Page 8 of Claimed By Him

Fuck. I shelved the feeling of possessive rage boiling in my gut and focused on why they could be fighting about it. If he did just fuck her, did she not want it? Did he force himself on her? Did he fucking hurt her?

The next thing I saw was Frederico shouting at her.

“What the fuck,” I began to say aloud in my car, unable to control the rage making my heart rate rise and my teeth grind against each other.

This prick was going to die tonight.

I put my hand on the door handle, ready to go and slam him to the ground, but I waited for another moment because Fiona’s face changed. She looked like he’d just told her something unbelievable.

What the fuck is going on?

I opened my door and got out, looking around to see who else was here, eavesdropping. The street looked clear. I closed my door and put my hand on the knife tucked into my jeans pocket.

Suddenly, without even seeing me, Frederico climbed into his car, slammed his door shut, and turned on the engine. I reached Fiona as he sped away loudly.

“Fiona.”

She turned around in shock and looked up at me. I felt my chest tighten—she was crying. Her makeup was smeared across her cheek in black streaks.

“What the fuck happened?” I demanded.

Fiona frowned angrily. “Why the hell are you even here, Tony? What do you want?”

Her tears were still streaming, and her voice hiccupped with her distress. Clearly, he’d hurt her in some way, if not physically. My blood was boiling at the thought that he might have laid a hand on her, that he might have offended or been mean to her in any way. It was an unacceptable offense in my opinion. I stared down at her, taking in how completely distraught she looked, and a switch inside of me flipped.

Fuck this.

“I’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” I said, my voice low and full of rage.

“Tony! Leave him alone!” Fiona shrieked, but I was already walking back to my car.

I swung my door open and hopped in, switching my car on, and letting it rumble angrily to life. Fiona was illuminated by my headlights, holding her hands out to try and stop me, but all she did was show me how distressed she was, and that fueled my fire.

I revved the engine loudly and pulled out into the road, swerving around her to speed up and follow after him.

5

Fiona

Present Day

“Fiona, it’s time.”

Antonio spoke gently enough, but his words caused dread to seep into my veins, making me feel heavy.

“Time for what?” I pretended not to know, looking down at my nails nonchalantly. He had to make this as blunt as possible. Maybe that would help him see how barbaric it was.

We were in his office at the house; he’d called me in after breakfast. I’d been planning to spend the day in the city but that would have to wait.

The house office was still very old-fashioned. Some would call it classic chic, but I found it dusty. There was a large, mahogany desk with a floor-to-ceiling window behind it, displaying a view of the lawns outside. Standing and staring out of the large window, Antonio looked contemplative, maybe even reluctant. That was the least he could feel. I was seated in one of the leather armchairs in front of his desk, my leg crossed over the other, and my hands clasping my knee.

“It’s time for you to choose a husband.” He turned around and looked at me. “I know this is difficult for you to understand, but it’s the way we do things in this family.”

I was quiet, processing the news. “Why now?”

We’d discussed this years ago. He told me that he didn’t want to force me to marry someone I didn't want to, but that I did have to marry, and I did have to marry someone suitable. It was his way of warning me that an arrangement would need to happen. He said that someone like me, a mafia princess if you will, needed to take the responsible, safe path if I was going to survive this life.

“You’ve just turned twenty. No longer a teenager.” He walked over and leaned against his desk in front of me. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked somber, but I knew there would be no arguing with him. “I doubt you’d want to stay in this house much longer.”

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