Page 1 of The Irish Reaper

1

HAVEN

I’m a mob princess.

And I’m currently getting groped like a cheap doll by a man that’s supposed to protect, honor and love me for the rest of my life.

Enzo Bianchi is a con. A boy with too much power and a crown that will soon sit on his head with one of the most notorious and mighty Italian mafias on this side of the country.

I’m no longer impressed.

I wasn’t before, but when his mouth falls to my neck, it takes everything in me not to hurl onto Cesare Atolini's suit.

My life was built for this. I would tie families together and build an empire that would benefit more powerful men.

Not me.

Not my little sister.

The reality in which I stand is not my own. That’s why I’m disappointed that this is harder to bear than I thought it’d be.

“Enzo,” I mutter, craning my head so that he looks at me. “Can we not do this here?”

His lips wrap around the column of my throat, creating an uncomfortable hollow in my gut as his fingers at my hip begin to bunch up my dress. “C’mon, baby…” He sticks his tongue out then and licks upward. I cringe instantly. “This is what you were made for.”

We haven’t even had our first kiss yet, and this prick thinks I’m going to allow him to fuck me in the front yard of a house party?

“Enzo,” I repeat with more steel to my tone. “We’re not doing this.”

I must’ve said the magic words because his assault abruptly stops as he pulls from the confines of my shoulder and levels a dark, unamused glower on me.

“Mi scusi?” My brows pinch a bit because it sounds like he saidexcuse me,but I don’t speak Italian.

Fingers immediately snatch my jaw, the pads of Enzo’s fingers digging painfully into my gums to keep his stare.

“If I say we’re gonna fuck, sweetheart…that’s what we’re gonna do.”

I’d love to desperately ask my father what he was thinking when he set this up, but that’d be stupid.

Apparently, it’d be worthless as arguing with the man in front of me.

Mob men seem to be allergic to human emotions altogether. It’s all about the game, the heights of which you can amount to, and the people you have to sleep with to get you there.

More specifically, thewomenyou stick in those situations to sleep with to getthemthere.

This arranged marriage is to form an alliance between my family, the Kincaids, and his, the Bianchis. One that is allegedly going to put my family at the so-called top. I don’t see how I would have anything to do with that. Why men have to use women as bargaining chips is beyond me. It’s not like they treat us like queens.

The cool air of the night hits my skin when my gown is hiked higher. Enzo’s free hand loops around my upper thigh and hurls my knee upward to wrap around one side of his waist.

This is how life is going to be.

The almost unfathomable fact is that this man is going to be my husband, and I’m going to have to deal with situations like this all the time, creating hot tears to burn at the back of my eyes.

I try to breathe steadily through my nose, but Enzo is trying to take possession of my lips again.

“I’m gonna make you mine tonight,” he promises through a growl. The smell of Campari filling my nose.

I hate the smell.

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