Page 9 of Borrowed Bride

The longer we drive, the tighter my gut twists. I’m alone.

Utterly and completely.

The one thing that catches my eye as we drive is Marco. He’s mostly a stoic rock, emotionless, with his attention down on his phone. He doesn’t speak. He scarcely even appears to breathe, but there’s one movement that I watch intently.

As he sits there, he toys with the butterfly charm that dangles from the edge of his wallet. He’d mentioned earlier that the charm is the only thing he considers to have value, and my curiosity rises.

“What is that?” I ask. “That charm? Is it important?”

Marco doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even look up, but he tucks the charm away from sight into his pocket.

So, we’re not going to talk about that. Got it.

The silence lasts for the rest of the drive. When the limo pulls to a stop, Marco hands me the shoes with a stern look and climbs from the car.

I roll my eyes and accept. I won the earlier battle but here I will lose. I remove my boots, the last comfort of my old life, and slip my feet into the fancy shoes. They’re so new that the straps bite into my ankle, and my heel slips slightly against the sole, but they’re on.

I slide from the limo onto a gravel driveway, and Marco’s arm is unexpectedly there for me to hold on to and balance with.

“Actually,” I say as I quickly take in my surroundings. “If we’re married, what’s my new last name?”

It’s too dark to make out much detail of the surrounding gardens, but the gigantic towering mansion is lit like a Christmas tree. With four floors and burnt-orange stonework emblazonedwith black iron railings, the place is stunning. Smooth, white stone steps lead up to a gigantic black door flanked by two burly men holding assault rifles against their abdomens.

“Barrone,” Marco replies.

His words hit me like a truck and my next step makes me stumble. Marco’s hand catches my elbow, but there’s no warmth in his touch.

Barrone.

I know that name.

Everyone on the streets knows that name. You can’t breathe without coming into someone pushing drugs for that family and their associated gangs.

Barrone.Mafia. They’re the stuff of nightmares.

Anytime anyone vanishes from the streets, the Barrone name is whispered in secret. They hunt, maul, and kill anyone that gets in their way. There’s no forgiveness with late payment, no respite for anyone who works for them, and if you even think of going clean, they’ll kill everyone even remotely related to you before they hunt you down.

I had one run-in with this family a long time ago when I was young and stupid, and I swore never to cross paths with them again.

I’m so far out of my league that I can’t even see the shore anymore. A smothering sense of dread looms over me as we walk in the shadow of the mansion.

I’m walking right into the jaws ofdeath.

4

MARCO

Gianna stumbles and I catch her, gripping her arm tightly. I remain possessive, but I find myself hoping she can garner some reassurance from me.

I don’t need her scared. I need her alert and as sharp with my family as she was with me back on the street.

She flashes me a small smile and while her face remains calm, her gorgeous eyes betray her nervousness. I don’t blame her.

I’ve been making this plan up as we go and it all hinges on how this introduction is about to go. While I plan on sticking to this decision, if Gianna crumbles then I will be responsible for breaking the psyche of an innocent woman.

I don’t want that kind of blood on my hands.

We step over the threshold and a servant rushes forward to take my coat from me. He glances at Gianna with wide eyes, and as he’s about to leave, I stop him with a single look.

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