Page 1 of His Stolen Bride

Santino

I meet my new bride while her husband’s blood is still cooling on my hands. Bella, the Carrera daughter with the sharp tongue and the bright eyes. She thinks she’s nothing compared to her younger sister, but she’s wrong. Bella is everything, and I’m going to prove to her that I’m worthy to be her husband. Once I’ve exacted my vengeance on all who seek to take what I’ve fought and killed for, I’ll have my beauty on her back, panting my name, and thanking the Virgin I claimed her as mine.

Bella

My first husband found me plain and unappealing. But now he’s dead, and I have to look out for my sister as well as my own neck. But Santino isn’t the mafia king I expect. He’s ruthless, hard, and violent, but not to me. To me, he shows kindness, consideration, and above all, an attraction that I can’t explain. I want him, but my duty to my sister is always at the forefront of my mind. Falling for Santino wasn’t part of my plan, but his irresistible assault may be the only thing that can change me from a Carrera to a Baldoni, but at what cost?

Santino

“Where is she?” I wipe the blood from my hands and drop the crimson stained towel into the sink.

“Upstairs in her room.” The old woman edges closer to the knife rack on the wall behind the stove.

“I find myself in need of a cook.” I straighten my bloody shirt as my men fan out through the house. Gunshots and yells echo as the woman gives me a dark look.

“A cook?”

“Are you any good?” I shift to the large stainless-steel island and swipe a piece of crusty bread, then spread burrata over it. It melts in my mouth, and I chew with satisfaction.

Her gaze lightens. “Giuseppe never ate what I cooked. Never wanted anything except American food.” She looks like she wants to spit on the polished tile floor. “Burgers and fries. No gelato. He wanted ice cream.” She scowls.

“You’re hired.” I swallow the rest of my snack and clap my hands as the gunshots finally die down. “Name?”

“Talia.”

“Talia, I’m Santino Baldoni, the new head of this enterprise. From now on, you serve me. Your loyalty is with me. I will keep you safe and well paid as long as you keep my stomach full. Understand?”

She nods and turns to the stove. “Dinner at 7. Breakfast at 9 unless you have a meeting. And I always serve lunch at noon with espresso in the afternoon. If you want anything in particular, say the word, and I will make it better than you’ve ever had it in your entire life.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” I stride out of the kitchen and inspect my new home. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I want to drink in this moment of triumph.

Giuseppe won’t mind. He’s already buried in the vineyard out back, though his blood still stains my fingernails.

I peer at the overdone paintings, the gaudy golden frames, and the ridiculous dust collectors he has stationed along his main hall. Pottery and junk. He was only 40, but it appears he was an old woman at heart, given his taste.

“Clear.” Lucenzo walks past, his gun still at the ready as he checks the house a second time.

“Upstairs?” I ask.

“Clear, except the master bedroom. Locked up tight. Should I break it down?” He turns.

“I’ve got it.” I grin. “I have a way with the ladies, as you well know.”

“If by ladies, you mean goats, then yes. I know.”

I lift the back of my hand.

He deadpans at me as I feign striking him.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re my cousin.”

“I know.” He gestures around us at the huge villa, then keeps moving. Lucenzo may be an asshole, but he’s loyal, and that’s what counts.

I glance up the stairs and smirk. A virgin bride, one never claimed by the pathetic Giuseppe, if the gossip is true. Probably cowering under her bed, quaking in fear at all the commotion. I’ll send her away. The last thing I need is a crying female going to pieces all the time when I’m working on building my empire. This is my chance, my shot, and I won’t let it pass me by. I’ve been loyal to Cato Davinci for my whole life. Now it’s time to share in his spoils and join him as an equal.

Grinning, I take the stairs two at a time. When I see the closed doors at the far end of the hall, I stride toward them and whistle a tune.

One of my soldiers stands outside and glowers at the dark wood doors. “She’s in there, but she’s got something against the doors.”

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