Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

“Morn came and went-and came, and brought no day…”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Goddamn Byron. His words creep up on me when I am at my weakest. Not that I am a poetry addict, by any measure, but words are my jam. The one consolation I have is that, when everything else in the world is wrong, I can turn to them, and they’ll be there, friendly, steady, waiting with open arms.

And this particular poem had laced my blood, crawled into my gut when I’d first read it. Darkness had folded within me like an insidious snake, that raises its head when I least expect it. Like now, when I look out on the still sleeping city of London, from the grassy slope of Waterlow Park.

Somewhere out there, the Mafia is hunting me, apparently. It’s why my sister Summer and her new husband Sinclair Sterling had insisted that I have my own security detail. I had agreed… only to appease them… then given my bodyguard the slip this morning. I had decided to come running here because it’s not a place I’d normally go… Not so early in the morning, anyway. They won’t think to look for me here. At least, not for a while longer.

I purse my lips, close my eyes. Silence. The rustle of the wind between the leaves. The faint tinkle of the water from the nearby spring.

I could be the last person on this planet, alone, unsung, bound for the grave.

Ugh! Stop. Right there. I drag the back of my hand across my nose. Try it again, focus, get the words out, one after the other, like the steps of my sorry life.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

“Morn came and went-and came, and… and…” My voice breaks. “Bloody asinine hell.” I dig my fingers into the grass and grab a handful and fling it out. Again. From the top.

“Morn came and went-and came, and-”

“…brought no day.”

A gravelly voice completes my sentence.

I whip my head around. His silhouette fills my line of sight. He’s sitting on the same knoll as me, yet I have to crane my neck back to see his profile. The sun is at his back, so I can’t make out his features. Can’t see his eyes… Can only take in his dark hair, combed back by a ruthless hand that brooked no measure.

My throat dries.

Thick dark hair, shot through with grey at the temples. He wears his age like a badge. I don’t know why, but I know his years have not been easy. That he’s seen more, indulged in more, reveled in the consequences of his actions, however extreme they might have been. He’s not a normal, everyday person, this man. Not a nine-to-fiver, not someone who lives an average life. Definitely not a man who returns home to his wife and home at the end of the day. He is…different, unique, evil… Monstrous. Yes, he is a beast, one who sports the face of a man but who harbors the kind of darkness inside that speaks to me. I gulp.

His face boasts a hooked nose, a thin upper lip, a fleshy lower lip. One that hints at hidden desires, Heat. Lust. The sensuous scrape of that whiskered jaw over my innermost places. Across my inner thigh, reaching toward that core of me that throbs, clenches, melts to feel the stab of his tongue, the thrust of his hardness as he impales me, takes me, makes me his. Goosebumps pop on my skin.

I drag my gaze away from his mouth down to the scar that slashes across his throat. A cold sensation coils in my chest. What or who had hurt him in such a cruel fashion?

“Of this their desolation; and all hearts

Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light…”

He continues in that rasping guttural tone. Is it the wound that caused that scar that makes his voice so…gravelly… So deep…so…so, hot?

Sweat beads my palms and the hairs on my nape rise. “Who are you?”

He stares ahead as his lips move,

“Forests were set on fire-but hour by hour

They fell and faded-and the crackling trunks

Extinguish’d with a crash-and all was black.”

I swallow, moisture gathers in my core. How can I be wet by the mere cadence of this stranger’s voice?

I spring up to my feet.

“Sit down,” he commands.

His voice is unhurried, lazy even, his spine erect. The cut of his black jacket stretches across the width of his massive shoulders. His hair… I was mistaken-there are threads of dark gold woven between the darkness that pours down to brush the nape of his neck. A strand of hair falls over his brow. As I watch, he raises his hand and brushes it away. Somehow, the gesture lends an air of vulnerability to him. Something so at odds with the rest of his persona that, surely, I am mistaken?

My scalp itches. I take in a breath and my lungs burn. This man… He’s sucked up all the oxygen in this open space as if he owns it, the master of all he surveys. The master of me. My death. My life. A shiver ladders along my spine. Get away, get away now, while you still can.

I angle my body, ready to spring away from him.

“I won’t ask again.”

Ask. Command. Force me to do as he wants. He’ll have me on my back, bent over, on my side, on my knees, over him, under him. He’ll surround me, overwhelm me, pin me down with the force of his personality. His charisma, his larger-than-life essence will crush everything else out of me and I… I’ll love it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

A fact. A statement of intent, spoken aloud. So true. So real. Too real. Too much. Too fast. All of my nightmares…my dreams come to life. Everything I’ve wanted is here in front of me. I’ll die a thousand deaths before he’ll be done with me… And then? Will I be reborn? For him. For me. For myself.

I live, first and foremost, to be the woman I was…am meant to be.

“You want to run?”

No.

No.

I nod my head.

He turns his, and all the breath leaves my lungs. Blue eyes-cerulean, dark like the morning skies, deep like the nighttime… hidden corners, secrets that I don’t dare uncover. He’ll destroy me, have my heart, and break it so casually.

My throat burns and a boiling sensation squeezes my chest.

“Go then, my beauty, fly. You have until I count to five. If I catch you, you are mine.”

“If you don’t?”

“Then I’ll come after you, stalk your every living moment, possess your nightmares, and steal you away in the dead of night, and then…”

I draw in a shuddering breath as liquid heat drips from between my legs. “Then?” I whisper.

“Then, I’ll ensure you’ll never belong to anyone else, you’ll never see the light of day again, for your every breath, your every waking second, your thoughts, your actions…and all your words, every single last one, will belong to me.” He peels back his lips, and his teeth glint in the first rays of the morning light. “Only me.” He straightens to his feet and rises, and rises.

This man… He is massive. A monster who always gets his way. My guts churn. My toes curl. Something primeval inside of me insists I hold my own. I cannot give in to him. Cannot let him win whatever this is. I need to stake my ground, in some form. Say something. Anything. Show him you’re not afraid of this.

“Why?” I tilt my head back, all the way back. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilts his head, his ears almost canine in the way they are silhouetted against his profile.

“Is it because you can? Is it a…a,” I blink, “a debt of some kind?”

He stills.

“My father, this is about how he betrayed the Mafia, right? You’re one of them?”

“Lucky guess.” His lips twist, “It is about your father, and how he promised you to me. He reneged on his promise, and now, I am here to collect.”

“No.” I swallow… No, no, no.

“Yes.” His jaw hardens.

All expression is wiped clean of his face, and I know then, that he speaks the truth. It’s always about the past. My sorry shambles of a past… Why does it always catch up with me? You can run, but you can never hide.”Tick-tock, Beauty.” He angles his body and his shoulders shut out the sight of the sun, the dawn skies, the horizon, the city in the distance, the rustle of the grass, the trees, the rustle of the leaves. All of it fades and leaves just me and him. Us. Run.

“Five.” He jerks his chin, straightens the cuffs of his sleeves.

My knees wobble.

“Four.”

My pulse rate spikes. I should go. Leave. But my feet are planted in this earth. This piece of land where we first met. What am I, but a speck in the larger scheme of things? To be hurt. To be forgotten. To be taken without an ounce of retribution. To be punished… by him.

“Three.” He thrusts out his chest, widens his stance, every muscle in his body relaxed. “Two.”

I swallow. The pulse beats at my temples. My blood thrums.

“One.”