michael deadpanned. “Putting it lightly, Ignacio. You killed my brother. You owe me a life, and I’d rather have your daughter’s.”

“You sick fuck. You son of a bitch!” Dad fisted his hair and moaned. “Carm, tell me he’s lying. You’re not marrying this man!”

I fought to keep calm. “Dad, it’s for the best.”

“Yes, it is.” Michael’s soft purr rolled over my ears as his hand slid up my back, displaying a reckless lack of boundaries that would’ve gotten him executed a few weeks ago. “I’ll look out for her, Ignacio.”

“You can’t take my daughter from me!”

“I already have.”

Michael grasped my neck, his fingers pressing into my throbbing pulse. His touch slipped to my shoulder, his palm heavy and hot. It burned several layers too deep, like his silky voice. Then he kissed the shell of my ear, and I ignited into a human torch.

Two guys slammed into Dad as he lunged for Michael, who watched my father lose his shit with a curl of his lips.

“Carmela, no! You don’t have to do this. Don’t ruin your life for me. He’ll never give you what you want-”

Michael laughed. “Actually, I have every intention of fulfilling her wildest fantasies.”

I faced the monster who’d used my father like a sharpening block. “You disgust me.”

“Oh, come on, Carmela. It’s fun.”

“Have it at someone else’s expense, or I’ll make today unbearable for you.”

“I don’t respond well to threats.”

“You think you’re my dream guy? You’re making this harder than it needs to be, you selfish son of a bitch.” The gloves were coming off if he thought I’d play nice. “Leave my dad alone.”

Michael’s playful smile indicated I wasn’t in any position to bark out orders. He held all the power. “Ignacio, this will be the last your family sees of your daughter. I expect you to behave. If you don’t, I’ll remove you from the ceremony, and you’ll cut your time with Carmela that much shorter. The only reason you’re breathing is because I allow it. I can change my mind anytime.”

Dad struggled against the soldiers holding him. His forehead bulged with throbbing veins. He seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

I cupped his cheeks. Dad choked with a sob. The men restraining him let go, and he sagged into my arms.

Michael’s indifferent stare raked my skin. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

My vision swam with tears before Michael exited. When he was gone, Dad wiped his eyes.

“I can’t believe what he did to you. I wish we had longer than five minutes.” I shook as he pulled me into a hug. “It’ll-it’ll be okay. He-he hasn’t touched me or anything.”

“This isn’t forever,” he said quickly. “I’ll get you out-I swear. Once Alessio returns-”

“Daddy, no. Don’t involve him.” I clung to his shoulders. “Mia and Alessio deserve to be happy. Besides, you have no idea where they are.”

Gang violence had spiraled out of control since the new year. It was confined to other gangsters, and my brother-in-law was still a very high-profile target, even after he’d stepped down from an active role. Shortly before my sister Mia fled Boston with him, she’d begged me to come.

I’d refused.

Someone had to watch my stubborn father, whose resistance to leave verged on suicidal. There was nothing for him here. He was no longer a don, but he went into a rage at the suggestion of running, and I’d stopped bringing it up. My dad wouldn’t be driven from his home, so I’d dug a trench and planned to ride out the storm.

“Michael will change his mind. It just might be a while.” I gave him a peck on his cheek. “I love you. Stay safe.”

“I love you, too. You make a beautiful bride, honey.” His tone wavered and broke. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

He balled my head into his chest, my heart wrenching as I seized his jacket.

The door swung open, and Michael breezed in, the gust of crisp spring air blowing the warmth from the room.

“I gave you five minutes. You’ve had ten.” He beckoned my dad with a flick of his fingers. “Let’s go.”

“Give him hell, Carmela.”

My soul shattered as they shoved him out of sight and shrank into a bitter husk when I met Michael’s frigid gaze.

Give him hell.

CLEAR SKIES REIGNED INSTEAD of the promised storms. Boston’s streets were miraculously free of traffic. Sunshine poured through the stained glass, caressing the aisles with colored light. It was something out of a dream with Mariette’s flower crown, the tulip aisle markers, the carpet of orange-pink petals, the pillars overflowing with roses, my mother sobbing in the front row, and Michael.

