Page 7 of The Mafioso’s Bride

She turns toward the window. I have no idea what any of that has to do with our marriage, but I asked her to say anything, and that’s what she did.

The gates open ahead of us. My house rises beyond them in glass, white stone, and dark steel.

The car stops beneath the covered entrance. Lombardi will be furious and ready to retaliate. Two guards stand near the drive as I escort Giada inside.

She pauses in the foyer and takes in the pale walls, black staircase, and windows overlooking the winter garden.

I didn’t think things could get more awkward, but here we are.

What now? A tour? Maybe she wants to shower or nap or eat. She probably wants to be shown to the guest room so she can change out of that wedding dress.

Fuck. I run a hand down my face.

I left this house a bachelor, with no plan to change that. I return five hours later, a married man with a wife in tow.

A wife who’s probably half my age.

Fuck.

Giada

The house has clean lines and very few objects. No framed photographs crowd the walls. Everything has a place, with empty areas between one thing and the next. The order should help. It doesn’t, since none of it belongs to me.

Two men stand outside the windows near the front drive. Both wear dark coats. One speaks into a phone while the other checks the gates. Luca’s phone vibrates. He reads the screen, types a short reply, and slips it into his pocket.

Luca reaches the stairs and looks over his shoulder. He waits until I catch up. The house is warm, but the cold from outside remains in the skirt of my dress. It brushes my legs as I climb. I keep one hand near the rail but don’t touch it.

He’s much younger than Giuseppe. His black hair is cut short. His nose is straight, and his mouth is firm. His suit fits close across his shoulders. There is no extra flesh hanging over his collar or straining his buttons. He’s handsome enough that looking at him makes warmth spread beneath my dress.

Handsome doesn’t mean kind. My oldest brother has a handsome face. He once held my arms while my other brother shoved wet food into my mouth. They laughed when I gagged.

An attractive husband could do worse things than Giuseppe. He might be stronger. He might enjoy hurting me more. My pulse pounds against my throat.

Tardigrades have eight legs, although the rear pair is used mostly for gripping.

Luca stops on the landing. I stop three steps below him.

“You okay?”

Am I? I have no answer. He doesn’t repeat the question. He steps aside, giving me enough room that our bodies don’t brush.

At the church, he fired a gun. He ordered me to marry him while men knelt between the pews. A pistol rested at his hip during our vows. He is dangerous. That part is not difficult to establish.

Other facts matter too. He didn’t leer at me, grab me, or laugh when I told him about cryptobiosis. He didn’t touch me until he helped with my dress at the car. He told me before we passed the armed men outside. When I asked for a minute at the altar, he gave it to me. He didn’t rush my answer, even though the priest and everyone else were waiting.

None of this proves he won’t hurt me tonight or next week, but he has been kind so far. So far.

We pass a man standing at the end of the hall. A gun shows beneath his open jacket. Luca pauses beside him.

“Any update?” Luca asks.

“Not yet. They’re checking…” The man’s eyes flit to me and back to Luca. “Another address.”

Luca gives one nod. “Call me when that changes.”

The man goes downstairs. I want to ask whose address they’re checking, but I remind myself I’m annoying. I want my new husband to like me or at least to tolerate me. I need to keep reminding myself not to be me.

Tardigrades live in moss, soil, fresh water, and oceans. They have been found from deep trenches to mountain peaks.