Page 33 of Cruel Heir

James appears in the doorway, glancing at me as he ushers another man in—the priest. Father Delaney comes to sit towards the end of the table, a few seats down from the dons, his expression bland as he looks down towards me.

“You’re fortunate I was able to get away on such short notice, since you wished to see me, Don Leone.” He frowns. “I usually have business to tend to at the church.”

I see Lucia flinch when he saysDon Leone, as she always does. Her gaze is on her plate, and I see her reach to add a few bits of food to it, though she doesn’t really eat. She has a piece of bread in her hands that she’s shredding, and she doesn’t look up as one of the other dons speaks.

“We were told that you were the one who presided over Don Leone’s marriage to Lucia Fontana. Is that true?”

Father Delaney sits back in his chair, nodding. Only I see the slight twitch of Lucia’s mouth, the way she seems to sink a little lower into her seat. She’d hoped that the priest might, in the face of all these other dons questioning the marriage, admit that it was under duress.

“Yes, I was,” he says, dabbing a piece of bread in oil. “Don Leone asked me to come and oversee the ceremony.”

“But it wasn’t much of a ceremony, was it? Done at night, without anyone of any importance there?”

Father Delaney’s smile is as bland as ever. “ Don Leone expressed his distaste for the pomp and circumstance of most mafia weddings.He wanted the occasion to be a private affair. And seeing as how God is the most important presence at any wedding, I would say that all the parties necessary attended the happy occasion.”

The other dons nod quickly, all murmuring their agreement, but I don’t miss the look that Father Delaney gives me. A quick glance—an ever so brief reminder that he knows the truth of the circumstances under which Lucia married me.

“And you, Lucia?” Don Gaeta turns his attention towards my wife, who is sitting silently, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough that I see a few drops of blood welling from it. “Is that what you wanted?”

Inwardly, I feel myself tense. This is the moment where Lucia could say that she was here under duress. The dons are wise enough, I think, not to interfere here, where they have so little protection, and I have so much. But they might refuse my alliance, and instead inform Fontana of what’s happening here.

Or, they might be so intrigued by the idea of a shift in power that they ignore her plight. If so, she risks my anger by saying anything.

“I never thought very much about what kind of wedding I wanted,” Lucia says finally, looking up at Don Gaeta. “I always thought it would all be chosen for me. And it was. Here we are.” She smiles faintly, her fingers still toying with the shredded pieces of bread.

The dons exchange glances. “Don Leone says that he hopes you’ll provide him with an heir soon.”

“He’s shared that hope with me as well.” She sits up a little straighter, as if she can feel how tense I am, the weight of my gaze on her. “Isn’t that what every husband wants?”

Don Luisi chuckles. “I can attest to that. But getting there is half the fun, isn’t it? Excuse me, Father,” he adds, glancing down at the priest.

Lucia blushes prettily, and the other dons chuckle.

“You should be congratulated on your marriage.” It’s one of the other men who says that, one of the ones who doubted me today. “Lucia Fontana was desired by every unmarried man and widower in Sicily, and beyond. She’s quite a prize.”

I can feel Lucia stiffen next to me. But she says nothing, that smile still plastered on her lips, as she sits there unmoving.

The mood at the table shifts after that. There are no more questions for Father Delaney, who sits and eats his lunch in silence, ignoring most of the chatter. There’s some small talk among the dons, and a few of them ask Lucia how she’s enjoying her new home, which she answers politely. She says nothing about her kidnapping, nothing about the forced marriage, nothing other than to comment on the yoga room and how she’s looking forward to better weather so that she can enjoy the gardens. She asks politely about the other dons’ families, and the lunch turns from tense to a relaxed conversation. By the end of it, it feels almost like a pleasant glimpse into what life could be like with Lucia here as my wife, helping me to run the estate and entertain.

And once again, I have the thought that if only she would come to terms with what her life is now, how much happier we could both be.

When the dons have left, taking their leave shortly after Father Delaney, Lucia is still sitting at the table. Her plate is almost untouched, and I frown at her.

“We talked about this, Lucia. You need to eat.”

She looks up at me, her lips pressed together. “I think in this one instance,” she says quietly, “you can forgive me for my lack of appetite.”

We regard each other from across the table, and I can see the strain that this had on her. How every moment, she must have been struggling not to say something that might lead to her being able to leave this place—and me. I feel a sharp wave of possessive anger, and I reach out to cover her hand with mine, curling my fingers around it.

“There is no leaving me,principessa,” I murmur. “You are my wife now. And you did a remarkable job of playing your part. I’m very proud of you.”

Lucia looks at me, and her gaze is as cold as I’ve ever seen it. The praise seems to fall on deaf ears, her expression blank, as if she couldn’t care less.

“Whatever it is that you’re trying to do to my father,” she saysslowly, “to my family—you’ll never succeed. Even if you manage to get me pregnant, even if you kill me, even if you do whatever you can think of to me to hurt my father by proxy—it will never work the way you think it will. My father is more powerful than you’ll ever be. And he doesn’t love me enough to destroy his empire over me. Those men can’t bring him down.” She looks contemptuously at the seats where the other dons were, and for a moment, I see Fontana’s daughter shining through at me, the haughty mafia princess that I took for myself that evening in her garden.

I feel a flush of anger at the way she’s daring to speak to me, but there’s more than that. I can’t help but be impressed with her bravery, with her refusal to give in to her fear and back down in the face of my plans.

I know better than to fall for her. But Lucia isn’t the frightened princess that I expected. Her tenacity and her refusal to be a wilting flower—her ability to stand up to me even when she’s afraid—makes me feel things that I know will only complicate matters.

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