Page 44 of Married to the Mafia

“Love it. Seaside town, quiet, except for mafia assholes showing up every five minutes.”

“When the mansion’s built, you will live in it with me.”

“It’s not getting built. I’m going to save the shelter.”

“Of course you are. Stubborn one, aren’t you? I told you the shelter is going to be rebuilt bigger and better than before.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am many things, Rose, but I am not a liar. The old shelter was falling apart. It would crumble in a couple of years anyway.” He’s looking right at me and I could drown in those eyes. Suddenly I’m hungry for something that isn’t food.

“Come with me,” he says, getting to his feet."

He walks over to the door and doesn’t look back. It pisses me off royally that he just assumes I’ll follow him. I could run right now. I look up and down the dining room. I slip a knife into my hand, pressing it to my side as I catch up with him.

He walks up a flight of stairs and along a corridor, pushing open the door at the end. “This will be your room,” he says. “Until you decide to spend the night in my bed.”

“You mean you aren’t going to force me into your bed?” Why does my question sound like I’m disappointed?

“We’re married now. You have rights.”

“The right to leave this fucking house?”

“Not yet.” He walks into the bedroom, and I follow, gasping at the sight before me. The room is bigger than my entire house. Floor to ceiling windows that look out on the city streets.

We’re only a couple of stories up but it feels like a world away from the commuters and street traders out there. “Can they see in?” I ask, pressing myself to the glass.

“If I touch this,” he says, pointing at a button next to him. “Up and you’re invisible. Down and they can see in like they’re standing right next to you.”

I spin around, taking in the huge four-poster bed, the antique furniture, the paintings on the walls, the thick burgundy carpet. “Better than the basement?” he asks.

I nod as he pulls open a wardrobe. The interior is filled with designer clothes. Dresses, jackets, underwear.

“All in your size,” he says. “I look after my wife.”

He pulls open another door, and it’s a shoe closet the size of my bathroom. He turns a handle and the shelves move to reveal another row behind them. “Wow,” I say. “I’m impressed.”

“Got the idea from Overboard,” he replies. “Worked out pretty well.”

“I love that movie!”

He’s walking toward me and frowning, and I realize I’ve let the knife come into view. Shit. He reaches a hand out. “Give that to me,” he says.

I step back from him. I mustn’t let the luxury fool me. It’s still a prison and I’m still trapped here. I shake my headand brandish the blade. “Let me go,” I say. “Just let me go home.”

He shakes his head, and he looks sad, as if he wants to let me go. “I can’t,” he says. “You’d be dead by the end of the day. Time is running out for the Beluccis. Any time now, your father will get in touch to confirm his retirement and my position as head of all the families. Give me the knife.”

He takes another step toward me, and I wave the knife at him. He ducks around it and grabs my wrist, pulling me off balance. As I fall, he catches me, tossing the blade away. He holds me tight, his expression turning to anger.

“You will learn to behave,” he says, picking me up and carrying me to the bed. It’s only then that I notice the ropes in each corner.

He shoves me on my back, his knee in my stomach. I squirm to try and get free as he grabs my left wrist, looping the rope around it and tying it tight.

“Get off me!” I yell, punching him with my free fist. He catches it and ties it down, leaving my legs to thrash as he binds me to the bed. I’m held down tight, fighting the ropes that keep me in place as he stands up and looks down at me.

“You need to understand something,” he says. “And this seems to be the only way to get it through to you.”

I spit at him. He wipes it from his face and leans closer. “Do it again if it makes you feel better,” he says. “You will not be untied until you apologize for sneaking the knife from the dining room. What was the plan? Stab me? What then?”

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