Page 8 of Till Death Do Us Part

I close my eyes, trying to stave off the dizziness, then a large hand wraps around mine. The other lands on my lower back, the touch gentle but firm as I’m pressed flush against a firm chest.

There’s something comforting about the way he holds me and the sandalwood scent coming off him. I’m half tempted to rest my head against him and take a nap.

Though, comfort is the last thing I’m feeling when he whispers in my ear.

“Hello, Princess,” he murmurs, sending shivers down my spine. My gaze flicks up, my eyes locking onto his deep brown orbs that are already ingrained into my brain after staring at them for a short time back in the church. Up close, his face is strong and chiselled as though made from stone.

There isn’t a single wrinkle on his face, nor a line in sight when he smirks down at me. I know Antonio is thirty-four, and given they grew up together, I assume Leonardo is the same age but he doesn’t look a day over thirty.

“Good evening, again,” I say politely, keeping my voice soft. That’s the only way I will survive any interaction with him, by keeping calm and collected. He’s dangerous, that much is obvious when his dark eyes move over my face and travel down my chest, lingering slightly on the cleavage threatening to spill over the neckline of my dress.

Maybe I’m not the only one feeling affected. Then again, he’s a bloke, and I’m pretty sure most would stop and stare at a woman’s breasts if they were in their face like mine are.

“Have you had a good day?” he asks me, twirling me around the dancefloor. His movements are gracious, confident as he leads us through a waltz across the floor. The fact the man can dance only makes him more attractive.

“It’s been lovely, thank you.”

He laughs a little, the sound tickling my earlobe as he leans into me. “Why do I get the feeling this little miss perfectly polite act is just that, an act?”

Because it is.

“I have no idea,” I answer, the lie falling easily off my tongue. That’s not to say I’m not a polite person, but I’m also not the kind of person that minces around things.

The role of the perfect wife is something my father has been trying to drill into me since he first told me about the marriage contract three years ago.

No man wants a sarcastic, witty wife.

At least that’s what I’ve been told on an almost daily basis.

I’m not sure I agree but then I have no previous marital experience to compare to. So maybe Papá is right. Though, why any woman would want to be with a man that tries to tame them and their voices, I’ve no clue.

It’s not something I want to do; not that I have a choice. So, for now, I’ll play the role. I’ll act the part and hope that it sticks, or pray the Mafia are willing to take on an outspoken twenty-one-year-old who drinks like a sailor and has a mouth to match.

Leonardo tightens his grip, pulling me even closer. There’s barely an inch of space between our bodies. I’m not sure it’s appropriate to be this close to the man, though, I’m not complaining.

“You’re interesting,” he murmurs. His lips graze my earlobe, and I barely control the moan that tries to escape me. “I can’t wait to see how you come into yourself in New York. I doubt Antonio is going to be able to handle you at all.”

“Maybe I’m not meant to be handled,” I quip, tilting my head up to him. Our lips brush, a whisper of a touch before I lean back.

“Oh, that’s not true at all. You’re meant to be handled.” He pulls away from me, taking a few steps backwards towards the bar. Before he turns around, he sends me a wink, and my heart races. “But not by him. See you around, Princess.”

“Hey, Papá.” My father spins in his seat, a smile plastered on his face as he stares up at me. His tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt undone.

Like this, he just looks like any old dad at his daughter’s wedding: carefree, jovial even.

There’s something else shimmering in the depths of his brown eyes though. A sadness of sorts, and the frustration I saw earlier lingers in the tense hold of his muscles.

“Bambina.” Leaning into him, he presses a kiss against my cheek, his arm wrapping over my back and giving me a light squeeze.

“Are you okay?” I ask when he pulls back, a frown at my lips.

“Of course, Pippa,” he answers, patting me on the shoulder with an open palm. “This is a day of great celebration for us. For you.”

I nod, placing a hand over his and patting his fingers twice before removing his hold. “You’re right, Papá.”

“You will be a good wife, an obedient wife.” His words come out in a quiet whisper, his eyes pleading with me. I’m under no illusions that my father isn’t getting something out of this union, though, I have no idea what it may be, but he’s been too focused on me playing a role. The role of an obedient woman who stands behind her man, waiting in the shadows for him to return home bloody and beaten.

The life of a boss’s wife isn’t an easy one. It’s certainly not the life meant for me.

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