Page 10 of Relentless Refuge

“As I mentioned, I hardly think that will be necessary. Mr. Romano is a gentleman and?—”

“And all men want only one thing, Isabella.” I hear her moving behind me before I feel her hand on my elbow. “They grow impatient with business pursuits when things are going well. Sometimes, they like to make trouble. And that won’t bode well for you or for us. I found it best early on to charm your father… for lack of a better word… with my body.”

She clears her throat as if she is embarrassed for saying that, and my cheeks burn hotter than ever. “Mother,” I hiss so quietly I’m sure Nicky hasn’t heard it.

“What did you think would happen when you married the man, Isa?”

I turn to face her, and she cups my cheek. The look in her eyes is one of compassion and worry. She was against this arrangement to begin with, and now I partly understand why she was. Her arrangement with my father was a pleasant one, though maybenot always so. I can see the pain in her eyes from experience—something she wishes I never had to go through.

“You’re lucky, though. He’s an attractive man, Isabella. You’ll make beautiful babies, and this mutual respect for each other will one day blossom into like. That like, if nurtured, could develop, as it did between your father and me, into love.” She pats my cheek. “But you have the power in that only the woman can pull the heartstrings of her husband. And those strings must be pulled in our favor.”

I hear the rumble of an engine and glance over my shoulder to see the limo waiting out front. “He’s here,” I mutter, now feeling ten times more nervous than I was before. It’s encroaching on the time I’ll have to move in with him, and I know when that happens, I won’t be given a choice whether to uphold my marital duties.

“We aren’t trying to assume control of his people or his territory, Isabella.” Nicky stands and takes my hand as I pass by him. I stop and look in his eyes. “He can grow his empire on the other side of the river. What we want is only for him to be the lion behind your back when you address your followers. Only you can sate the predator and hold him back from devouring us.”

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. I’m getting very good at that now, pushing my nerves away to put on my bold face. I look Uncle Nicky in the eye and nod.

“You don’t need to worry. I’ll handle it.”

He kisses me on the cheek, and I let myself out and head down the hallway to the front door where Marco’s driver is knocking. The entire drive, I can’t stop thinking about what Mom and Nicky said. It isn’t that I don’t want to have sex withhim, just that I always hoped that when I had sex for the first time, it would be to someone I love, not as part of a business arrangement.

I could love him—someday—if things were different. But my job is not to fall in love and be swept off my feet. My job is to build a strong alliance that will further my Family’s interests. We need each other now—our guns to keep his Family in business, his strength to keep my Family in line. If sex is what it will take to make sure he is happy with me and upholds his end of the bargain, then so be it.

Sex is what he will get, but I’m not sure he will like it. I know nothing. Father sheltered me to the point that I didn’t even know what sex was until I was sixteen, and when I found out, he built walls around me to lessen my exposure. He wanted a chaste bride for whoever it was who met his expectations, whoever would become his ally. I don’t know if Marco would have passed his tests, but he is my husband now, and that means I have a job to do.

The car pulls up outside his home, and this time, he waits for me on the stoop. His black suit is dapper, tailored to fit his lean, muscular body. His dark hair is slicked back to one side, revealing his striking blue eyes, eyes that drink me in like I’m water in a desert every time we meet.

“Good evening, Isabella.” I love the way he says my name, with just a hint of the northeastern accent and a touch of Scottish brogue. It’s strange given that he is Italian from a strong Italian upbringing, but when I asked him, he said it had more to do with the friends he spent time with growing up.

“Marco,” I say, ascending the steps. It feels odd calling him that. I address every one of my father’s business associates with theirtitle and surname, not like this. But he corrects me every time I call him Mr. Romano.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding his elbow out as I mount the final step, and I wrap my hand around his bicep. His firm muscle makes my fingers tingle, aching to feel more, and I picture him shirtless with corded abs and rippling pectorals.

“What does Anna have on the menu this evening?” His servants have become my servants and I’ve learned their names by heart. Though, he treats them as servants, and I prefer to think of them as extensions of my family. I suppose that’s the difference between masculine and feminine leadership—I will always lean toward relationship while he always leans toward usefulness.

“I believe we’ll be taking dinner a bit later. I hope you don’t mind. Anna is preparing a roast and potatoes, and my favorite—peanut butter pie—for dessert.” His tone is lower than normal, as if he’s stressed. As a business partner, I feel the urge to ask if he’s stressed over me or over our arrangement, but I realize that’s not the way I should think. I have to trust that he runs his Family smoothly and rely on him to help me do the same.

“Then we’ll talk. I think things are going well. I’m sure my men got the message the other day.” I tense as he leads me into a room I’ve never been in. It looks like a study or den of sorts. Tapestries of the Far East hang on the walls between bookshelves. A large portrait of a beautiful woman is mounted on the wall behind a massive oak desk. It’s beautiful, and very tastefully done. I see some family resemblance to Marco.

“Yes, you are a formidable force. I admit I had my doubts at first, but you surprised me.” He lets me go, and I walk toward the painting, listening to the sound of the door sliding shut behind me.

“She’s beautiful…” I mumble, taken by the way her eyes seem to follow me around the room.

“My late mother, rest her soul.”

Marco joins me in staring up at the painting, and I feel his hand in the small of my back. I feel out of place, as if he’s lost inside his head, in memories of his mother when she was alive. I want to speak but I feel shy, so I remain silent until he speaks.

“She would have loved to meet you, Isabella. Such a beautiful and strong woman like you, and my only regret in marrying you is that it was done too late. She’ll never have the chance to meet our children.”

The word “children” makes my body tense and surge with heat. He hasn’t brought up the topic of sex again since the first night I had dinner with him. He’s being patient, allowing me to grieve, and I haven’t brought it up either. I’m too focused on gaining control of my Family and ensuring they have a proper leader. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Mom prepared me for this talk. It’s as if the fates have intervened—prepared me for tonight.

“Our children?” I ask, hearing my own voice crack.

Marco’s hand presses into my back and he turns me to face him. He’s smooth, confident, and bold. I’m meek, shrinking into myself and trying to hide. My mind races.Is tonight the night? Can’t I wait until I move in? Does it have to be this soon? I haven’t gotten to know him at all.

“Yes. We both need an heir, which means two children, hopefully two sons, though I’m not discounting the fact that you could raise a daughter as strong as you.” His hand remains in the small of my back, pulling me against his body. I feel the bulgein his slacks that presses against my thigh. He’s not hard, but it won’t take much.

“Then you think our alliance is a good one, that we will make this a long-term partnership?” Again, my voice cracks. Blood is rushing everywhere—to my groin, to my cheeks, to my palms that are now sweaty, clasped between us and pressing against his stomach.

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