Union Of Death (Secrets of The Famiglia Part 2)

Chapter 44 (Aliyana)

Aliyana

I leave straight away and head to my future husband, Marco Catelli.

I arrive at his Penthouse on the outskirts of Washington DC. It is funny that I know exactly where he lives without even coming here.

The doorman looks at me, probably wondering what a small thing like me is doing here at nine at night.

“Marco Catelli please, tell him it's Aliyana Capello.”

The door man phones and talks to Marco and I am surprised when he ushers me to the elevator and slides his card in without a pause.

“The lift should take you right to the Penthouse Miss Capello. You have a good day.”

“Thank you.”

I get to the Penthouse and Marco is waiting for me with a scowl on his face. His short hair is in a tumbled mess.

He has a right to be dishevelled, his fiancé just died. He lost his father and watched his brother become head of the Famiglia in one month. And made his first big decision since his own rise in power. Me

I didn't blame him for the brandy on his breath, and the creases on his shirt. Standing in his Penthouse, just by the door, I look at my future husband. As sorry as I am for his loss, if I was going to marry him, we needed to talk.

“What are you doing here Aliyana, now isn't the time.”

“I don't love you. Why marry me? I'm not right for you."

He smiles, “We marry for many things, Aliyana, love is not one of them.”

“But why, answer me.”

He stands and glares at me, this is the first time I can actually say that Marco Catelli scares me. I am not frightened for myself, but for the ones who have put that look in his eyes. He suffers pain, but I see his need for revenge.

“What do you want me to tell you Aliyana? You are a problem I can’t just get rid of.”

He turns around and walks into his place, with the door open. I walk in after him and that is when I see it. On the wall, taking up a good piece in the centre, is a picture in black and white, blown up of Camilla. BUT that isn’t what surprises me, no, it is the provocative pose.

She is wearing a man’s t-shirt, with her legs up on the table, looking at the one behind the camera as if he, is the sole purpose of her existence. Is that what love looks like?

I frown, when I walk through and follow him into the lounge. Strong shoulders, I once touched, look forlorn as he slouches. A hand on the brick bare wall, as the fireplace he is standing in front of with the brandy filled glass in his other hand, crackles.

“You think I am going to snitch about Mischa, don’t you? So, you will sentence me to a life with you? A man in love with another woman?” I am flabbergasted. He should know better.

“I don’t belong here! Look at me!” I scream at him.

" I have been looking at you since that roof, Aliyana.”

He doesn’t say anything else just takes a sip of his fucking brandy.

“I won’t do it, I won’t marry you just so you can keep an eye on me, I would rather you just kill me.”

“This wasn’t a negotiation,” He yells as he faces me. I wish he didn’t. “You are mine, it's my bed you will be sleeping in and believe me we won't be getting any sleep.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, in time you will hate me more, take that as your wedding vows.”

“You can pick any woman. I am not even a full Italian. What have I ever done to you? We shared something, I was honest with you and you used that against me, you killed my sister, you killed her baby, she was fucking innocent. Don’t you see how you ruin everything you touch?” I turn around, my back to him. I can’t look at Marco now. My first kiss, my first love, my biggest regret. This is the part where I should cry, but my anger won’t allow me that relief.

He spins me around. I am in shock from him even being so close to me, I didn’t even know he moved across the distance.

His dark, black eyes hook me as he stares in my own lost depth.

Only mine are filled with turmoil, confusion and mostly an intense need to just be.

"It's you who will bear me an heir. A Mezzosangue.” He puts his hand behind my neck, holding my life in his big hands, showing me his power.

He bends down, looking between my eyes and lips,

“I remember everything Aliyana.”

His thumb brushes my lips, “The taste of your lips, those dainty fingers with paint spots dusted on the tips, the feel of you on my dick.” My breathing escalates.

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“You know what I remember the most, Mezzosangue?” His breath whispers on my cheek.

I am too stunned to even breathe, let alone nod my head, so I stand in a trance, under his wicked gaze.

“This. My hand around your neck and you're strong will now left to dust in my presence. Do you know how easy it will be to snap your neck?” He kisses my cheek, how I once kissed his lips.

He steps away, and my legs follow him, "I was going to choose you that night, I went to my father and I told him, but he said no, he promised Moretti an arranged marriage. He owed him for saving his life. I didn't know her, I was upset. I wanted you. But when I saw, I did know her.”