Page 9 of Satin Empire

“You think I like this?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level. No need to turn this hostile. We’re just two strangers stuck in a fucked-up situation, that’s all. “You’re way too fucking young for me. And don’t try to deny it. That little stunt out there only proved how immature you are. I have no interest in marrying a fucking baby, much less one prone to acting out.”

“Screw you. I’m not immature.” She glares at me, shaking her head. “I got caught up in the moment, okay?”

“Sure, whatever you want to tell yourself, but here’s the thing. You don’t know me. You don’t know what kind of man I am. So don’t come into my club, dance on my stage, and start talking to me like you have any clue who the fuck I am, because you don’t. You’re just some naive little girl your stepdad’s pawning off on me so our families can have an alliance. We’re both fucked here, so don’t act like you’re the fucking victim. Now, I need to take you home to your family, because if anyone finds out what happened tonight, we are both dead. I don’t mean that figuratively. I mean we will both literally get killed.”

Her mouth opens and I finally see some of the gravity of the situation settle on her. She’s livid, her cheeks bright red, her ears tipped scarlet, and if she didn’t hate me before, she definitely hates me now. But yeah, that’s right, at least now she understands if anyone in that room out there is Milano, we’re fucked. Hell, if anyone from the Famiglias recognized her, we’re fucked, and I don’t want to get a bullet in my head because she couldn’t keep her top on.

“You’re right,” she says, getting to her feet. She says it in a way that suggests I’m nothing of the sort. “I don’t know you. And I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, well, we’re stuck in this shit situation together. Next time, don’t try to get my attention by doing something that might get us both murdered.”

Outrage flashes across her face but she quickly shuts it down. “God, you’re such an asshole. Maybe I really was right about you. I meant what I said, if you can get me out of this fucking stupid marriage, please do it. Because I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

I turn my back on her. “Helmuth!” I shout.

The big man comes running back into the room. He rubs his hands together, looking like he might cry. “Yeah, boss?”

“Take Miss Milano back to her family’s house. Don’t tell anyone what you saw here. Make sure the girls all understand that if they talk about it, they will end up in a dumpster somewhere with their throats cut, and I fucking mean that. If there’s anyone from the Famiglias out in the crowd tonight, tell them to come see me.”

“We’re good on that last part, boss,” Helmuth says quickly. “Had my guys double-check. And there were no phones, like the rules say.”

“Better fucking not have been.” I nod at Alana. “Go home. I’ll see you again sooner than we both want.”

She hesitates and I can tell she has something snarky and nasty to say, but the presence of Helmuth looming like a tractor trailer must be enough to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she follows him out, and I’m left alone in the dressing room.

What a fucking mess. I slump down onto the bench and lean forward, face in my hands. What a goddamn mess. That girl came in here and fucked everything up, and unless we get at least a little lucky, this night could blow up in both our faces.

But that’s not the worst part.

No, she came here with reasonable intentions. She wanted to meet the guy that’s going to be her husband, and I can’t fucking blame her for that. Instead of some gallant mafia Don, some suave motherfucker with hair gel and a gym body, she gets me.

A nasty bastard too worn down by a couple years of fighting to care about anything anymore.

I should’ve been nicer. I shouldn’t have said that shit about her being too young. Whether we like it or not, we’re going to be stuck together. She wants me to find a way out of this for her—but there’s nothing I can do.

All I did tonight was make shit worse.

And I despise myself for it, but that’s typical Carlo. Running my goddamn mouth and saying whatever dumb shit pops into my head, no filter, no consideration for how it might make someone else feel.

Now I get to go home and jerk my hard dick to the memory of her tits knowing full well she hates my guts, and I deserve it.

Chapter 5

Alana

I keep waiting for Orsino to come storming into my room with a gun so he can put me out of my misery himself. My stepdad would probably take pleasure in it too—he never did like me very much.

My mom met Orsino Milano at her club, and the big-shot mafia Don swept her off her feet. I guess she was the sort of woman he couldn’t resist, because they went from dating to married in a few whirlwind months. It didn’t hurt that he got her pregnant in that first year, which led to one of the few decent things in my life, my little brother, Niccolo. He’s seven and a dream, despite how much of a throbbing prick his father is.

Unfortunately for me, Mom really took to the mafia lifestyle, which means she does whatever she can to make her husband happy. Orsino’s not a pleasant man, but Mom’s willing to do pretty much anything, which means she’s always on his side. Even when Orsino’s insulting me, telling me I’m not smart enough, I’m not poised enough, I’m an embarrassment to the entire Famiglia and to God himself, Mom only ever nods along and agrees. Later, she’ll come apologize and hug me and beg me not to be angry with her, but she will never stand up for me. Not ever, not once.

I’m way past expecting it.

And I’m at the point where I’m pretty sure Orsino would love any excuse to put a gun to my skull and make me disappear.

Selling me to Carlo Rossi’s the next best thing for him though.

All that night and the next morning, I can’t stop thinking about my future husband. I think about Carlo’s big, strong, warm hands on my tits, squeezing them harder than he needed to, teasing my nipples almost instinctively, and the thick cock he had pressed against my back. Every time I close my eyes, I see him storming onto the stage again, snarling and spitting like a protective pit bull, claiming me as his own and covering me from the eyes of the leering pervs. He could’ve let me finish dancing, but it was like he couldn’t stand the idea of other men looking at me, and I get a sudden flush of serious hot-and-heavy desire every time I picture it.

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