Page 3 of Mafia and Protector

I signed my name slowly, all the while wondering if this was really happening. As I completed my signature, I laid the pen down carefully next to the papers.

Rafael prowled toward me, his jaw tightly clenched. He took the pen to sign his own name, and as he towered above me with his tall frame, I wished I had thought to push the contract toward him so that he wouldn’t have to stand so near to me.

He was so close that I could smell him—a clean, masculine scent with a hint of cologne. As he wrote, I noticed his strong wrists. They were tanned and my eyes followed the trail of sandy hair which disappeared into the sleeve of his dress shirt.

After he had finished signing his name, I glanced down at my fingers, seeing that some black ink had leaked from the fountain pen and stained my fingers.

I felt like I wanted to wash my hands straightaway. In fact, I wanted to wash my whole body and try to wash away the stain of the Mafia, the stain of this life that I’d been born into. But I knew that even though I could wash away the ink, I could never get rid of my duty as a Mafia daughter. I could never get rid of my obligation to marry this man standing next to me.

After we had both signed the contract, I knew that there was no way out for me, and I was now bound to the Santino family for life.

I’m was marrying into a family where the father was a murderous psychopath, his eldest son was still in love with my older sister, and the man I was going to marry was…well, I don’t know what he was because I’d never even spoken to him.

Emanuel stood. “We should leave the couple alone for a minute so that Rafael can present the engagement ring.” With that, they filed out of the office while they carried on talking about business matters, leaving me sitting in the chair and Rafael standing over me.

This couldn’t be any more awkward. Wasn’t getting engaged supposed to be romantic?

But then, this wasn’t the sort of engagement most people had. As was the norm in the Mafia world, our families had arranged this marriage. Rafael clearly wasn’t interested in me—he’d never sought me out at formal Società functions to talk or ask me to dance. He was just marrying me to keep his father happy and the Società stable.

His whole energy filled the room, his proximity unnerving me and his scent consuming me. I didn’t know where to look or what I was supposed to do.

“Stand up.” His low voice penetrated the silence.

I would prefer to have remained sitting rather than risking standing on these heels again, but I guess he couldn’t put the ring on like that. I slowly got to my feet, my left hand holding onto the edge of my father’s desk for support.

He got out a small velvet box and opened it to reveal a large oval diamond flanked by two smaller sapphires, all set on a thin band of platinum. It was an exquisite design.

I watched as he removed the ring from the box and brought it toward me. “Give me your hand”. Was anything he said not a command?

I hesitated, not wanting to let go of the desk in case I lost my balance again.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said softly, as if realizing why I was reluctant to give him my hand.

I slowly gave him my hand, and as his fingers touched me for the first time, I felt a flush run up my cheeks and my heart thud too fast. It was the first time I had been touched by a man who was not a family member.

He slid the ring onto my left hand, but he didn’t let go of it immediately. Instead, he admired the ring on me.

I discreetly looked at him. Up close, I could see that the stormy dark blue of his eyes was warmed by some lighter turquoise streaks. And as I ran my gaze over his hair, I thought somehow he was less scary than I imagined he would be. Yet I knew how deceptive appearances could be. And he was a Santino—there was nothing that wasn’t scary about that family.

“I was taken by surprise when my father said our families want us to marry,” I said in a rush.

“I could tell by your reaction.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to think it was personal against you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve had worse said to me than someone indicating they’d prefer my brother marry into their family,” he drawled.

I flushed. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“I’ll survive.”

I fiddled with my hair, trying to tuck in the loose strands. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to brush my hair before my father summoned me.”

“No matter. It looks fine.”

“Do you think? My parents like me dressed properly, especially in front of company.” I realized then how that sounded and rushed on. “Not that I don’t dress properly at other times.” Jesus, why was I rambling in front of this man?

There was an awkward silence, and I willed myself not to fill it with any more of my gabbling.

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