Page 15 of Rescued By the Mafia

The Dragon

Marriage. The word still sounded ridiculous to her the next day, more than twelve hours after Dante had dropped the M-word into conversation—with his mother of all people—like some kind of bomb. He’d told her he wanted to make her his. He’d brought her to his breathtakingly beautiful home. He’d shown up for her when she’d called him. Yet the idea that he would even joke about making her his wife seemed absurd.

It wasn’t like they’d set a date, or made any plans at all. They hadn’t talked about the concept of them getting married in any way other than his declaration and singular reassurance to his mother that, yes, Iris was to be his bride. Eventually. But she knew now that marriage was in his mind and that flustered her.

Married. Was that something she wanted?

She had once. She’d yearned for a happy marriage and the beautiful wedding that would come with it, the way most young girls did. She’d had her fair share of dreams about it, before the cruelty of reality had crushed all of her hopes and dreams into a fine powder.

Iris knelt down at the back of the craft supply store where she spent most of her days, fingers hovering over a packet of small rubber bands that didn’t belong in that section of the shop. They were practically ring-sized, barely the circumference of a nickel. In her mind, she saw them in a golden sheen that she knew they didn’t have in reality. Iris blew out a breath and snatched the packet up to put back on its appropriate shelf when she was done sweeping.

As a girl, she’d created an image of a wedding that had cemented in her heart as her ideal ceremony. Her dream wedding. She knew plenty of girls had something like that, and she realized it wasn’t uncommon for an idealistic wedding to never come to fruition. It had been years since she’d last let herself think back on the fantasy. Yet, as she reached again for her broom, that was precisely where her mind went, without any effort at all.

She saw the endless expanses of colorful flowers, all leading up to and curving around an arched altar over a field of lush, green grass. White doves flying overhead. Iris stood at the altar, swathed in the most gorgeous dress she would ever wear, smiling up at a man who made her heart soar higher than the doves in the sky. Her groom would pull her close and kiss her lips in front of all their guests—faceless family and friends—before turning with her and running with her down the aisle in the middle. Exactly the way they did in the movies. They’d run straight to a waiting limo that they’d rented precisely for this moment.

In her earlier years, her fantasy had ended with the limo driving off, the classic ‘Just Married’ painted on the rear window and streamers trailing from the bumper. An absolute cliché. Sometime after she’d transitioned out of high school, her fantasy had taken on a new layer as well. The limo developed tinted windows and the classic words were displayed on an undefined privacy screen. And inside the limo, as it pulled away from the venue, her new husband pulled her onto his lap with all the eagerness of a man lost to passion. Somehow, in her more adult fantasy, they made hurried love in the backseat of the limo all without damaging her dress and, of course, finished in time to make their appearance at the reception.

Twenty-two-year-old Iris could only guess at how all of those things worked. She had attended only one wedding—an incredibly long and stuffy affair—and she’d certainly never had any form of car sex. Twenty-nine-year-old Iris still didn’t have the answers, and she no longer had the energy to guess at them. It was surprisingly draining to re-live that old daydream.

She’d believed in marriage once, and craved it, the way most teenagers yearn for their first car. But after Paul … she wasn’t that brave. Marriage was reserved for love. And she didn’t think she believed in that anymore.

“Hey, Iris,” the owner of Craft Happens, and perhaps her only friend, Megan, said as she approached. Megan’s lips were scrunched to the side, not smiling. The expression was a sure indication that she had something troubling on her mind.

Iris pulled the broom up to her shoulder and held it still. “Is something wrong?”

Megan pushed her lips into a quick, strained smile before speaking in a quiet voice. “I’m concerned. You had car troubles last time I saw you, now today you’re showing up to work with a bodyguard?” She rolled her wrist and jabbed her thumb toward the back, where she’d relegated Iris’s aforementioned escort.

The man had originally tried insisting on taking up a position where he could watch Iris for at least most of the day, but it was a small shop and he was not small in stature or presence. Megan had refused, afraid he’d scare away customers, and ultimately relented to him sitting in back in the space with the monitors that received the footage from her security cameras. He would get his eyes; she would get her appearance of peace.

Iris felt an increasingly familiar rush of heat build on her cheeks. “I wouldn’t call him a bodyguard per se…” It was a weak argument. He might have driven her to work, at Dante’s orders, but his instance on staying and keeping watch on her made it clear that was what he was.

Megan folded her arms. “He’s either a bodyguard or a warden,” she said. “Have you gotten into something dangerous? Did you call the police yet?”

Iris held tighter to the broom, the question succeeding in dousing her embarrassment. “I told you how I feel about police,” she said. “I’m fine. I’ve … met someone, recently. It’s new, but he’s protective.” She tipped her head in the direction of the room.

“You call this protective?”

“You did call him a bodyguard.”

Megan made another face, her nose crinkling and brows dipping. “I wouldn’t have pegged a broody gym rat for your type,” she finally said.

“What?”

Megan pointed again to the side, toward the room. “No way he has muscles like that without living at a gym. And probably popping steroids.” She lowered her voice. “You know what those do to a guy, right?”

Again, Iris flushed. “Not him!” She clamped a hand over her mouth, having inadvertently shouted the words. She took a deep breath, lowered her hand, and whispered, “He works for the man I’m talking about.” She hesitated suddenly. Was she supposed to say Dante’s name? He had sent her out in public with an armed escort. He couldn’t possibly think that wouldn’t raise questions.

Both of Megan’s brows arched up her forehead in a clear indication that she wanted more information.

He didn’t tell me not to. “Dante De Salvo,” Iris said.

Megan’s eyes flew open wide and she mouthed ‘De Salvo’ as if she weren’t brave enough to say the name out loud.

Iris nodded.

The bell over the front entrance jingled, indicating a new customer.

Megan drew a deep breath and took a large step back, turning as she moved. “Just … be careful, okay? I’ll go see if I can help them.” She indicated the front of the shop and walked away.

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