Page 7 of Unholy Union
“Marrying her won’t make you forget how I feel wrapped around your cock.”
Giada De Rossi smirks as she steps around me, her long fingers clutching a flute of champagne. Her lips are painted blood red to match the color of her sharp nails and the low-cutgown she wears. Her obsidian hair has been pinned back, away from her oval face, a direct contrast to her pallid complexion.
Most Italians take pride in their healthy complexion. Giada has always been the opposite, resembling Morticia Addams more often than not.
“So that’s what that smell was,” I say coldly. “I should’ve guessed.”
She snickers. “Oh, darling, you recognize the scent because it was once all over your bedsheets. It can be again—you have my number.”
“I delete numbers that don’t matter.”
“Funny,” she says, unfazed as she takes a sip from her champagne. “You didn’t seem to think I was irrelevant when you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”
“That was out of boredom, my dear Giada. What can I say?” I ask, hands deep in my pockets. “You were an easy fuck. So easy, I believe my brother—and about half of this room—have had their turn with you.”
Her thick lashes flutter, green eyes narrowing. “Then marry your little doll and be even more bored. Just don’t expect me to act surprised when you come crawling back.”
“I’d rather put my dick in a blender than ever fuck you again, Giada. That clear enough for you?”
“Such vivid imagery, darling. I’ll be sure to send flowers to the ER,” she says tightly, smoothing a hand down her dress like she’s unbothered. “Enjoy your little bride. I hope she learns to fake orgasms better than she fakes innocence.”
Giada storms off as if she isn’t humiliated by my rejection, knocking into a server who she screams at despite the fact that she’s at fault.
Typical Giada.
She’s the daughter of Sergio De Rossi, Underboss to my father.
While I was groomed to be the heir to Papà’s empire, Giada was groomed to be the wife of a high-ranking man in the lifestyle. Specifically, the eldest son of the don. For years Giada—with the help of her father—put herself directly in my crosshairs.
Papà seemed open to the idea of a union between us.
I never had any interest, even if I did entertain the girl for a short period. We went on a few dates, slept together a handful of times, then I grew so bored I couldn’t even pretend to be interested anymore.
Giada has refused to take a hint ever since.
My head turns at the sound of a gasp. The attention in the room has shifted toward the doorway, where Sabrina Corsini has finally made her debut.
She steps into the room like a secret being unveiled, a demure air about her as she pauses for a moment and casts a slow glance around the room.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been in proximity of Sabrina Corsini, my new fiancée. But it’s the first time I’vereallypaid attention.
The girl is beautiful. An obvious fact from the first time I ever saw her.
But tonight, she’s more than just beautiful. She’s like some goddamn goddess in the flesh.
The silky pink dress she’s put on hugs every slender curve, draped over her body to maddening perfection. The floral pattern is delicate, blooming across the fabric like some stunning garden. A thigh-high slit reveals a glimpse of smooth olive skin; the same can be said of the thin straps holding her dress together, her shoulders bare and narrow.
Her dark curls have been straightened and slicked into a sleek low bun, with a few delicate wisps at her temples softening the severity. It makes her neck look longer, her posture regal.
A true mafia princess destined to be queen.
Her hazel eyes catch in the chandelier lighting and look like gemstones. Her gaze lingers as it glides over the room in that practiced, polite way her father must’ve taught her. But there’s a glint there too, a subtle spark I’ve never noticed before.
There’s a rosy flush to her face, though it’s still not enough to conceal the light smattering of freckles on her cheeks and slender nose. She’s painted her lips a similar color to her dress, some kind of glossy pink. They look fuller than I remember them being, holding my attention as they quirk into a little smile.
I draw my first breath in seconds. I don’t realize I’ve stopped taking them in until she moves from the doorway and I’m snapped out of the stupid fucking trance I’ve found myself in.
A server happens by, and I snatch a flute of champagne off his tray, swallowing it down in one swig.
