Page 3 of Ruthless Reign

I was cursed to have a violent family, violent blood. Any man who dared love me would need to be bulletproof lest he end up a casualty of my wretched relatives and my family’s strict moralcode. It was my burden to bear for all the sins the Caputis had committed. After Vittori and Hugo, I’d promised to never love again.

Now I stared down the barrel of my thirty-first birthday. They were dead, and I hadn’t even been married. Hell, I’d barely been bedded properly. I wasn’t a virgin, but I’d been raised a good Catholic woman. Both of my previous lovers were incredibly conservative and entirely too scared of my brothers.

When Leo first proposed this asinine idea of wedding Roman Montgomery, he’d convinced me by suggesting Gabriella would give me to an underboss’s son. If I’d been less conniving about maneuvering myself in other directions, it would have already happened.

After Alba’s mother died/ran away, I became the eldest Caputi princess. A rare jewel. Worth more than a marriage of convenience to some underboss’s dusty boy. So, I thought, “Fine. Why not marry for an alliance? Why not end the war?” Never mind they’d killed my eldest brother, Julian. Never mind Roman’s hands were so soaked in Caputi blood, it might as well be dripping from every venom-laced move he made.

Could I push this aside for the sake of my family? Could I lie back and think of Italy anytime I had to couple with him?

He wasn’t the ugliest guy I’d ever met, nor was he the most violent. Sex with him might even be enjoyable…if I got over the fact he was a Rose and a Montgomery and my family’s worst enemy. I’d never love him, but maybe that was the point. After all, how upset would I be when he died if I never cared about him to begin with?

“A child within a year,” I said with a nod.

Roman made a low noise of disbelief and leaned back in his seat, running the length of me with an assessing gaze. “Is there nothing you won’t do for your brother?”

Not just my brother, but the principle. I wanted peace. I wanted the curse to end. I wanted this madness to stop.

“You have three siblings of your own, do you not?” I said. “Isn’t that why you’re sitting at this table?”

He considered this before asking, “And if we can’t produce a child? Lots of couples have problems with infertility.”

“If that is the case,” Leo said, “Julia has enough sense to seek a doctor. You must make an effort, understand? There can be no pretending in this marriage. Commitment is essential. There must be a true alliance.”

“Fine,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Roman.

“Fine,” he repeated.

“Wonderful,” Angelo said, moving his pen down to the next paragraph. “This coincides nicely with section seven, subsection two, paragraph two—infidelity.”

I steeled myself against Roman’s reaction or lack thereof. Based on how my previous relationships had worked out, he could rest assured I wouldn’t be interested in anyone else. But I knew how these biker men were—only enough sense to operate their brains or their dicks at one time but not both.

“That won’t be a problem,” Roman said, shaking his head. “I barely have time for this relationship, much less anyone else.”

“Regardless,” Leo said, “should it be found out that you’ve been unfaithful, Julia will be within her rights to seek restitution in the form of seventy percent of assets gained, not to mention alimony and a trust for any children.”

Roman snorted and glanced at me. “And is the reverse true as well? Will I have to chase off any Caputi men who come sniffing around my property?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I tilted my chin up and stared at him with every ounce of defiance I could muster, tempering my reaction to being associated with his…property. “I likewise do not have the time, patience, or desire for multiple lovers.”

Roman ran his perfect pink tongue over his lips. “Fine.”

“Fine,” I agreed.

“Great,” Angelo concluded, flipping the pages of our contract closed. “We have no further arguments.”

“We agree,” Berkshire said before reaching for another stack of papers and grabbing the one on top. He handed it to Roman and pointed at a spot on the bottom. My betrothed picked up a pen, signed it, and pushed it across the table to me.

The marriage certificate.

We’d agreed to the contract, and now came the final step. After this, there was no going back. I picked up my pen and glanced at Roman one last time, steeling myself against the ever-simmering rage in my belly for him and everything he stood for.

Then, for the first time, a hint of kindness echoed out of his gaze, like he sympathized with me, like I could see deep down to his soul and it was good and sweet and generous. Perhaps this marriage wouldn’t be as horrible as I feared. Perhaps there could be a solid foundation to our relationship, however screwed up and ridiculous as it began.

I signed my life away right next to Roman’s.

“By the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia,” Angelo said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Congratulations.”

Growingup in a family constantly feuding with another, I’d often wondered what I would do to end it. What price would I be willing to pay to stop the bloodshed? Where was the line between doing enough and doing too much?

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