Chapter 12

While I couldn't see his skin, my choice wasn't the best because now I could see the outline of his muscles under his fitted black shirt. The lean, yet strong cut chest and shoulders.

I couldn't deny it, Massimo Lombardi was appealing to the eye. Luring even, with his hard and quiet demeanor.

I stared back at his eyes.

He was staring back at mine.

MASSIMO

Miami

I read the numbers and statistics of the legitimate business I owned and compared their data with the figures from offshore accounts my tablet displayed. A distraction I needed to keep the demon away from seeing my favorite color painted on the streets of New York.

Franco Zanetti tested my patience with his disrespect. As an old and proud man stuck in the old ways of the Mafia, I had expected it. Even looked forward to it. To see him yield as I forced his proud hand to what I wanted.

The safety of those I looked after and his daughter.

But the sight of her bruised face, the cut above her temple, and her slightly dilated pupils wasn't something I'd anticipated.

I don't like surprises. While men in our world often turned their wrath to our women, he had lost any right from the moment she had been promised tome. His words and absence to finish the meeting were a mere insult compared to the insolence of presenting her in such a state.

He'd mocked me with the fingertips that marked what was now mine.

His marks meant so much more, and he knew it. I refused to take his disrespect lightly.

Each glance at her reminded me that this was just the beginning.

Alessandra was the perfect example of poise. She masked her emotions and yet, let her voice escape loudly. I saw glimpses of vulnerability only so often, and each time it was evident she loathed the slips.

My plan to break her and parade her in front of her father hadn't changed. But now that I had her so close, I saw the threat and danger she posed. Her beauty was sinful, and her will was powerful. I couldn't trust her. After all, she was a Zanetti.

I ignored her peeping eyes. They only lasted a few seconds during the time we sat quietly. The hints of her stare spread throughout the second hour in the air. Through that time, I gathered a few burning interests about her. Like the constant touch to her thigh. A tic that seemed to calm her for a short while before she would run her fingertips all over again. She was hiding something underneath the fabric of her dress, and she did so terribly. At some point, she stood and returned with a sketchbook. When the first swipe of her pencil scratched the paper, Alessandra drifted away. The sight of her concentration raised questions about the stranger who had left Italy, since I had not expected her to be a painter or an artist.

At some point, she loudly exhaled. Frustrated and unhappy.

Good.

Then I sensed her eyes again. This time, they'd meant to stay.

I watched as they moved over my face and neck before they landed on my torso with a blend of distinctive reactions that all worked in my favor. Whether her mind disapproved of this marriage, her body and her eyes spoke a different tale.

Alessandra looked up, but my eyes were already waiting for hers.

Our eyes declared wars of hatred and punishment. In this war, white flags and surrender didn't exist. Freedom could only be granted after death, but soon after, the fire pits of hell will claim such a gift.

"If I asked you a question, would you answer it?" I savored her raspy and thick Italian accent. The years she'd spent away had made her more of a foreigner to the country she had been born in.

"Yes."

"Honestly?"

"I don't lie. I find them tasteless." I contemplated my next words. "I will tell you if I can't share something, but I must warn you that some answers can be painful."

"But you would." Disbelief marked her tone.

"That's what I said."

"Why did you agree?" Her thin fingers wiggled between us. "To this?"

"New York would never take our word as a promise. It was the logical answer to keep my brother safe and his" Girlfriend didn't seem the right word. "His woman, Davina, out of danger."

"Was that it?"

"You want a list?" I asked as her jade greens waited. "I needed to marry for the position I've been titled. I've held off by using Leonardo as an excuse. But my time is running out, and I don't need my own Outfit breathing down my throat because I'm unmarried. It also helps with numbers during a council vote-"

"I got it."

I hid my annoyance at her interruption and focused on her disrespect. She'd asked for honesty, and in return, she'd snapped.

It wasn't worth my time trying to decipher her mood swings. Picking up my tablet, I dismissed her.

Alessandra didn't have to like the idea of an arranged marriage, but it could quickly turn into hell if she didn't give in soon. A challenge I gladly accepted.

"Will we share a room?"

That caught my attention, and the corners of my mouth lifted.

"Yes."

"We aren't married."

"I'm condemned to hell either way, aren't you?"

It was a particular way to ask about her sins, but there was one sin I particularly cared about.

Women in our world were often promised and married at the age of eighteen to twenty-two, but she had been tucked away and far from temptation by men like me. While I had ten years over her, she'd stayed unmarried for far longer than the traditional time frame for a principessa. Making her encounters with the opposite sex more likely, but still tricky to manage as she'd been under the protection and guard of her grandfather. A tenacious bastard who'd created who Franco Zanetti now was.