Page 93 of Runaway in the Mafia
She was still. I followed the slow swallow of her throat. “Thank you.” Her voice was low. Woven with threads of emotion.
I crooked my finger at her. “Come here.”
She got up and trotted up to me, actually doing what I told her to, but stayed just out of reach.
“I’m not changing my name.”
She was full of demands, this one. Made me want to fuck out a ‘please’ for all her demands. “Yes, you fucking are,” I bit out. I wasn’t budging on that one, but she was too quiet. Too busy following the path of her toes, tracing the grains on the wood. “You’re not keeping that fucker’s name, Ahana.”
“Not him.” She looked up, annoyance on her face. “My Papa’s.”
Regrets were etched into her stance. Mine was built on possession. It itched me all wrong that she didn’t want to carry my name when I wanted the fucking world to know she was mine. Only mine. A violent ‘no’ was at the edge of my tongue, but it came to a sudden halt by a faint line etched along my heart. It whispered that I needed to give her the space. Like I’d backedoff and given her the space to involve her family. Whatever she needed to grow back to who she wanted to be, with the memory of that fucker erased out of her vision. “Fine,” I grumbled.
Her head shot up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward and grasped her hand. “On paper. But here everyone will call youSignoraDi Matteo.Capisti?”
“Capito.”She nodded enthusiastically.
Fuck, she was cute. I yanked her to my lap. She was so fucking beautiful that sometimes she made me forget to breathe. Who was I kidding? All my decisions were based on the effect she had on my groin. I traced her cheek with the back of my hand. “You know you’re incredibly strong, right?”
She shook her head. “Selfish,” she muttered almost to herself.
And stubborn.I gripped her chin. “No, you’re not. You got away. Walked away from him. You didn’t let him break you. You came out of it better. Stronger. A fighter. Don’t ever underestimate that.”
Her eyes filled with emotion. And guilt. It was almost like she couldn’t bring herself to accept that she’d been strong. I’d never understand this woman. She was a mystery. Full of secrets she didn’t want to reveal. But I would uncover them. Layer by layer. I’d be the one to heal her. Even if it took the rest of my life and the last of my breath.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AHANA
The house was filling up like an Indian bus. Italian spilled out of open windows and rolled out through the doorways to the white fabric-covered chairs which filled the garden. The sun glared, and brighter than that were Ada’s vibrant flowers, primed to perfection. Cars drove up the driveway, the gravel crunching under the heavy tires of the heated engines, bringing the black to decorate the exterior along with it.
I closed the window in my room and stepped away from it. It wasn’t the heat outside that sent suffocation spiralling up my throat. It was the jagged edge rock stuck between my chest and my windpipe. While my family thought I was married to a man of their culture, caste, and religion, I was getting dressed to marry the man who’d executed him in psycho style. While they thought I was alone at home in London, I was about to tie the knot under the watchful eyes of hundreds of strangers in Sicily.
Guilt burned like acid inside me. I could never tell my family. They could never know that I was marrying outside of myculture. And Vitale could never know about them. I was stuck. In between the life I wanted and the life I was born into.
My hand clenched around the gold locket around my neck. The weight of it felt like a burden on this day. It felt as tight as a metal clasp closing in on my chest. If Papa ever found out, it would break him. Perhaps more than the lies I’d told him about Rajesh. This betrayal would be the last nail in his coffin, hammered down by his own blood, his eldest daughter. The apple of his eye. It would split his weak heart in two if he ever found out I’d got married without telling him. He should have been here. He should have been giving me away. But when Ada had asked to involve my family, I’d only had silence to fill her in.How could I tell him and initiate the catastrophe?
What was I to do? I didn’t know anymore. How had I ended up here?
I was caught in my own web of lies. Cornered myself, so deep that I didn’t see an escape route out. All I saw were problems. That kept springing up like land mines on a war-torn landslide. No safety in sight.
I yearned to be the little girl of a long time ago. Papa’s favourite, no responsibilities weighing on my shoulders. Nothing but dreams lined up ahead of me. Why had reality marched in and kicked the door open?
I knew it was a dangerous game I was playing. Choosing between laying the truth out in plain sight and burying it behind sealed lips. I was a whirlpool of emotions. Standing in neither land. He said I was strong. The truth was that I was a coward. Frozen into inaction. Dread held me trapped. Bringing pain to my family wasn’t something I wanted to think about. Even worse was the fear that they’d reject me. I wanted to forget everyone else and just think of myself. Take charge of my life like I’d taken charge of my business. But I couldn’t. It felt as impossible as flying. It felt unnatural to even dream of it.
The worst part was that I wanted this. I wanted him. So badly I could feel it in each hitch to my breath. In the pulse fluttering in my throat. In the blood flowing in my veins. I wanted to be his.
If karma were real, it should hit me now and be done with it. Not leave me standing in a gorgeous ivory saree, looking like innocence when I carried nothing but sin.
The door clicked open, and even before I caught his smooth, refined, spicy scent, I knew it was my husband-to-be. He stepped in, and the door shut behind him. He leaned back against it. The lock clicking in place brought a frantic throb to my heartbeat.
He seemed to be the type to not respect the rules. Didn’t think he cared much for not seeing the bride before the deal had been signed.
There was at least twenty feet in between us. From my corner of the room to the door. A bed and a closet in between. But the zap of electricity, the sizzle in the air, made it feel like he was an inch from my face.
He was in a three-piece suit in sage green. A white dress shirt hid underneath his waistcoat, and cognac brown shoes polished off his good-enough-to-devour look.
