Page 1 of Claimed By Him

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Fiona

“Oh my God…” I murmured under my breath. “I wish I was anywhere else but here right now.”

Standing on the stone terrace at the back of our large, 18th-century house, I pushed my sunglasses further up my nose, sighed audibly, and stared out at all the people gathered across our property gardens. They were mingling around tables and chairs that had been put out by the event organizer, drinking limoncello cocktails under a large, white tent.

This garden party was thrown by my family each year. My eldest brother, Antonio Moretti, was the don of the Moretti organization—our name was well respected and highly feared within the Italian American community here in New York.

He took over from my father, Lorenzo, three years ago after he died from old age and general sickness that’s to be expected from living a life of crime. His sins had come to take him away, I strongly believed. Now, Antonio ran the family enterprises as well as a third of the city’s territory and its underground crime organization.

The way Antonio put it was: “If it ain’t organized, it’s dangerous. And we’re in the business of protection. We organize crime to protect our community from danger.Capish?”

The other two-thirds of the city territory was run by Enzo Romano and Alfonzo Rossi. Both old and tired men, just like my father, who obviously had issues stepping down from their thrones and letting the younger generation take the lead. Their families were also pretty prestigious and fearsome, but Antonio was the unspoken leader amongst them all due to the Morettis having the strongest contingent, among other reasons.

I had just turned 20 years old, and all I wanted was to leave this suffocating life behind, move to Milan, and live in the world of fashion. My entire life I’d been held captive here at the house, only ever allowed to leave when the whole family did so together—all in the name of my own protection.

Urg. Ihatedmafia men.

Stepping down onto the manicured lawn, I walked toward my sister-in-law, Antonio’s wife, Mia. She was six months pregnant and sitting gracefully in the shade to the side of the crowd, lucky enough to have an excuse not to walk around and mingle with her husband’s many associates.

“Hey, doll.” I kissed her cheek.

“Stunning dress, Fiona. I love it.” She winked at me, always the only one in this house to actually support my love of good style.

I guess that was to be expected when I’d grown up with only men around—my father, two brothers, and an endless army of uncles, cousins, and other loyal soldiers. My mother died when I was three years old, so I didn’t have much female backup around until Mia moved in. And when I say, “moved in,” I mean she was captured by Antonio and held prisoner in a bedroom upstairs until she broke free and held a gun to his head.

Yeah, the whole thing was fucked-up. But here she was, three years down the line, married, pregnant, happy as a clam, and wildly in love with my controlling, egotistical brother. That was one thing he got right, which my father did not. Antonio actually loved his wife. He didn’t sleep with hookers and thirsty, gold-digging women. He did his work, washed the blood from his hands, then came home to her.

I still didn’t believe it was the life I was meant to live, even if my husband never cheated. I mean, just that standard alone—a husband who never cheats—is a pretty fucking sad standard to live by.

The women in the mafia world have always been treated like trophies. Pretty, spoiled, quiet assets for the men to show off at parties like these. Even my father treated me that way—by arranging my future marriage while I was still sleeping in a crib. Enzo Romano did it to his daughters, and Alfonzo Rossi did it to his sons. Everyone was just a pawn to be controlled in this fucked-up, incestuous web of Italian families.

“Thank you, sis.” I smiled at her and ran a hand over my flamingo-pink, baby-doll dress. It reached mid-thigh in a wide skirt that flowed around my thighs with cute ruffles at the edges. “So, where’s my darling brother this morning?” I asked, heavy with sarcasm.

Mia smiled. “He’s over there.” I followed her line of sight and saw him standing with a group of men, talking in serious tones. No surprise there. He wore a tailored, navy-blue suit with a white shirt, even while out in this heat. Antonio was a stickler for the mafia-man style. He was always straight-backed in an expensive Italian-cut suit, with his dark hair neatly combed over, and his jaw cleanly shaven.

Mia suddenly gasped happily. “Oh good! The girls are here.”

“Thank God,” I murmured and turned around to see the Romano sisters, Olivia and Viola, heading toward us with wide smiles—their father, Enzo Romano, joined the men at the boring business circle. I wondered where their older brother was today. Tony was next in line for the position of the Romano don, and he was arguably even more serious than my brother. The job position suited him fantastically. Needless to say, he irked the shit out of me with his controlling attitude.

“Hey girls!” Olivia greeted us enthusiastically while Viola smiled lazily and kissed our cheeks. She was a bit more understated and self-involved. I liked her for it. You could say I related to that, and she was only two years older than me, so we got along amazingly. In the weeks before Olivia married my other brother, Huxley, we all became closer, as if actual sisters, and I loved that.

“I’m so glad you’re all here now,” Mia said, pointing at the seats around her frantically. “Quickly, sit down before another nosy aunty of Antonio’s comes over to touch my belly.”

We giggled and pulled up the woven bamboo chairs around the small glass table.

“Drinks, ladies?” A handsome, blonde waiter arrived with a tray carrying the cocktail of the day, with one tall glass of juice for the expecting lady of the house. His smile was shockingly white and his eyes a light, breezy blue. With a quick wink my way, he had me wondering how old he was, and if he was related to anyone here; in other words, if he was tainted by the mafia like the rest of the guys I met through my family.

I smiled sweetly and took a glass, swirling the liquid with the little cocktail stick as I watched him walk away.

“Supercute ass,” I commented, nodding with a smile.

“Oh? Yeah, definitely!” Olivia said politely, while the others merely nodded with cheeky smiles. They were all taken. Mia and Olivia were both married, and Viola had a secret bodyguard boyfriend that she didn’t want her father or brother to know about.

I dropped my head back in pure boredom. “Uuurg, why am I even here?”

“Because your brother commands you to be,” Viola said flatly, staring down at her phone.

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