Michael’s glowing smile was ripped from wedding magazines. He looked as happy as his son, who wore a matching suit. He’d plucked the rings from the silk pillow raised by his four-year-old, and slid the band over my finger. Then he took my face and we kissed, his soft lips stroking me with blistering heat.

The gesture was surely perfunctory for the photographer, who praised us endlessly-“what a gorgeous couple.” Everyone lavished us with admiration. My relatives were charmed by Michael, who let his son cut the cake. My maid-of-honor, one of Michael’s cousins, gave a generic speech. Single women congratulated me on “taming the playboy.”

It was a sideshow.

Michael and I sat with the bridal party, my father surrounded by Costa soldiers. He’d sworn not to make a scene, but the cost was a hard blow to his pride. Dad fisted the tablecloth and didn’t touch the six-course meal, ignoring the waves of duck confit, black truffle risotto, and buttered Maine lobster. I’d never seen him ignore food. That bothered me more than anything about this stupid wedding.

Those who weren’t drunk were getting tipsy at the white linen tables. My guest list seemed to prove Boston’s seething underbelly. City hall officials mingled with wiseguys. Politicians hovered near the thick circle surrounding the acting boss of the family, Vinn Costa. Michael had spent the evening networking as I hung on his elbow. Countless business cards filled his wallet before we finally sat to eat.

Michael looked pleased. Our marriage had scored him a fuck-load of new contacts. He devoured his lobster while I took in my surroundings.

“So tell me about yourself.”

“You want to get to know me at our wedding?”

He shrugged. “Might as well.”

Jesus, he was a piece of work.

“You must have hobbies. Pinterest. Barre.”

He obviously thought I was a vapid idiot.

“Music.”

Singing was more precise. I used to sit at the top of the staircase and practice Whitney Houston’s version of the national anthem. I was a regular at The Rickshaw, a bar ten minutes from my former place, but with the streets as dangerous as they were, karaoke night was out of the question. Music soothed my soul. I listened to do-wop, blues, pop, anything with a rhythm.

“Fascinating.” His knife banged into my plate. “Eat. Your body needs fuel.”

Where the hell did he get off on lecturing me?

“You’ve killed my appetite.”

“Remember our agreement, Carmela.”

I shrugged. “Nobody can hear us.”

“They can see you.” Michael gripped my chair and leaned in, his eyes flashing. “Best behavior means smile. Look at me without scowling. Act like you don’t want me dead.”

He didn’t give a damn about me. The indifference behind his words stabbed deeper than if he’d yelled. The earth had opened and swallowed me whole.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

“Is there nothing left of the man I liked, or am I stuck with this asshole forever?”

“Insulting me falls under misbehaving. Strike one.”

“Touch a hair on my dad, and I’ll pay you back in spades.”

“Threatening me? That’s strike two.” Michael took my chin and gave me a chaste kiss. “Keep it up. You’ll regret it when we’re alone.”

I fisted my dress. I wasn’t sure what did it-his velvety voice or the kiss-but I couldn’t breathe until he’d pulled away.

“What does that mean?”

“Your father won’t suffer. You will.”

The sultry tone suggested it would happen in the bedroom. My fingernails pierced lace as Michael beamed, tapping my dish.

“It’s a party, Carmela. Lighten up.”

It’s a nightmare.

Michael dragged my meal to his side and cut my lobster. He jabbed a chunk of meat and hovered it near me. I parted my mouth, and it slid inside. Michael radiated greed as I bit down. The tines slipped from my lips, and the lobster’s buttery warmth melted over my tongue.

“Shit. Not again.” He growled his displeasure as Matteo ran across the dance floor, chasing a crying girl. “This fucking kid.”

“What is it?”

Michael shook his head, standing. He approached his four-year-old, who stopped in his tracks and begged to be picked up. Wearing an expression of deep disapproval, Michael knelt beside him.

“Teo, what did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” A shy grin carved into Matteo’s little face.

“Don’t lie. Did you kiss her?” Michael guessed the worst from Matteo’s continued silence, and took his arm. “What did I tell you? Kissing is only for grown-ups, like getting married.”

I snorted, and Michael shot me a black look.

