Page 2 of Stealing Her Heart
Puffing at my cigar, I start thinking about the Bianchi girl. I am sure I have met her before, but hell if I can recall her. Most of the five families have dozens of soldiers, enforcers, and capo’s, which means hundreds of people I have encountered. Very few of them made much of an impression.
Pulling up outside Marconi’s gaudy mansion, I finish my cigar deep in thought. What kind of a man is Bianchi to give up his daughter this way? What sort of man is Marconi to accept it? If you ask me, they’re not men at all. All of us do dark stuff. We steal, we maim, we kill—but we’ve never trafficked anyone or allowed the women in our families to be hurt.
“Get me a few minutes with the Bianchi girl,” I tell Dario, noting how his brow furrows. “I need just a moment alone with her.”
“Whatever you want, Gabriel. I will get her away from her future husband long enough to let you two talk.”
Nodding, I step out of the car, unsure why this is so important to me. I cannot explain it, but I do not want to leave this stupid shindig without seeing her. I have no idea what I am looking for or what I expect. I assume once I see her, I will know what it is I am looking for.
Inside the house handfuls of people fill the rooms, talking, drinking, some laughing or even arguing. All par for the course at these gatherings. Food lines a long, wide table in the main room. Rolled meats, cuts of cheeses, nutty olives and chocolates. Typical fare for an Italian celebration.
“Go find her while I find Marconi to give my well wishes.”
“You got it, boss,” Dario nods, weaving through the crowd.
Something has me on edge. Not just that I hate coming to these things. Or even that I never cared for Marconi or Bianchi. They both came up long before I was around and are stuck in some of the old ways. Such as this bullshit arranged marriage. Most of the families have stopped doing this sort of thing. Hell, the Orsini's have a woman capo, one bad-ass broad who no one crosses in her borough.
Pulling another cigar out of my inside pocket, I flick open the gold lighter my father gave me. It has our last name engraved on it, but it is a lot more than just a trinket. My father was not a good man but amongst the worst of the worst, he was the best man I knew. Smoked my first cigar with him when I was sixteen, and he lit it with this very lighter.
Lost in thought, I don’t notice her at first. Well, not the way you usually notice someone enter a room. No, when she steps into the room where other capos and criminals stand, the air shifts. It smells of whisky and smoke until the air carries her sweet strawberry fragrance with it.
I am not sure what I expected when I told Dario I needed to speak with her. I have no right. I am not her fiancé and our families do not mingle. I know her father, but I have never met her. I told myself earlier I must have, but now I am convinced otherwise.
No way in hell could I forget the goddess that is Gianna Bianchi.
“Here she is,” Dario announces, as if he would be bringing me anyone else but the new bride.
New bride. My gaze drops to her hand where I expect to see a garish ring. An ugly ring of gold and emerald sits there but it does not suit her. I can tell by the way she spins it anxiously that she rather not be wearing it. Good. There is still time. Time for what? Not sure. All I know is the second I set sights on Gianna, I declare no other man will ever have her.
Dark hair billows down her back, pulled away from her face on one side. I imagine it is silky, and it must smell of strawberries. Everyone is dressed to kill in suits and satin dresses. Not Gianna. No, she has on a bright pink party dress that makes her look like a beautiful little princess.
Stunning gray eyes stare up at me and I can’t help but note the flecks of blue in them. I wonder how they would look in the darkness, how they would shine in the sunlight. My gaze drops to her mouth, a full, round pink mouth. Her golden skin is flawless. No makeup, nothing overdone or calling for attention. Yet, once you look at her, you cannot look away.
“Mr. Capelli,” she mutters as I am sure she has been trained to do.
“Gianna,” I call her name, watching those gray eyes flicker. Oh, yes, this is good. It is not just me lost in this moment. She is there with me.
“I... I am not supposed to talk to anyone else. Just my...well...I mean...my fiancé. He won’t let me talk to another man, if I am not back to him….”
“He will do nothing,” I cut her off with a promise, my voice sharp. “No one will do a damn thing to you for talking to me, princess.”
A flush overtakes her face and makes her even more beautiful somehow. I am mystified as I stand here gazing down at her. There are a dozen others in the room, but they fade to nothing. I take her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss it gently. Gianna exhales, her chest rising and falling fast, but she makes no move to take her hand back.
“My father said...he said I had to behave tonight. I have never been very good at that,” she whispers this to me, as if we’re sharing a secret.
Suddenly, all I can think about is sharing secrets with her. Having her in the darkness of my bedroom, whispering all her dreams, all her fantasies to me. I want to know them all. I want to make them all come true. I want to know every thought going on in her pretty head. And I want to protect her from her father and the fiancé, both of whom do not deserve her.
“Is that so? You tend to misbehave, do you?”
Flushed again, she nods, glancing back and forth before smiling up at me. “Yes. He says I am anuisance. Always asking questions, wanting to know things I shouldn’t. I suppose it is why he wants me to get married. Hand his trouble off to someone else.”
This strikes a chord in me as I lead her from the room, heading for wide French doors that lead outside. I am breaking about a dozen rules for her. Not that I care. I am a mafia capo, after all, why the hell should I care about rules? Rules should be broken, and I am in the business of breaking things.
Outside it is a crisp, clear night with a blanket of stars in the navy skies overhead. We step out onto a stone patio circled by thick bushes. It is a fine place to hide from everyone else. I watch her circle the space, her fingertips walking over the marble wall before she sighs and leans back against the stone with a defeated sigh.
“Something tells me you’re not pleased about the coming nuptials.”
Gianna bows her head shamefully. I hate it. There is nothing for her to be ashamed of. This is all other men’s doing. For most of my life, these men have controlled the women in their families with brutal iron fists. I swore I would never be that kind of man. I swore I would never turn a blind eye to someone else being that sort of man either.
