Page 11 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

Buscetta stopped but didn’t let go of my wrist. “We said the vows, old man. We did as you ordered. As I said, we are through here.”

Virga strolled toward us. “You are not finished, ragazzetto. You have only performed one of the three tasks I have given you.”

Buscetta’s neck flushed with anger, but his grip on my wrist remained gentle. “I will take care of those things in my own time,” he growled.

Virga didn’t care for that answer. He stepped closer, the lines around his mouth deepening. “That is not how this works, Giacomo. And refusing me is disrespectful. Shall I place a call to Mirabella?”

Mirabella? Who was that?

The man at my side grew even bigger, his muscles swelling as he glared at Don Virga. I could read the violent intent written on his face. Buscetta would make Virga pay one day very soon.

“Where?” Buscetta asked harshly.

“There is a bedroom in the back. I’ll be waiting for proof.”

Bedroom . . . proof.

That could only mean one thing. And I was not about to do that one thing, not with this man. Fear flooded my system and I struggled to free myself from Buscetta’s grip. “Absolutely not.”

Buscetta looked down at me, surprised, like he couldn’t believe I was capable of speaking. “Quiet.”

“I will not be quiet.” Then I glared at Don Virga. “Proof of a torn hymen is unnecessary, barbaric, and highly improbable. I’m twenty years old, after all.”

Virga squinted at me, then addressed my husband. “Do your duty. And teach your new wife better manners.”

My jaw fell open.

Buscetta exchanged a brief glance with the man he’d arrived with earlier. Then, despite my protests, he tugged me across the room, past the leering stares of Virga’s men. Shivers shot down my spine. No one here would help me.

“Don’t do this,” I said, trying to pull free, but he was stronger. I wasn’t above begging, though. “Please, signore. Don Buscetta,vi prego. You don’t want to do this.”

Ignoring me, he kept going, taking me to the back bedroom.

Please don’t let my first time be here, in a hotel, with a complete stranger.

Yes, I was a virgin. I knew it was silly. But it wasn’t like I was waiting for marriage. That perpetuated an arcane patriarchal view of a woman’s body and her rights.

No, I was waiting for a man I loved and one who loved me back. I wanted a man who looked at me like Fausto looked at Frankie, or Enzo with Gia. I hadn’t found a man like that yet. In fact, most men thought I was too studious, too serious. Too quiet and boring. Tooeverything,except what they wanted.

It wasn’t a big deal. And I was too busy these days to even think about it. Who needed a partner anyway? I was very handy with a vibrator.

When Buscetta closed the bedroom door, he released me, and I raced to the other side of the room. If he tried anything, he would have a fight on his hands.

Except Buscetta didn’t come after me. Instead, he sagged against the door and rubbed his hands over his face.

Huh. I hadn’t expected that.

Still, I wasn’t about to roll over and let this violent man hurt me. I darted to the single window and jerked open the curtains. Bars covered the glass, making escape impossible. My hands slapped against the glass in a futile display of frustration.

“A smart idea,” Buscetta said. “But Virga will have thought of this already.”

Spinning, I glared at him. “I don’t want to be married to you.”

“I don’t want to be married to you, either.” His eyes raked me up and down. “They say you are twenty, but you look like a little girl.”

Okay, that was uncalled for. I knew I wasn’t gorgeous and sophisticated like my older sisters, but I was happiest with no makeup and a messy bun. “Youare insultingme? You’re covered in blood, obviously straight from fighting with someone.”

“Hardly a fight. An hour ago I beat the shit out of a man, then killed him.”

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