I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the day’s events had reached a new level. Michael was pretending to be all about boundaries. That was rich. Motherfucker blackmailed me into a marriage, but the irony seemed to be lost on him.

Michael’s frown deepened. “Apologize to her. Now, Teo.”

Matteo stuck his fingers in his hair and faced the child clinging to her father’s pants. “Sorry, Ashley.”

“It’s all good, buddy.” The girl’s father, a blond man in a double-breasted suit, grabbed Michael’s son. “Give your Uncle Julian a hug.”

Uncle?

He didn’t seem related to Michael. Julian’s fair features screamed Nordic, the polar opposite of my husband. He wore his brassy waves in a tidy man-bun, and the golden stubble covered his neck and cheeks. He was likely in his mid-thirties. He had to be Serena’s brother, which meant the entire family was probably here.

A twinge hit my gut as I imagined them sitting through the ceremony that ignored his late wife, erasing her so thoroughly it was as though she’d never existed.

“Carmela, this is Julian,” Michael deadpanned. “Julian, Carmela.”

“We’re glad you could make it.” I shook his hand. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes, it’s been fantastic.” Julian offered a polite smile. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” I said, forcing a grin.

“I can’t believe I got the invitation a week ago.” Curiosity seared in Julian’s gaze. “Why did you send them so last minute?”

“Because I just popped the question.” Michael’s arm slid around my waist, and he squeezed my hip. “We’ve known each other for a while. This was a long time coming. Isn’t that right, baby?”

That was my cue to lean into my husband and kiss him, which I did, bumping my lips clumsily on his cheek.

Julian raised his brow. “I had no idea you were seeing someone.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it dating.” Michael’s voice lost its airy quality. “More like animal magnetism.”

I dug into his midriff. “Michael.”

Michael’s wicked laughter boomed through me.

Julian glossed past that over-share, smiling. “How did you meet?”

“At a restaurant. She was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, and all I saw was her neck.”

He traced it with his knuckle, starting with the hollow under my ear. My skin burned almost as hot as my rage. Talking like this to Serena’s brother was insensitive as hell. He shouldn’t be rubbing me in Julian’s face.

“Michael. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell him how I proposed.” Michael’s attention flicked to Julian, who had gone quiet. “My kids helped. My four-year-old popped the question while I kneeled. I thought I stood a better chance if I involved them.”

Two could play this game.

“They wore matching suits. It was adorable.” I fondled Michael’s tie, grinning. “He was in tears before he’d finished asking me to marry him. It was so sweet.”

“No shit? Huh. I can’t imagine Michael crying over anyone.”

“Neither would I.”

Both men exchanged venomous looks, which Julian broke with a sigh.

“You and Carmela should come over. Or she and I could get together for playdates with my daughter.” Julian glanced at the toddler nuzzling his slacks. “Say hi, Ashley!”

“Nice to meet you, honey!” I reached toward the girl, but she turned away. “Aww, she’s precious. I’d love to have a-”

“Carmela’s schedule is filled for the next few weeks.” Michael took his son from Julian. “Too bad.”

“Yeah.”

Julian’s tone was resigned, but he seemed to burn with frustration as Michael handed Matteo to his au pair. He clapped Julian’s shoulder and flashed him a condescending smirk.

“Enjoy the party, and don’t steal the silver.”

Julian’s mouth twisted, and he stepped back, taking his daughter’s hand. “Let’s see if there’s more cake.”

I watched them leave, my stomach churning with the undigested wine and lobster. “Why did you do that?”

“Because he needed to be put in his place.”

“Did you have to be such a jerk?”

“No, but it has its perks. You look good with color in your cheeks.” Michael’s stare was like a lightning rod. “Also, strike three.”

“For what?”

“You scoffed at my kid.”

“No, I was laughing at you. You are ridiculous. A man who forces a woman into marriage has no business teaching anybody about boundaries. He watches you with women. You’re the reason the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

A dark shadow rippled across Michael’s features. He hadn’t stopped smiling, but the shadows dragged his grin into a taut leer.

His fingers bit into my side. “Time to go home. Come.”

I dug in my heels. “I am not a dog. I do not fetch, heel, or beg.”

“Fetch? No. But you will beg.”

My breathing hitched. “You said I wasn’t a slave.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t play with you.”