Page 11 of Between Us

In a rare display of defiance, she let out an incredulous laugh. “Isn't it bad enough that you gave me to him? I won't pretend to love him, Papà.”

Nero's face mottled with red. “You will do whatever is necessary to get him to be loyal to you. You are beautiful enough to keep his interest and make him love you. Don't be stupid,figlia mia.” He gestured to the school paraphernalia lying between them. “Do you want him to allow you to continue your studying? Being a good wife will get you that and more.”

Alessandra pushed down the hurt her father's wordsevoked. He had not only gifted her body, now he was asking for her decency too. She knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't pretend. She either liked someone or she didn't. She either loved or she didn't. There wasn't anything in between for her.

Nero stood, switching tactics at the last moment. “Russians are an extremely violent bunch, Alessandra. You'd do well to remember that. Don't think he will treat you with kid gloves like your brother and I have done for all these years. You can either have his love and loyalty, or you can be his whore. Your decision,cara.”

He left without another word, leaving Alessandra in a state of utter disbelief. Her heart felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper—it was raw and bleeding because of the one person in the world who didn’t deserve all the love it had to offer.

???

It was just over ten in the evening when Alessandra decided to head downstairs for a glass of water. Barefoot and wearing sleep shorts and a tank top, she padded across the polished floor, enjoying the coolness wrapping around her soles. The house was dark and quiet, so she took her time to rummage through the fridge for something to snack on, as well. She munched on some blueberries and a granola bar before finally pouring herself a glass of water and leaving the kitchen.

As she took the stairs back to her room, she was so distracted by thoughts of the plans she had with her mother the next day, she almost collided with the dark figure coming down from the first floor.

She gasped, reaching out to grab the banister withher free hand and nearly dropping the glass of water in her shock. Some of its content sloshed over the rim, dripping onto her fingers and the hardwood beneath her feet. Startled by the sudden encounter, it took Alessandra a second to recognize the person in front of her. When she did, her heart picked up its already wild pace.

“Crap,” she muttered in a tight voice. “You scared me.”

Roman stood a couple of steps above her, looking even taller from his position. He was wearing a suit, sans the jacket, and in one hand he was holding a manila envelope. His eyes that looked almost black in the dim light encasing the foyer, traveled over her body before finally meeting hers.

“You spook too easily,” he said in a deep timbre that lacked inflection.

Alessandra swallowed down her embarrassment at being caught wearing so little.Hewas the intruder, after all. She glanced behind him, only to be met with thin air. There was no one accompanying him.

“What are you doing here?” She met his gaze again.

“Always with the questions. I have business with your father. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she parroted quietly, trying very hard not to notice once again just how attractive he was. At least on an aestheticallevel, there wasn’t much she could complain about. Roman was as handsome as any man could get, but without having that overly perfected beauty seen in some male models and actors. There was a rough, purely masculine edge to his attractiveness that Alessandra liked quite a lot.

Her earlier conversation with her father came tomind, and for the briefest moment, she considered the possibility of falling in love with a man like Roman. Physical aspect aside, there needed to be more to a marriage for a genuine connection to emerge. Her perception of Russian men in general was shaped by her father’s relationship with the Bratva, so, in truth, she couldn’t exactly judge her future husband’s character without being a little biased.

But was Roman any different from Luca? Were any of them any different from the made men who’d sworn fealty to Nero Rossetti’s Outfit?

Her father seemed to think so. If his opinion was any indication, Russian men were terrible partners foranywoman.

And still, Alessandra was being forced to marry one.

“Not wearing your ring again, I see.” Roman’s voice broke her train of thought, his gaze not straying from her face.

She fought the urge to blush under his scrutiny because nothing had changed since their last encounter, and somehow, he seemed to know that. Only a week left until the wedding, and Alessandra had yet to even look at her engagement ring. “You don’t expect me to sleep with it, do you?”

“I expect a lot.” The statement was loaded with meaning which Alessandra decided to ignore.

“Me too,” she replied instead, keeping his gaze.

The corner of his lips curved almost imperceptibly. Her answer seemed to amuse him to some degree.

“Goodnight, Alessandra.” He started down the stairs, the soft material of his dress shirt brushing against her naked arm as he passed her. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

He even smelled good—the combination of muskand something headier assaulting her senses and making her knees go weak. Even though her body’s reaction to his closeness was surprising, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Almost as if being pulled by a magnet, she turned around to watch him walk away.

As the front door closed behind him and he disappeared into the night, Alessandra let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Mafia man or not, she thought he was insufferably arrogant.

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