Page 8 of Own Me

"How about this,bambina?Why not meet my grandson first, and if he's not to your liking, then we shall talk about other alternatives.Va bene?"

Chapter Three

Penelope

ANOTHER FANCY-LOOKINGcar is waiting for us when we land, and we're driven straight to the Marchetti Mansion at the center of Boston. It looks more like a haunted university than a home, to be honest, and it even has stone gargoyles scowling at us from the rooftop.

While the grounds are crawling with bodyguards armed to the teeth, the high-ceilinged living room with its mosaic windows and marble fireplace is completely empty. The walls are of darkly stained wood, and there are sculptures of angels in every corner, also of marble. Every piece of furniture looks like it could fetch thousands of dollars in auctions, and I'm betting it's no coincidence that the leather cushions are the color of blood.

With a'famiglia'like theirs, you gotta be proactive when hiding evidence of murder.

An imperial staircase provides a majestic backdrop for the living room, andLa Stregahas already ascended a step when she pauses to turn back and look at me.

"This shall be your home for the next couple of days, so please make yourself comfortable. Cesare will be with you shortly."

The way she nods at me feels like a 'see ya' and 'you're dismissed' at the same time, and I find myself remaining on my feet even when she reaches the top of the stairs and disappears from view.

She obviously isn't worried I'd be tempted to escape, but that's probably because she also knows I'm neither stupid nor suicidal. Big guys with bigger guns notwithstanding, I've also spied packs of bloodhounds running around, and none of them looked remotely friendly.

Boston being colder than Brooklyn is a pretty well-known fact, but I'm starting to realize it's one thing to know this...and another thing entirely to experience it. I rub my arms in an effort to keep myself warm, but it's useless, and my own fears are only making me feel even colder.

"Ciao,Penelope."

The voice makes me whirl around in shock, and my throat dries up as I have my first glimpse ofLa Strega'sgrandson...and the man I've been allegedly betrothed to since birth.

Cesare Marchetti.

He's strikingly tall and shockingly virile, his presence dominating the room in an instant. His hair is black as sable, and his eyes are dark likeLa Strega's, and just as sinister, too. The V-neckline of his black sweater reveals a bronze wall of muscles, and the way he has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows accentuates the sculpted strength of his arms.

He's perfectly beautiful, perfectly hot, and perfectly dangerous. He's the kind of man whose path should never have crossed with mine...and yet I'm supposed to believe I'm this man's promised bride since birth?

"I apologize for making you wait."

His accent is more Italian than Boston, more coolly composed than brutally cold. His voice is mesmerizing and terrifying at thesame time, and the sound of it makes my heart race, either out of fear or a foolish sense of excitement, I'm not really sure.

La Stregaseemed so convinced earlier I won't say 'no' to marrying her grandson, and now I think I know why. They say attraction can be fatal...and I don't think it can get any more fatal than this, with Cesare Marchetti striding towards me like a biblical lion looking for something to devour, but instead of running away I find myselfbreathlessandunwillingto move.

I feel like I'm a lamb about to be swallowed whole...or one that's about to be slaughtered by marriage, and the most terrifying thing about all of this is how neither prospect makes me want to run away.

My heart is actually pounding with excitement, and I can barely keep still when he finally slows to a stop before me, and the scent of his aftershave lures me in like a moth to a flame.

Holy...shit.

I'm terribly scared of him still, but I also find his scent terribly appealing. Does this mean I've officially started losing my mind?

"There's no need to look nervous," he murmurs. "I'm not going to harm you."

Says every serial killer, natch.

"You are no use to us dead—-"

If I needed any more proof that he's related toLa Strega,that would be it.

"Or married to someone else," he finishes silkily. "But you're not thinking of marrying another man...are you, Penelope?"

I'm tempted to say 'no' just because he scares the shit out of me, but...

"What about you?" I dare to ask. "Are you really okay with marrying...me?"

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